“Greetings, Master King. I'll be your driver for the duration of your stay in Caldwell Hope.” The driver introduced himself once I stepped out of the open door.

I nodded in acknowledgment, and he immediately began loading my luggage from my jet into the short white limo.

Even through my dark sunglasses, my eyes needed a moment to adjust against the midday glare that boiled off the runway's tarmac. The cloudless sun turned my throbbing hangover into a stabbing spike.

I desperately needed coffee.

I snapped open the top button of my collared shirt. It was hot in a way that only the southwestern states got in late spring. It was probably going to be a scorcher of a summer.

Fortunately I wouldn't be here long enough to find out.

My driver finished with the luggage, then straightened his posture and opened the limo door for me. He thoughtfully added, “Welcome home, Sir.”

“Home,” I rolled the word around in my mouth like an expensive wine that was too bitter for my palate. Not for me. Not anymore.

Once this meeting with my father and brother was finished, Caldwell Hope, would go back to being a place I rarely thought about and never visited.

The lovely British flight attendant leaned against the doorway wearing only a towel and a satisfied smile. My white Panama hat hung limply in her hand. She was a talented girl and was just what I needed to make the trip back here tolerable.

I gave her an easy smile and a kiss on the cheek, then took the hat and put it on. That was better. I straightened my vest and brushed down my tailored pants, then stepped into the air conditioned car. With a good hat and a nice watch I could be buck naked and still feel comfortable.

“Are you from around here, James?” I asked the chauffeur. He was surprisingly young. I was thirty-one, and this was the first time I'd ever had a driver who was younger than me.

“Yes, Sir. Born and raised.”

“Fantastic. Do you know the way to the Village Bean? I need a coffee.” There was no way I was going to deal with whatever my father had in store for us without some caffeine to clear my head. “Call me Richard. I get enough 'Sirs' at the office.”

“I'm sorry, S-” James had to catch himself as it probably went against everything he'd been taught. “The Village Bean closed about ten years ago I believe. I know another place that's just as good, if you'd like.”

Ten years? Had I really been gone that long? I quickly did the math and realized it was actually longer than that.

What else had changed?

I agreed and James drove us into town. My quiet, little prison had apparently flourished over the years and become quite the vacation spot. The familiar low mountains framed the downtown strip, but almost everything else had changed or been updated.

Bouquets of pink and white flowers hung in the rough-hewn brick buildings that connected several trendy looking shops. The whole area, down to the signage, had a unified, quaint theme about it.

It had certainly grown more charming in my absence.

We slowed to a stop outside a record store. I was about to ask him about it when I spotted the A-shaped sign on the sidewalk in front of the store. “Black Rocket Records,” the sign said.

Beneath that it bragged, “We dare you to find a better damn cup of coffee.”

The place had style. That's for sure.

James asked what he could get for me, but I waved him off. The record store had piqued my interest, and after the long flight I wanted to stretch my legs anyway.

I took my hat and sunglasses off as I walked in. Black Rocket Records was more than just its namesake. There were racks of old books, records, novelties, coffee bar and even a stage for live music. Teenagers' paradise.

Heads started turning and a few people stepped out of my way. It might have been a long time since I'd been back here, but people had TVs and smart phones. They knew who I was.

I smiled back at a few pretty girls and shook one guy’s hand who let me cut in front of him at the coffee line. I wasn't looking for special treatment, but who was I to say no? The line was only a few people long and no else seemed to have a problem with it so I stepped up to the ordering station.

“Hello?” I asked, looking around. The wall behind the register was lined with all sorts of fancy presses, slow drips, steamers and brewing stations. They were all actively in the process of doing…something.

I leaned forward resting my cufflinks atop a glass counter top—which encapsulated an elaborate collage of Alice in Wonderland pictures—and asked again, louder this time.

It was all very trendy, but where was the barista?

“One second!” A strained female voice sharply called up from beneath the bar. “How many?”

“I'd like a coffee?” Why would they want to know how many before what kind?

“Yeah, no shit. How many?” The annoyed voice snapped back.

I cocked an eyebrow at the rudeness of the disembodied voice. I couldn't even remember the last time someone took that tone with me. No, thanks, I thought prepping to leave. There are plenty of other coffee places in town.

I was in the process of turning to leave when the barista finally popped straight up with a stack of cups in each arm.

She was short, petite, had a shock of short black hair and was pale enough to make a vampire envious. She wore a faded, black, obscure band T-shirt, had glittering studs running up both her ears, and eye shadow dark enough to drain the light from the room.

I'd never been into the alt-rock girls, but right away I could tell there was something very different about this one.

I glanced down her slight form for a name tag, but of course she didn't have one. Maybe it was that she was so far from the perfect blonde Hollywood type that got my blood pumping. Or maybe it was her eyes. She had these light gray irises that crackled like storm clouds before a hard rain.

Suddenly coffee was the last thing on my mind. Who was this girl?

“Well?” the barista asked impatiently, wiping the sweat from her face with the crook of her elbow.

“Caffè Macchiato,” I started my order, but was quickly interrupted with an annoyed look and an upraised index finger.

I followed the pointing gesture to a sign above her head that read, “Coffee made our way. Deal with it.”

“Are you always this rude? Or am I just the lucky punching bag today?”

The barista narrowed her eyes. “That's kind of our whole deal here. That and I don't like those that cut in line.”

How had she even seen me? Was she part ninja?

I was just about to protest that they all let me pass when a tall blonde woman stepped up behind the barista, cutting her off.

“Hi there! I'm Judy.” She was as chipper as the dark haired girl was not. It was a stark contrast. “I saw your interview on the Late Show. You did such a good job. So handsome in that pinstripe suit! It's so nice to meet you! We're more of a self serve kind of place, but we can make an exception for one of the Kings of Caldwell Hope. That was a Caffè Macchiato, right?”

Her voice was cotton candy and her cadence was rapidly popping popcorn. Did this woman ever breathe? Now I desperately needed the coffee just to follow this conversation.

“Hi.” I squeezed the greeting in somewhere between her flood of words. “Yes, ma’am.”

“Gloria makes it much better than I could ever dream of!” Judy switched from me to her raven-haired partner. “Would you mind?” She held up her hands in a pleading motion then mouthed the word “Please.”

I smiled at their unlikely dynamic. It was obvious that they were peers, probably co-owners.

How did that work?

I couldn't imagine two people more different. They were the sun and the moon.

Gloria sighed at Judy's cheeriness, then walked off toward the self service station without giving me another glance. I couldn't take my eyes off her as she left. When she stepped out from the bar I could see her mid-thigh-length black skirt and milky, smooth legs.

The sight of her slight form swaying got my blood pumping.

Judy told me the coffee was on the house, then asked for a selfie with me. I obliged, distractedly. I caught Gloria looking over at me discretely as she made my coffee. It gave me an unexpected thrill. I might have to come back here and see her again before I flew out of town.

“Here,” Gloria said, handing me the drink. Her voice had a bite to it that deepened my smirk. “Your Majesty.”

I thought about getting Gloria's number, but when I looked up she was already ringing out another customer. I slipped a fifty into the tip jar and flashed Gloria a wink, then I left.

Outside James waited with his arms behind his back. He opened the car door for me as I approached. The coffee smelled delicious, but was still too hot to drink. I peeled the cover off to help it cool faster and slowed to a stop when I saw the design.

“Is everything alright?” James asked, easily seeing the intrigued expression on my face. “I hope there wasn't a mix up.”

In the brown and white of the foamed milk topped coffee was the artistically drawn image of a cock and balls; throbbing veins and all.

“No.” I glanced back through the glass doors and took a scalding sip. Her outline was clear in the lit room. The glare and the distance made it impossible to make out her stormy eyes, but I had the feeling that Gloria was still watching me. I smiled as I looked at her. “This one has my name written all over it.”