“You don’t have kolaches?” the elderly man on the other side of the counter huffs at me.

A frown of confusion crosses my face. “What’s a kolache?” I ask him.

The man rolls his watery blue eyes. “All these baked goods,” he says disdainfully, nodding toward my display case. “And no kolaches.”

“I’m sorry.” I try for my most patient tone. “If you can explain to me what a kolache is, maybe I can point you to something in the case that would be similar.”

He scoffs. “Nothing similar in there.” He fixes me with a withering look, as though he’s half-expecting me to die of shame right on the spot. “I’ll just have a cup of black coffee with some creamer.”

“Sure, thing,” I say brightly, reaching for a cup. I fill it with hot, freshly brewed coffee and set it down on the counter. “There’s milk and cream in those carafes over there,” I say, pointing over toward the condiment bar, “so you can pour it in yourself.”

“You don’t have any Coffee Mate?” His face goes from sour to incredulous.

Oh, lord.

“No, I’m sorry, we don’t.” I try to make myself sound deeply apologetic. “There’s cream, two percent, and skim,” I tell him. “And refills are free! You can help yourself. Right next to the cream and milk.”

I don’t know why I was hoping that might brighten his mood, but it definitely does not.

He snorts. “Figures.”

I don’t even know what he means by that, but I’m not about to ask. Apparently, I have sunk to exactly the depths of immorality he expects from the owner of a fancy-schmancy coffee shop.

I ring him up, trying not to look apologetic or defensive when I tell him the total. It’s clear from his expression he thinks it’s an exorbitant amount to pay. Thankfully, though, he seems sick enough of me by now not to bother arguing. He pulls a crumpled bill out of his pants pocket and slides it toward me, then waits in silence until I give him his change. With a loud harrumph, he stalks off without leaving so much as a penny as a tip. Of course.

My dissatisfied customer hobbles to the condiment bar and gingerly pours in a thin trickle of skim milk, as though a single drop too much might just poison him. Then, he shoots me one last disdainful look, and goes over to join the two perfectly pleasant old men I served a few minutes earlier, who are occupying a nice sunny table by the window.

I take in a deep breath and slowly let it out, then plaster my best customer-service smile on my face and turn to the next person in line. As much as I hate to admit it, I’m remarkably thin-skinned when it comes to interactions like this. But, as I remind myself for the hundredth time, it’s par for the course in customer service jobs. You knew what you were getting into when you opened the Golden Cup, Syd. So suck it up, buttercup.

And it’s true. When I opened up the first and only full-service coffee shop in Tanner Springs, I figured I’d have more than a few customers on a learning curve at first. If I had any customers at all, that is. Fortunately, I seem to have been correct that the residents of this small town would welcome a new place to congregate over good coffee and homemade pastries. My worst fear was that no one would ever come into the shop, and that I’d spend my days wistfully looking out the window, watching all the money I’ve invested in this place spiral the drain. Thankfully, that has not come to pass.

But opening this shop hasn’t been without its bumps in the road. And one of the downsides has been that some of my older clientele — Grumpy Kolache Guy, for example — is more used to diner coffee. And diner prices. They can be a little tough to please, to say the least.

I busy myself with my morning tasks and helping other customers, noting with some satisfaction that Grumpy Guy helps himself to refills on coffee not once, but twice. The sour expression never leaves his face, though. I’ll be surprised if he ever comes back to my shop again after today.

The thought doesn’t exactly fill me with sadness.

It’s a little after seven-thirty in the morning when, right on schedule, the morning rush begins. Every weekday, Monday through Friday, there’s a sudden onslaught from now until almost eight-thirty. A steady stream of humanity files through the front door of the shop, each of them seeking to feed their caffeine and sugar addictions. There are professionally dressed adults hustling in on their way to work, and students on their way to high school before first bell. Many of them I recognize by now, and I do my best to remember details from past conversations and ask after their families. They seem to appreciate the attention, and I know the routine of our little morning chats is one of the reasons they’ll keep coming back for more.

I work as quickly as I can, making sure the line doesn’t get too long. Business has definitely been picking up in the last few weeks, and it’s getting harder for me to handle the morning rush by myself. I’ve been putting off hiring someone to help me out in the mornings, even though at this point, I can probably just about afford it. Truth be told, I sort of like the rush-rush of working these mornings by myself. It makes me feel like Superwoman to handle it all without getting in the weeds.

I’m feverishly steaming milk for an order of espresso drinks when the bell to the shop sounds. I look up to see the familiar figure of my only employee, Hailey, walking in.

“Hey, what are you doing here?” I ask her as she slips behind the counter. “Your shift isn’t until this afternoon.”

“Math test,” she replies, pulling down a to-go cup. “I need the caffeine.”

Hailey helps herself to an iced latte while I’m serving other customers. “Also, I wanted to let you know I’m going to be a little late coming in today after school,” she explains in an annoyed voice. “My friend Melissa talked me into being on some stupid Senior Activities Committee.”

“No problem,” I say. “Just get here as soon as you can.”

She rolls her pale blue eyes and blows her dyed lilac-colored bangs out of her face. “Believe me, I will. You’re my excuse for cutting out of there as soon as possible.”

I laugh as I ring up a customer. “Why are you doing it, then, if you don’t want to?”

Hailey shrugs. “I don’t know. What can I say? I’m a giver.”

Just then, the phone rings. Shit. “Do you have time to grab that, Hailey?” I ask.

“Sure,” she says, picking up the receiver. “Golden Cup Coffee, this is Hailey…”

The line to be served is six deep now. This is the busiest I’ve ever been during a morning rush so far. It’s just a regular Friday morning, and I can’t think of any particular reason there should be so many people today. I feel a little buzz of elation at my success, but quickly squash it down because there are customers to attend to. I cast a worried glance at the pastry case. Already I’m running low on muffins, and I wonder whether I’ll need to start making more.

Hailey speaks a few more words into the phone and hangs up. The shop bell tinkles again as I straighten from retrieving a lemon poppyseed muffin from the case.

“Who was it?” I ask her.

She turns to answer me, but then her gaze shifts toward the door. Her eyes widen in surprise. “Holy cow,” she murmurs. “Who the hell is that?”