The grand opening of the Rainbow Café comes before we know it. By opening day, my hands and forearms look like a tie-dyed shirt straight out of the 1990s.

Turns out, making rainbow bagels is a lot harder than it sounds. Should be simple, a bagel plus food coloring. But when I taste-tested the very first rainbow bagel, it tasted like fucking dog ass. The dough was as chewy as gum and it tasted like a Chinese chemical factory.

It practically put Tess into a tailspin, and we pulled two all-nighters in a row getting the recipe right. She pulled it off, though.

And this Monday morning, the line for rainbow bagels runs out the door and down the sidewalk outside. Maple Ridge hasn't gotten this hyped since… well, since ever.

Tess works the register while Jason operates the boiler. That kid already proved his worth a dozen times over. Got the boilers unclogged and working again after we gummed them up with too much fucked-up dough, and saved us from having to call in the technicians and delay the opening.

I just do what needs to be done, and right now, that means bussing tables.

"I love a man who wears an apron," says a forty-something woman sitting with her friend. She cuts into her bagel with a fork and knife, and giggles at my get-up. "You single?" she asks. "Or got any friends?"

I chuckle, wiping down the table next to theirs for the next guest. "Sorry to disappoint, but I'm taken." I cringe inwardly. Hunter Thorne has never been a taken man. Definitely not a man to pretend he's taken.

"You're making some girl very happy, then," she says, flashing a smile at me.

"Flattered," I say. Small talk isn't my cup of tea. "That's my wife," I say, pointing toward Tess at the cash register.

"You mean you own this place?"

"Technically… half," I say. "Excuse me, ladies." I head to the back to wash dishes before I have to field any more questions from thirsty old MILFs.

* * *

By mid-afternoon, the initial rush of customers recedes and we finally get a chance to catch our breaths. A few customers sit at tables by the windows, enjoying the gentle sunlight streaming in through the window. Above our heads, carved bamboo fans swirl around, cooling the air. The shop has a very modern, warehouse feel to it. Normally I'd call it a hipster paradise, but since I technically own half of it, I can't help feeling a little proud of it.

"A hundred and forty-five customers," exclaims Tess. She flips through the receipts from the morning while I wipe down the espresso machine. In the back, I've got Jason on dish duty. "And we're all out of rainbow cream cheese."

"Told you that'd happen," I say, polishing the milk frother with a damp rag. "Five quarts goes damn fast." Not surprising, either, Shit's delicious. The bagels may be made with nasty-ass food coloring, but we make the rainbow cream cheese with M&Ms, and I just might've licked half a quart of it off my fingers single-handedly.

"I told you this would work out," I say, rinsing my rag in the bar sink next to the espresso machine.

Normally, Tess bristles at me when I'm right, but right now I don't think a nuclear winter could wipe that smile off her face. She's living her dream at last.

Jason shouts from the back that he's stepping out for five. I notice that the only customers in the shop are busy talking amongst themselves, so I step closer to Tess and slide a hand down her side, over the curves of her hips. I lean in and whisper in her ear, "That was a hell of a kiss the other day."

She draws in a sharp breath as my palm glides down her body, but she doesn't push me away. "I don't know what came over me—" she begins.

I shush her, quietly in her ear. "I want you," I whisper.

She tenses up. "You know what I think about that."

"Do I? I think you're just afraid of it."

"What would I be afraid of?"

"That it would mean something more than two friends making each other feel fucking amazing."

Before she replies, a group of six or eight hipster-looking college kids barges in the front door, setting off the door chime. Tess draws away from me, moving back to the register to keep the appearance of professionalism and propriety.

"How can I help you?" she says. I power on the espresso machine. These fucks just look like the pretentious coffee-drinking type.

The lead hipster, a long-haired, skinny-jeans doofus with a man-bun, orders first. "A triple-mocha caramel latte. With skim. And one of these fabulous new bagels."

"Fabulous new bagels," I mutter to myself in a high-pitched voice. I start making his drink as his hipster friends place their orders. I'm not a coffee guy—to say the least—but it's not exactly rocket science. A latte means with milk. Triple mocha, three shots of mocha syrup, one of caramel, and skim fucking milk. No fucking problem. Done and done.

After they've been served, the same hipster returns to the counter while Tess works in the back. I have my back turned to him, wiping down the espresso machine for the millionth time today. I know he's waiting for me but frankly, I don't feel like dealing with his shit right this minute, after he interrupted my moment with Tess.

But the fucker taps on the little metal bell sitting by the register. And he clears his throat.

I spin around. "What?" I can only take so much dealing with strangers in one morning before I become very grumpy.

"This coffee is… totally messed up," he says, looking down his nose at it.

I move closer to him from behind the counter, and I stink-eye him. "What do you mean, 'messed up?'"

He looks nervous and avoids eye contact with me. "It's like… it doesn't taste anything like what I usually get at Starbucks."

"That's because it's artisan," I say.

"Are you sure about that?"

"Don't question me."

Just then, Tess emerges from the back. "What's going on here?"

"The Cure is complaining about his coffee," I say.

"Well, what seems to be the matter?" she asks.

"Nothing," I grunt, before he can answer. "It's a great drink. I made it that way. Believe me, it's great."

"It's all sugar, and it's acidic," the guy says, and runs a hand over his man bun. I should slice that tumor off his head for him. Would be the best thing anybody ever did for the poor fuck.

"I'm sorry about that," says Tess, taking the cup from him. "I'll get you a new one."

"You know," I say to the hipster, "I don't think you know what you're talking about."

"Excuse me?"

"With that abomination on your head, you clearly have bad taste. So I don't see why I should take your criticism about my coffee."

"Hunter!" says Tess, slapping her palm against the counter. She's cute when she's mad. "You can't speak to customers like that!"

"Like what?" I say. "You could sell motor oil to these people as long as it comes with a flower drawn on top. Starbucks tastes the damn same as the coffee in MREs."

Tess looks distraught. "Please excuse him," she says to the hipster. "He can be… difficult."

"I think it's time for us to go," the guy says, and he returns to his table, which has been watching us all along. They get up and shuffle out the door.

I take off my apron, toss it on the counter, and go to the backroom to cool off. But Tess follows me.

"Damnit, Hunter. You just can't act like that. You're going to sabotage everything."

I grab a jar of pickles off the stock shelf, pop it open, and put a long spear in my mouth. I crunch it up. "I can't hear you."

"This isn't funny."

I tip the jar against my lips, drinking the pickle juice until the jar is dry.

"What are you doing?"

"Rebelling against authority."

"That much pickle juice will kill you!"

I grab a second jar, crack it open, and start to drink the brine before Tess grabs it out of my hands. "These are for sandwiches!"

"Sandwiches don't matter when you're dead."

"But you're not dead!"

"Well, I'm trying to kill myself here."

She shakes her head and stomps her foot, and a little cloud of flour puffs up from the kitchen floor. "You take things too far."

"I have to entertain myself somehow."

I can tell she's about to get borderline mad, and I groan. "Fine. I'm just messing with you."

"Maybe you should mess around less. I know this is a game for you, but it's not for me. This is my future. My livelihood."

I groan. This is a good reminder why I'm only cut out to be a killer SEAL, or to disappear to Alaska where I don't have to deal with people's shit. I just don't have the patience.

* * *

Later that afternoon, when Tess cools off and the shop empties out before our 5 p.m. closing time, a younger girl comes in by herself. She wears a headscarf, maybe Egyptian or Indian or some shit, and a very fluttery, flowing dress. In other words, a total hippie.

Tess and Jason are cleaning up in the back. I groan internally but manage to keep my shit together on the outside. I'm fucking positive she's going to want a coffee too and then ream me out when it doesn't live up to her exact expectations.

Instead, she gives me a look like she's sizing me up, and if I weren't the kind of man to give zero fucks, it might actually throw me.

"Can I help you?" I ask.

"A dozen rainbow bagels and a pint of rainbow cream cheese, please. To go." She smiles sweetly at me, and she seems to have an old soul. Her voice is fluttery as fuck. It sounds the way she looks.

"I don't have a dozen left. And I don't have a full pint of cream cheese."

"Could you make some more, maybe?'

"Listen, woman," I start, but she interrupts.

"Referring to me as 'woman' is sexist."

Ah, geez. One of those. I'm about to open my big fat mouth again, but if I piss off any more customers, the chances of me getting laid with Tess are going to drop to damn near zero. I pull myself back from the brink.

I call in someone else to deal with this. "Jason," I bark, and the girl blinks with surprise as my voice booms out. "Get in here."

He comes out from the back a minute later. He looks at the girl, and his gaze drops to the floor before he acknowledges me.

"Kid," I say, "this girl needs a dozen and a pint. Can you make that happen in the next twenty minutes?"

He grins awkwardly and stuffs his hands in his pockets. The girl blinks and smiles at him. "I, uh…"

"Spit it out," I say.

"Yeah. I'll do that for you," he says to the girl, but I notice he still doesn't make eye contact with her. "I don't mind doing it for you."

I chuckle and stoke my chin. "Somebody's got a crush," I say.

Both Jason and the girl blush.

"What's your name?" I ask her.

"Crystal."

"Well, Crystal, Jason here is going to make you your bagels and cream cheese. And maybe you should give him your number. He's not as dumb as he looks."

There's an awkward silence. "Just joking," I say. "Nobody's as dumb as he looks."

The ice is broken, and everyone laughs. "Seriously," I say. "You look like you'd go well together. So… do something."

Crystal smiles at Jason. "Wait here," I tell the girl. I follow Jason into the back.

"Kid, why the hell are you acting like a pussy around the girl?"

"She's really pretty," he says, loading a big ball of dough into the hopper.

"Didn't you ever learn how to talk to women?"

"I guess not."

I shake my head. "I'm gonna have to do something with you."

"It's fine," he says. "They never seem to be interested in me."

"That's 'cause you dress like a slob and you spend more time looking at your own feet than in their damn eyes."

"I'm just shy."

"Kid," I say, "I'm going to fix your fucking wagon. Make those damn bagels and get her number. We'll talk about this later."