Once the Wi-Fi was restored, the crackling energy of desperation calmed. She returned wearing a pair of yoga pants, sandals, and a T-shirt that said Coach Me with a purse beneath it. She avoided eye contact, which was fine.
Carefully, as I sipped water, I tried to assess exactly what was going on. Small-town mom-and-pop shops like this fit the same pattern time after time. Inherited businesses, usually. This girl—Bethany, if that apron was right—was likely the owner-operator. Out to prove herself in the big bad entrepreneurial world with a quaint place she probably wanted to make into a bed-and-breakfast.
Which was way more work than she likely anticipated.
Judging by the aesthetic, her father, uncle, or grandfather had gifted it to her, or owned it first. A picture on the wall of a fiftysomething man in jeans, a ragged shirt, and the exact same baseball cap she was wearing now showed an uncanny resemblance. He held a fish on the porch of this shop. Probably the first day it opened. Maybe he caught that fish in the reservoir behind here.
That meant she was probably in debt from a mortgage on the place. If there was better cash flow, the decorations wouldn’t suck so much, which meant she probably had little money coming in. In fact, I doubted she’d even thought of the decorations, which meant she was desperate.
Behind the register was a half-opened door, spilling light into a back room. Limited storage space meant their inventory moved quickly. She likely ran across the street to the grocery store for supplies often enough.
Chalkboard menu.
Smudged pastry display case.
A cash register from the eighties. Old enough to certainly be a pain.
The place looked more like an old antique store than a coffee shop. The only thing it had going for it was a chair in the back corner and an impressive assortment of coffee mugs on the wall.
A thrill zipped through me. I couldn’t have planned this better if I’d researched for months.
She deftly avoided meeting my eyes, aided by the bill of the hat she wore to keep her black hair out of her face. She puttered around behind the counter, attempting to right whatever mayhem the guy that had stalked out of here had left behind. Every now and then her gaze flickered my way and she paused, but I always acted engrossed in my screen.
It wasn’t a total lie, but I also didn’t hate watching her work. Most people underestimated how much actions revealed personality. Her disorganization spoke worlds.
She had no idea what she was doing here.
I typed away, relieved to finally have access to the outside world again. A week getting started with renovations of Grandpa’s cabin, while hiding from Mallory and her team, had been enough to make my skin crawl. Getting my hands dirty again felt good, but nothing felt better than Wi-Fi.
One thousand unread emails populated on my screen. Not my problem right now. Might be later, of course. But for now, I closed my eyes, drew in a deep breath, and let the feeling of freedom crawl through me. I navigated away from the inbox.
A text dinged on my phone just as a chat box popped up on the screen from a sales manager in Florida. Questions, questions, questions. They likely didn’t get my memo. Sorry, I replied. I’m on sabbatical for eight weeks. Direct all sales questions to José Martinez.
Thirty other unread text messages awaited me as well. I ignored all of them. An email at the top of my inbox grabbed my eye. The subject said: You’re going down, Mav.
Right below was another email from Mallory that said: Burn in Dante’s fiery inferno.
With a grin, I clicked it.
Mav,
Leave like this again, pig-face, and I will fire you instead of asking you to be my Chief Revenue Officer.
Only because you’re my brother-in-law, have a mind like a whiz, and can guarantee my sales force won’t fail am I allowing this little escapade to . . . wherever you are. Figure your life out, then come back to your promotion and the luxury of a higher pay grade.
I’ll give you the company Bentley, but only if you haggle me for it.
And I plan on telling your mother what you’ve done, you hog. You’ll burn if you don’t come back.
—Mallory
All my considerable control was the only thing that kept me from laughing.
Swine references aside, Mallory usually had a great deal of tact. Things must have been sufficiently bad after my unexpected leave of absence from her