I’m elbow-deep in the pastry case at Holy Grounds when the bell over the front door rings to announce a customer.

“Just a minute,” I call, setting a blueberry muffin in place behind the glass. Technically we’re not open yet and I could use the extra time getting things in order. Jess didn’t show up for her shift, meaning I’m flying solo this morning. I’ve spent my time getting our machines up and running and trying to unload the pastries from the local bakery’s delivery, but I’m way, way behind. I’m also way undercaffienated to be handling this alone, but that’s another story.

“What’s going on in here?”

I glance up at the sharp tone. Mr. Spence pushes his way toward me, his eyes dark and hard.

“Just getting ready to open,” I tell him.

“Why are the chairs still in their closing position?” He glances pointedly at the chairs, still stacked on top of the tables after last night’s floor cleaning. Every night we put the chairs up so we can wash the floors, and with everything else going on, I haven’t had a chance to take them down.

“I’m getting there.”

“And the daily special hasn’t been written out.”

“Right.” I grit my teeth. “I’ve been here alone this morning.”

My boss doesn’t seem to care that I’m doing a two-person job. He sucks air in through his front teeth and makes a disapproving sound. “This is not going to cut it, Natalie. Get this place together ASAP. We’re not here to play on our cell phones all day.”

I feel my face flame and I have to bite my tongue to stop the “fuck you” from falling out of my mouth. Not only is my phone nowhere on my person, I’m doing the best I can. Alone.

Spence shuffles off into the back room, not even offering to help.

I drop the rest of the pastries onto the back counter to move the chairs. I don’t bother to set them down softly, either. I let them slam down, just to piss him off.

Jesus. I know Spence is the owner of this place, but he doesn’t need to be an ass. It’s infuriating, actually, that someone else can have this much control over my life. I’m just another cog in the wheel for this business, someone who can be replaced if I blink the wrong way. God forbid Spence actually see the injustice in all of this.

It’s so different from Penchant, where I call the shots and actually matter. I settle the weight of the chairs in my hands and hear the satisfying plunk as I set each one down. I want Penchant to work so, so badly. The more I’ve treated myself like a boss, the more I feel like I deserve to be the boss. Spence doesn’t get to set my value. I do. Except I hadn’t factored in the cost of a launch party for Penchant, and with my credit cards maxed out, I need extra money to foot the bill. I need my Holy Grounds job just to keep my business afloat. So I steel myself and keep working.

Jess doesn’t show until two hours into her shift, and by that time I’m just over it.

“Sorry, Delilah,” she says with an air kiss, tying on her apron. “Alarm didn’t go off.”

I freeze, my hand hovering above a cup of coffee. Delilah?

Oh shit. She knows.

“What did you call me?” I whisper, my throat suddenly dry. I should have confronted her before now. I should have explained this all away before it became something she could hold over my head. My palms start to sweat.

Jess’s Cheshire-cat grin is all teeth. “Sorry, did I say Delilah? I meant Natalie. Slip of the tongue.” She leans against the counter instead of helping me with the drink orders I’m filling.

I dart my eyes toward the back room. No Spence. For now. If Jess tell our boss about my lube business, he’d fire me faster than you could say “coffee.” And I’m screwed without this job.

But then Jess’s phone chimes, and when she pulls it out of her back pocket yet again instead of helping me, something snaps. Without thinking I snag the phone from her grasp.

“What the hell is so important on here?”

Jess’s face gets pale under her makeup. “Give that back.”

“Only if you do your job instead of bailing on me.”

She sends murder eyes at me. “I was just kidding about the Delilah thing, you know.”

“Yeah, well, it wasn’t funny.” I clutch the phone and sigh. Jess looks like she’s going to have a panic attack and I know how awful that feels. I don’t want to be the cause of it. “Sorry I took this. I’m clearly having a terrible day but that’s no excuse.” I lift the phone to hand it back to her, but pause when I catch a glimpse of what she’d been looking at.

I pull the phone back to my body and curl over it. “Oh my god, Jess.”

Her face twists, embarrassment and a little fear. “What?”

I lower my voice so Spence can’t hear us. “Is this what you’ve been doing whenever you were supposed to be working?” The phone screen is open to Jess’s Instagram account, and instead of the selfies and party pictures I expect, the images are filled with words. Her poetry.

Jess’s cheeks grow pink and she stares at the ground. “I’m trying to have a portfolio I can show to colleges.”

I nod. “These are…These are really good.” I return her phone with shaky hands. “It’s a great idea. And don’t worry, I won’t tell.” I have a feeling that she’ll keep my secret too.

For the next six hours Jess and I actually talk. Like humans. It’s not a miracle or anything, but she tells me about college and helps me fill orders and doesn’t laugh when I accidentally burn myself. Twice. I wave the white flag, too, and tell her about writing and even a little about the way I’m trying to start my own business. And by the time I reach into my purse for bandaids at the end of my shift, I feel like we’ve reached a shaky truce.

My cell phone, wedged just next to the bandaids, announces a missed call from Jackson. My stomach flutters and my pulse skips.

God, just seeing his name makes my heart race. How did I get here? Loving Jackson is everything I warned myself about and yet here I am, wanting him more than is fair.

I dial Jackson from my car, my cell phone balanced on my lap as I drive home past the elementary school and the oak tree that the kindergarteners decorate with glittery stars each December.

“What’s up?” I say when Jackson answers the phone.

“Do you want to go to dinner tonight?” His voice spreads like honey. I think about other slippery liquids and get so distracted I almost miss my next turn.

“Um, what?”

“Dinner. You know, the event where people shove food in their faces to sustain life. I can swap shifts, if you’re free.”

I blink at the road, realizing I’ve barely seen the last mile fly by.

“I’m going to a signing at the bookstore tonight,” I finally respond. I don’t say anything about his offer to swap shifts or what it means that he would rearrange his life to share a meal with me.

The truth is that’s not where I’m at. I’m not rearranging my life for Jackson. I’m moving to Boston and getting on with my life without wondering about his role in it. In the future he might not be in my life, and I can’t plan a space for him without knowing what role he would play. It makes things feel fuzzy and unsettled.

“McCafferty’s sounds fun,” Jackson tells me.

I can’t quite hide the surprise in my voice. “You want to go?” I twist my hands around the steering wheel, ten and two.

“Sure,” he says. “After all, it’s hard to woo you when I don’t get to see you.”

“Jackson, ugh. You are not trying to woo me.”

There’s a smile in his voice. “I am.”

Trees streak by so fast my head spins, or maybe that’s just Jackson. Even if he is serious, it doesn’t mean I’m falling for it. My elbows draw into my sides like a shield. “But this is just—”

“Casual?”

I sigh. “Yeah. Casual.” Why does the word make my mouth curl in disappointment? I’m the one who wanted this. I frown at the road. “I’m not saying I’m not having fun. This just isn’t a long-term thing. You’re already in my pants. No need to woo.”

“What do I need to do to get my message across to you?” He is a persistent bastard, isn’t he?

I bite my lip, concentrating on the road. I need to keep things light. “Oh, you know. Probably stand on your head wearing a tutu.”

Jackson snorts. “Okay then. Note to self.” His voice brightens. “So what time is the reading tonight?”

I roll my eyes but he can’t see me. It’s fine. Anyway, I should probably tell him about Jess. I press my foot to the gas and fill him in on the details.