Chapter 4
Chapter Four
“Irene, coffee’s done,” Cyrus called from the storeroom.
Polly came trotting up to the front. “Oh, Lila, Lila!”
Lila took a deep breath, handed the customer his change, and turned to face the elderly woman. Polly looked frail but adorable, like a porcelain doll that had developed opinions. And she never stopped fidgeting.
“Yes, Polly?”
“Oh, Lila, Irene just made three new pots of coffee! Isn’t that wonderful? Light, medium, and dark.”
Lila pressed her hand to her temple and rubbed gently. “I told you, we have the coffee dispensers right here. You put the coffee into the filter, add hot water, and it brews by itself. You don’t need the percolators anymore.”
“Oh, but we’ve been making coffee this way for longer than we can remember.” Polly laughed, a bright, fluttery sound. “Besides, those machines look so complicated.”
“They’re not, I promise.” Lila mustered a smile. “In fact, I’m going to show you how to use them right now. Go get Irene, Wilfred, and Cyrus.”
“Oh! But Irene went through all that trouble, you know, and she’ll…” Polly twisted her hands.
“I’ll what?” Irene barked as she came up the hall, her voice like gravel in a coffee grinder. “What’s happened now?” She gave Lila a look that could sour cream.
Lila fought the urge to step back. She’d learned in a very short time that Irene was the loudest, bossiest, and most terrifying of the bunch. Polly was sweet. Irene was… a challenge. “Irene,” Lila began carefully, “I’m going to teach the four of you how to make coffee using the dispensers.”
“I already know how to make coffee,” Irene snapped. “Been makining it since before you were born. You can’t teach me anything!”
“Irene!” Polly gasped. “Listen to the girl!”
“Thank you, Polly,” Lila said through a tight smile. “And after coffee, we’ll move on to the espresso machine.”
“Oh, that thing,” Polly said, wringing her hands again. “It might be easier than that confounded cash register.”
“Confounded contraptions, all of them,” Irene groused, and marched down the hall.
“Irene, come back here!” Lila called after her.
“I’m getting the menfolk!” Irene shouted over her shoulder. “Come on, Lila wants to teach us something!”
“Oh dear,” Wilfred’s voice drifted from the storeroom.
Moments later, the entire crew shuffled up front, gathering around like schoolchildren caught in detention. Cyrus gave Lila an apologetic smile. “We’re sorry, Lila. I guess we’re all sort of set in our ways. This is turning out a little harder than we thought.”
Before she could reply, Paddy, Mary, Grandma, and Doc came in for their shift.
“Good, you’re all here,” Lila said, scanning the room.
Only one couple sat in the corner, chatting quietly.
Thank heaven. Who knew what might happen once she powered up the espresso machine?
“Now, everyone, gather round. We’re going to learn this.
If we’re going to survive the next few weeks, we have to be able to make every drink on the menu. ”
Paddy rubbed his hands together. “I’m all ready for it, lass. Fire away!”
“Thank you, Paddy,” Lila said, trying to sound confident. “All right, here’s how it works.”
She gestured to the machine like a magician about to reveal a trick.
“This,” she said solemnly, “is an espresso machine. It makes the base for most of our drinks. You start here—” she pointed to the grinder— “where you put in the beans. They grind down and fall into the portafilter. That’s this little handle thing.
You tamp the grounds flat—lightly, mind you—and twist it into place under the group head. Then you press this button, and…”
She stopped.
Every face before her was blank.
Wilfred leaned forward slightly. “You said… filter, head, and… tamp?”
“Yes.”
Cyrus scratched his chin. “Sounds like engine parts.”
Mary whispered to Polly, “Did she say port-a-filter or part of filter?”
“I thought she said poor filter,” Polly whispered back. “Like it’s missing something.”
Irene folded her arms. “Why can’t we just pour hot water through the grounds like normal people?”
“Because that’s not espresso,” Lila said patiently. “This machine uses pressure to extract the flavor.”
“Pressure,” Wilfred repeated, frowning. “That sounds dangerous.”
“It’s not,” Lila said too quickly. “It’s perfectly safe. Watch…”
She demonstrated the steps again, slower this time. All while explaining the difference between steam, hot water, lattes, cappuccinos, milk foam and milk froth.
By the end of it, she felt like a kindergarten teacher describing rocket science to a room of bewildered squirrels. When she looked up, every one of them was staring at the machine with the same mystified awe one might reserve for a UFO.
Doc was the first to speak. “So, if I understand right, the hot water goes in the beans?”
Lila inhaled slowly. “No, through the beans. The ground beans.”
Polly frowned. “Like a ghost?”
“No, Polly. Not like a ghost.”
Irene sniffed. “Well, I still say my percolator never hissed at me.”
Lila took a deep breath and forced a smile. “We’ll… practice. Step by step. Now who wants to try?”
Paddy’s hand shot up. “I’ll give it a go.”
“Wonderful,” Lila said in relief. At least one of them was willing.
Lila stepped out back, shaking her head. The delivery truck was going to be here soon, but she needed some air. What had she gotten herself into? This group of octogenarians was near impossible to work with. How was she going to survive the next few weeks?
She sighed, leaned against the doorframe, and rubbed her temples. If she survived this, she’d deserve a medal, or at least a nap.
Naturally her brain picked that moment to conjure up him.
Tristan John Jones. TJ. She could still hear the British lilt in his voice when he’d asked if they served tea. And those eyes… steel-blue, sharp, with that old-world steadiness that made her forget what she was saying halfway through a sentence.
Tall, broad-shouldered, with a quiet kind of strength that didn’t need announcing. He had the look of a man who could fix a fence, rescue a kitten, and quote a sonnet before dinner. And those rolled-up sleeves revealing strong forearms hadn’t helped her concentration either.
She huffed a little laugh. Get a grip, Lila. You don’t have time for forearms. You have Irene, hot plates, and three gallons of scalded milk waiting for you.
Still, she couldn’t quite shake the memory of his grin the first time she saw him. But what did it matter? He’d probably already left town anyway. A man like that didn’t linger long in Clear Creek.
Lila pushed off the doorframe and drew a deep breath of cool air. Focus. Delivery truck, teach Grandma and the others, festival prep. There was no time for daydreams about a hot guy with a light British accent.
A scream interrupted her thoughts.
“Oh, good grief,” she muttered, racing back inside. “Now what?”
“Saints preserve us!” Paddy shouted, snatching up a towel. He waved it in front of him like a sword, managing only to knock the milk pitcher to the floor. It rolled away, clanking in lazy defiance.
The steam sputtered, died, and silence followed, broken only by the slow drip of foam sliding down the side of the machine.
Paddy straightened, covered in froth. He held up a mug half full of something beige. “Well,” he said proudly. “That’s what ye call a lat-tay, aye?”
Lila pressed two fingers to her temple. “Close enough.” She glanced at the corner where the couple had been sitting. Thank goodness they were gone.
Grandma poked her head into the hall from the storeroom. “I take it we’re not open for business yet?”
“Not until further notice,” Lila muttered. “All right, everyone, let’s regroup. The espresso machine is… a work in progress. Let’s try something simpler.”
Polly brightened. “Ooh! I can make one of those frozen drinks. What are they called again?”
“A frappe,” Lila said cautiously. “All right, Polly, give it a go. The blender’s right there.”
“Oh, wonderful!” Polly bustled to the counter and looked at the list of steps Lila had written out and taped to the cabinet near the blender. She hummed as she poured in ice, coffee, milk, and syrup.
Lila felt a flicker of hope. Maybe this will go smoothly.
Then came the roar of the blender…
…and the sudden whoosh of coffee spray arcing through the air like a caffeinated geyser.
Polly shrieked, ducking as the contents of the blender erupted upward, splattering the ceiling, the counter, and everyone within a three-foot radius.
“I forgot the lid!” she cried, horrified.
“Forgot?” Lila gaped, coffee dripping from her bangs.
Irene, wiped a streak of mocha off her cheek. “At least it smells nice.”
Paddy looked around at the carnage, foam on his collar, frappe on his shoes. “Well,” he said cheerfully. “Now that’s a frap-pay!”
Lila blinked slowly, then reached for the towel. “All right,” she said tightly. “Everyone. Step away from the appliances.”
The bell over the door jingled. Every head turned.
Tristan stood in the doorway, taking in the disaster.
Foam dripped from the espresso machine. A puddle of mocha was spreading across the floor.
Polly clutched the darn blender pitcher like evidence.
And Lila in the middle of it all, was streaked with coffee from head to toe. She blushed a deep red, mortified.
For one long, dreadful heartbeat, no one spoke.
Tristan arched an eyebrow. “Rough morning?”
Lila’s jaw worked before she managed, “We’re… fine. Just testing the limits of modern technology.”
He glanced at the wall, where a glob of frappe slid down and plopped onto the counter. “Seems you found the results.”
Behind her, Paddy puffed out his chest. “I made a lat-tay!”
“And I made a frap-pay,” Polly said smiling.
Tristan’s mouth twitched, the corners fighting a smile. “Impressive teamwork.”
Lila groaned softly and covered her face with the towel. “Please tell me you didn’t come for coffee.”
“I did,” he said, stepping over some of the mess. “But I’m thinking I’ll just have water.” He scanned the counter for something dry, spotted a roll of paper towels, and tore off a few sheets. Without a word, he started mopping up the worst of the spill.
Lila blinked, caught off guard. He wasn’t smirking or teasing… just helping. Competent. Calm. And entirely too close.
She knelt beside him, trying not to notice the slight scent of aftershave that somehow managed to cut through the heavy fog of espresso and steamed milk. Of course he would smell good in the middle of a disaster.
“Thanks,” she murmured.
“Least I can do,” he said. “Though I’m not sure I’m qualified for… this.” He gestured vaguely to the battlefield of coffee grounds and whipped foam.
“I’m not sure anyone is,” Lila admitted, reaching for another rag. “It’s like training feral cats.”
“I heard that,” Irene snapped from the other side of the counter.
Lila smiled. “See?”
Tristan chuckled, the sound low and rich enough to make her pulse trip. “You’re brave, I’ll give you that.”
“Or foolish.”
“Maybe both.”
For a moment, they worked in companionable silence, the chaos fading to the hum of the fridge and the soft scrape of towels on tile. Lila risked a glance at him, and their eyes met. His were warm, steady, and amused in that maddeningly unbothered way that made her stomach flip.
He handed her another towel. “Here. Might as well surrender gracefully.”
She huffed a laugh. “Gracefully went out the window when the blender started up.”
He grinned. “I liked the part where you all ducked.”
“Ha, ha,” she said with an eyeroll. He must have seen everything from outside. How long had he been standing out there?
“Seriously,” he said softly. “You’re doing great. It’s… kind of inspiring.”
Lila blinked at him, caught between disbelief and something dangerously close to flustered warmth. “Inspiring?”
He nodded. “Most people would’ve quit after the first explosion.”
“Most people haven’t met Irene,” Lila said dryly.
Tristan’s laugh came easy this time, bright enough to draw a glance from Polly, who whispered something about them “looking cute together.” Lila ignored her. Mostly.
When they finally straightened, the counter was a little cleaner. Unfortunately, her heart hadn’t quite decided whether to calm down. “Thanks again,” she said.
“Anytime,” he replied.
For the first time all morning, Lila didn’t feel like crying into a coffee filter.
She blew out a long breath, glancing around at the damp, caffeine-soaked battlefield that had once been Tilly’s tidy coffee shop.
“All right,” she said, mustering a smile.
“New rule. No one touches anything with a power cord until further notice.”
Irene sniffed. “Probably for the best.”
Polly raised her hand meekly. “Does that include the toaster?”
“Yes,” Lila said flatly.
Tristan chuckled, tossing his damp towel onto the counter. “I’ll bring my own thermos next time.”
“Do that.” Her cheeks flushed under his amused look.
He tipped his head, the corner of his mouth curving. “See you tomorrow, Coach.”
When the door shut behind him, Grandma ambled out from the back, hands on hips, and surveyed the carnage. “Well,” she said cheerfully, “I’d call that progress.”
“Progress?” Lila echoed.
“Sure,” Grandma said with a grin. “Nothing caught fire.”
The others nodded solemnly as if that were an impressive victory.
Lila laughed despite herself. “All right, team,” she said, rolling up her sleeves. “Let’s clean this place up before someone thinks we’re auditioning for a food fight.”
Grandma patted her shoulder. “You’ll do fine, dear. The trick with this crew is to start every day with prayer… and maybe a tarp.”
Lila groaned, but she was smiling now. Maybe—just maybe—she’d survive this after all.