Excuse me? Did you use whole milk instead of soy in this drink? This tastes like whole milk.” The thin woman at the counter shoves the offending cup of coffee at me and I want to scowl. Of course she’d be a soy drinker. Instead I collect the cup and paste an apologetic look on my face.

“I’m so sorry about that. I must have misheard.”

Mr. Spence’s footsteps sound behind my back. “What’s going on here?”

The customer sweeps her eyes to him, clearly done talking with me. “I asked for soy and I got whole milk.”

I wince and Jess shoots me a sympathetic look over our boss’s shoulder. “And I’m fixing that right now.”

Spence ignores me, too. “Our apologies, Mrs. Ramsey. This one’s on the house.”

Great. Now I have to issue a refund on top of fixing the drink. I get to work, my shoulders wired stiff with tension. I don’t want to be here right now but there’s no place else to be. Every time I go home I think about Jackson. Every time I do anything in this town I think about Jackson. Holy Grounds may be one of the few safe spaces where I haven’t kissed him. But still. It’s been two days and I’m the aching kind of sad where everything hurts and I can’t even concentrate on making coffee. I’m supposed to be good at my job and today I can’t even do this one thing right.

I keep telling myself that ending things with Jackson was the right decision. I couldn’t just stay there in the face of everything crashing down. Not after I’d panicked and hurt him like that. I’ve let him down the way I’ve let down everyone else in my life. I deserve this pain. But it fucking sucks.

I tried, briefly, to write my way through my tears last night, thinking it would help. But the words wouldn’t come and what was I supposed to say? I am running away from him, but only because he’s bailing on me first. Jackson’s getting his business back and the apartment in Boston just needs a deposit from me and Mandy before it’s ours.

When Mrs. Ramsey finally grabs her corrected, on the house, all soy, no sugar drink to go, Spence turns to me. “What’s going on today, Miss Bloom?”

“I must have misheard her.”

His dark eyebrows lower on his face as he narrows his eyes at me. “For the fourth time today? You need to get the cotton out of your ears or the next fix is coming out of your paycheck. Consider this your last warning.”

I blow a hot breath of air up my face. “Sorry, sir.” I turn away so he doesn’t see the tears in my eyes.

A ping from my phone sounds from the back room and I stiffen. No doubt it’s another text from Jackson. For the last few days I’ve sent all of them straight to the trash. I don’t care what Jackson has to say. And with Spence clearing his throat in warning behind me, I don’t answer now, either. I blink up at the ceiling to clear the tears from my eyes and shuffle back to the counter.

A flash of green catches my eye out the window and I glance up to see Jackson’s Mini Cooper ease into a parking space out front.

No. No, no, no.

I only have a second to steel myself before Jackson strides through the door, the scent of flowers and hot asphalt wafting in with him. I crouch down and bury my face in the pastry case. Oh god.

Jackson sets his hands on the top of the case and when I look up I catch a flash of skin between his T-shirt and his jeans, the tiniest bit tan. “We need to talk, Nat.”

“I’m busy now, Jackson.” Please go away. Please don’t let me break down in front of you.

“I’m not leaving.” Great.

Heavy footsteps echo behind me and the back of my neck prickles. “Miss Bloom, you are dismissed for the day.” Spence’s voice is thick with condescension.

“What?” The shock stings like a slap and the wind goes out of me.

“Get yourself together and I’ll see you back here for your next shift.”

I want to sink into the floor. Can I please have an earthquake or a tornado or something else hit so there’s a reason for the way the room starts shaking?

I stand stiffly and grab my purse from the back room, then stomp toward my car. Jackson intercepts me just outside the front door of the shop.

“Come on, Nat. We need to make a plan for packing our inventory.”

I set my jaw and keep walking. “Don’t even with me right now. Thanks to you I just lost two hours of my paycheck today.”

He opens and closes his fists. “I sent you a message. I told you I was coming.”

“Yeah, well, I didn’t see it.” I step around him and reach for the door handle on my car. I slip inside, and before I can protest, Jackson slides into the front seat next to me. I wheel toward him. “What are you doing?”

He shakes his head at me. “I get that you’re pissed. But we need to be professional here. For the business.”

I breathe in and out, trying to calm down. I hate that he’s right. Why does he have to press on my weak spots? Why does he have to use this business against me? He doesn’t even want it.

“Fine,” I huff out. “Buckle your seat belt.”

“What?” Jackson asks and I turn the ignition. There’s no way I’m having this conversation in a tiny car with him. I need nice, neutral territory. I need some room to breathe.

“We’re going for a drive.”

Luckily it’s only five minutes from the Holy Grounds plaza to our destination.

“Papa Gino’s?” Jackson crosses his arms over his chest.

“Yes.” It’s the one place I’m sure Mrs. Keaton won’t venture. I can’t have her talking about me anymore. “Just don’t trust the pepperoni.”

“Good to know.”

Jackson and I sit at a tiny red-topped table, the smell of cheese leaching into my pores. I nurse a can of Diet Coke, the metallic tang of it cold on my tongue, while Jackson inhales two slices of cheese pizza.

“So what’s your plan, Jackson?” I frown, worrying the tab on my soda can. The sharp edge of the tab bites into the pad of my thumb.

“We need to pack the bottles into retail boxes, right?” I nod. “So since they’re going to be delivered to my apartment, I figured we should probably just pack them there.”

We. I cringe. How do I sit in a room with him and do that? Why does he even want me there with him?

Jackson wipes a smudge of sauce from the corner of his delicious mouth. “And then we can send everything in to Amazon.”

I shake my head. “We need to hold at least some of the boxes back for the party and for sales through our website.”

“Right. We can do that, too.”

I sigh. “So what did you need to see me for?”

“We need to figure out when we’re packing.” Again with the we. “Does Tuesday work for you?”

I curl my toes into the ground. “I’m only free at night.” It’s a lie. I know full well he’s got a shift at Hooligans but I cannot pack lube with him. Not without cracking. And I won’t let him see me cry.

“I’d really like to work together. We should come up with a consistent QC process.”

God, why does he have to be right about everything? Why can’t he just let this go?

“I can’t, Jackson. But we can document everything if you need us to.”

His face falls like he was holding out hope that I’d magically change my mind or something. “Another impasse, huh?”

“Looks that way.”

Jackson closes his eyes and when he opens them again they’re glassy with unshed tears. His voice goes thick. “How do we fix this, Nat?” My heart squeezes in my chest and my throat constricts. “I feel like I lost my business partner and my best friend.”

“I know,” I whisper, because I feel that way too. But I can’t back down from this. I blink at the neon open sign buzzing in the front window. Think about pizza. Pepperoni, sausage, mushroom, cheese. It doesn’t help. I swipe a hand over my eyes.

Jackson gives me another sad look and pushes his chair back from the table. “Okay. You can pack on Tuesday.” He bobs his head and reaches into his pocket. Without hesitating he places something silver on the table. “I trust you,” he says and slides me a key.