Ellery is a hot mess, and I don’t think she’s had a moment to breathe, much less check how she looks in the mirror.

It’s the cutest hot mess I’ve ever seen. Don’t get me started on this pair of jean shorts, a black half-apron tied around her waist, the bow practically a neon sign lighting the way to her unbelievable behind. Her ponytail is somehow off center, tendrils falling around her face. Her expression is how I’d picture it if she were rescued from rough seas after surviving a shipwreck. Pure, unadulterated joy.

For a second, and then she pulls it back. “Dash!” she says, her hands going to her hair. She stops herself inches before she touches it. “Oh, no, I’m good.”

Ellery has clearly entered a state of denial. “I don’t think so.”

“Who are you to say?” she says flippantly, and then remembers the customer at the front of the line, who is scarlet with anger. 

“I demand to speak to your—”

“I’m the manager,” I say, and Ellery snorts. “I’m so sorry about the wait, ma’am. It’s been an extremely busy day. What can we get for you?”

Her face changes when she looks at me. Thank God I wore my very best t-shirt this morning. I had no idea I’d have to use it to distract irate women from the disaster that is this coffee shop.

“A latte,” she says meekly.

Ellery whirls around, darting over to the handwashing sink while I stab at the cash register. “How do you—”

“Put in the price first,” she calls, scrubbing up. The price is in big numbers on the menu board. 

I give the woman the same smile I used to flirt with women in the club back in college. “What size, ma’am?”

“Medium,” she says breathlessly.

“Medium latte,” I repeat back. “Any flavoring?”

“Caramel,” she whispers. I read her lips. These people are making a racket in here.

“Three eighty-five,” I say, putting the numbers in. “Then what?”

“Money,” Ellery says it as she opens the front of the sanitizer and yanks out a frothing pitcher.

I keep smiling at the woman while she opens her purse, takes out her wallet, and hands over a five. “Out of five dollars,” I say.

“The big green button,” Ellery calls. She’s already got milk in the frothing pitcher and stands at the espresso machine, poised to steam it. I hit the big green button. The drawer flies open. Ellery starts the drink.

“One fifty back,” I tell the woman, putting it gently into her hand. Then I lower my voice. “Tips appreciated.”

With a trembling hand, she shoves the bill and coins into the stuffed tip jar. “Thank you,” she says, then slinks away to wait for her drink near the display case. It’s empty, but I imagine on a good day it has baked goods inside.

Ellery steps to my side, the to-go cup in her hand, and reaches for a top that she presses expertly on, making sure it’s solid all the way around. There is practically no room back here, between the front counter with the register and the back counter, and being this close has my heart racing. Among other things. 

She beams down the counter at the woman, then presses the to-go cup into my hand. “You’re closer,” she whispers.

“Got it.” I hand over the drink, but when I turn around, Ellery has taken up a position behind the register.

I step back over. “Do you want to run the register or make drinks?”

“Both,” she says, keeping her voice low, like mine. “This is my job.”

“You’re doing awesome,” I say, turning slightly away from the line of people. “Only it looks like a fucking disaster zone in here. Let me help out.”

“I’m not a damsel in distress,” she answers, but she looks back behind her at the jumble of frothing pitchers and blender parts and smoothie spills on the countertop. 

“No damsel in distress could dance like you.” Pink comes to her cheeks layered on top of the flush from how hot it is behind the counter. She opens her mouth to say something and then doesn’t. “But here’s the point. You need help. I’ve got time. Plus—” I cock my head toward the register. “I sort of already started. I can’t leave a job unfinished.”

Ellery looks at me for a long moment. “Who are you? Seriously. Is this one of those game shows? A skit show? One of those shows where they trick people?”

“Trick people into having a better time at work? That would be a great prank.”

“No, you’re—” Ellery laughs out loud. “You’re way too attractive to be doing this.”

“So are you.”

“Shut up.”

“Register or drinks?”

She takes a deep breath. “The register is slowing me down, big time. I’ve got to wash my hands every time I handle money, and—” No wonder there’s a little sheen of desperation in her eyes. Whose idea was this? The space might be limited, but there’s room enough for another person or two. At least someone to stand at the register and take orders. For now, that person needs to be me.

“I’ve got it,” I tell her as another couple steps up. The woman sighs heavily, crossing her arms. 

“You don’t have to do this,” Ellery says.

“I really do.”

“You don’t—”

I put a hand on her shoulder and turn her so that both of us are facing away from the customers. “Ellery. This is a dire situation. I’m stepping in.”

“Fine,” she hisses. “But if you do that, then you have to take me out to dinner.”

Excitement shivers along my spine. “This seems like a great deal for you and—”

“—a great deal for you, too.”

“Right.” I nod along. “These people are getting restless. Let’s get them their drinks and get them out of here. What do you say?”

Ellery nods, but then a frown crosses her face like a cloud coming over the sun. “About that—”