Chapter 1 #2
"That's great for Emily," I said carefully. I did remember Emily and we weren’t friends but my mom thought if we went to school together, we must be buddies.
"She's already got a job lined up at a sports medicine clinic. Starting salary is sixty-five thousand." Mom's tone was an impressed whisper. “Can you imagine that? Janet mentioned the program is still accepting applications for the fall semester.”
My throat tightened. "I'm not going back to school, Mom."
"We're not saying you have to," Mom quickly said. "We just want to make sure you've thought about your options."
"I have options. I have this." I gestured around the shop, at the exposed brick walls I'd helped paint, the menu board I'd designed, the place I'd poured three years of my existence into because the owners decided to take on a lost girl who needed a purpose.
“I might not be on the deed but this place feels like mine.”
“That’s delusional thinking, Willow,” my dad said, not even trying to soften his criticism. At least my mom tried to give me a pillow to land on. “If your name isn’t on the paperwork, none of this is yours.”
“I know that, Dad,” I grumbled, hating that he was such a stickler for the obvious. “I’m saying, it feels like mine because I put in a lot of sweat equity.”
“More like free labor,” my dad countered.
“Stop, you two,” Mom said, shooting my dad a quelling look. "But Willow, honey, you're twenty-three. Don't you want something more stable? A career with benefits and retirement and—"
"A future?" I finished for her. "You can say it."
“Well, yes.”
They looked at Brew & Bean and saw a phase, a detour, a mistake I was too stubborn to correct. They didn't see the way I'd learned to read customers, to remember orders, to create art in a cup. They didn't understand that this was the only thing I'd ever been good at that felt entirely mine.
Maybe I was hiding behind a perfectly frothy cappuccino but it was my choice to make and they needed to let me make it.
"I'm happy," I said, and hated how defensive I sounded.
“And I’m willing to bet you’d be happy — perhaps more so — being able to afford your bills without help.”
YEOUCH, DAD.
“I’m sure I would.” I couldn’t deny that they'd helped me with rent twice in the past year when the shop had slow months.
They'd co-signed my lease since my credit wasn't good enough on its own. My mom slipped me cash now and then without my dad knowing. Usually at the end of the month when I didn’t have enough left over to buy food.
My mom could sense that me and my dad were about to get into an uncomfortable conversation.
She looked to my dad, signaling that it was time to go.
“Well, we should let you get back to work," Mom said, standing and pulling me into another hug, though I was much stiffer this time around.
"Think about what we said, okay? There's no shame in changing direction. "
I watched them leave, my fake smile pasted on my face until it was painful. The minute their car left the parking lot, I spun on my heel and disappeared to the back room to collect myself.
Mika peeked her head into the storeroom closet where I was sitting on a Costco-sized package of toilet paper. “You good?”
“Not really. It’s time’s like these that I wished I smoked. I could use something to settle my nerves.”
“Smoking ages you,” she deadpanned. “Don’t go wasting that pretty privilege on dumb choices.”
I gave her a look. “I don’t need you piling on when my parents already dog-piled me.”
Immediately chastised, Mika apologized. “You’re right. Fuck them. It’s your life and it’s your right to live it how you want.”
I gave her a watery smile, feeling the need to defend them. “They mean well. Even if my dad’s delivery is shit.” I sighed. “They want me to go back to school. Become a physical therapist the way I was supposed to three years ago but I don’t want to be a physical therapist.”
“What do you want to be?”
“That’s the problem. I don’t know. All I know is that I don’t want to do that.”
Mika was quiet for a moment. “I don’t know why our parents always have to critique what their kids are doing. Sometimes they just need to butt out and let us live our lives. For what it’s worth, I think you’re doing amazing and you’ve brought a real vibe to the ‘Bean’.”
I appreciated her support but it wasn’t as if the coffee shop was a true livable wage and even that felt precarious when everything seemed on the verge of a break down.
“Amazing doesn't pay the bills when the espresso machine needs a two-thousand-dollar repair and the owners flinch every time I tell them another appliance broke.
" The response came out sharper than I intended. "Sorry. I'm just—"
“Privately freaking out over the parental visit?”
“Something like that.”
She squeezed my arm. "You're allowed to be good at this and still figuring things out. Your parents just need to give you some space to do that.”
I wanted to believe her. But the doubt had already wormed its way in, whispering all the things I tried not to think about.
That I'd dropped out of a good program since I couldn't handle the pressure.
That I was hiding behind coffee foam instead of facing real challenges.
That Devon had been right when he'd said I lacked ambition.
Ugh. Devon. Why the hell was I thinking of that douche-nozzle?
The bell chimed. I struggled to my feet and followed Mika back to the front.
But as I fixed my customer service smile on, my entire went cold.
Really, Universe? Is that necessary? Of all people, Devon walked through the door.
This was some serious bullshit.
He looked exactly the same—same artfully tousled blond hair, same confident stride, same expensive casual wear that screamed "I have a trust fund and a future." But there was a new addition: the woman on his arm.
She was polished in a way I'd never managed. Sleek dark hair, tailored blazer, effortless elegance that came from money and good breeding. She laughed at what Devon said, touching his arm with easy familiarity.
Devon's gaze swept the shop and landed on me. His smile widened.
"Willow. Wow, it's been—what, two years?"
“Um yeah, I guess.” I shrugged with the fakest of fake smiles. Like I’m tracking on a fucking calendar the last time I saw him? Give me a break.
"This is Vanessa. Vanessa, this is Willow. We used to date."
"Nice to meet you," Vanessa said with a smile that was an immediate sizing up. Her micro-expression was smug, immediately clocking that she felt secure in her superiority over me.
"You too." I bared my teeth in some kind of smile that was probably too wide and aggressive. "What can I get you?"
"Two lattes, please. Oat milk for Vanessa. She's into health and wellness." Devon leaned against the counter with the casual confidence of someone whose existence had gone exactly according to plan. "I heard through the grapevine you were working here. It’s cute. Very you.”
What does that mean?
"I manage this place, actually," I said, starting on their drinks with hands that wanted to shake.
"That's great! Really great. I mean, it's good to stay busy, right?" His tone dripped with condescension disguised as encouragement. "Vanessa and I just got engaged. I'm at my father's firm now—junior partner track. We're looking at houses in Peppermint Creek.”
Of course they were. Peppermint Creek was the newest McMansion subdivision where the people were just as ridiculous as the cars they drove.
Of course Devon had ascended to every milestone of traditional success while I was still figuring out how to afford both a gym membership and groceries for the month.
The man had always been an insufferable "humble brag" sort of guy.
"Congratulations," I managed.
"Thanks. It's been a wild ride, but everything's falling into place." He watched me pour milk, and I felt his assessment as a physical force. "You seem good, though. Comfortable. I'm sure it takes a lot of skill to do what you do."
The subtext was clear: a trained monkey could pour coffee.
"You'd be surprised," I said as I handed them their lattes with a smile that hurt my face. "That'll be twelve-fifty."
“A steal of a deal,” Devon said with a cheesy grin as he made a show of putting a dollar tip in the tip jar that somehow felt more insulting than if he'd just skipped the tip altogether, and guided Vanessa to a table by the window.
They sat close, heads bent together, the picture of young professional success.
I turned away and found Mika staring at me with wide eyes.
"Was that—"
"Yeah."
"The one who said you lacked ambition?"
"The very same."
"With his perfect fiancée and his perfect career trajectory?”
“Yep.”
“He looks like a Ken doll.” Mika made a face following by a disgusted noise. "I hate him."
“Valid.”
But it wasn’t Devon that was the problem. Devon had always been a smug, entitled prick, even when we were dating — which, cut me some slack, I’d been young and easily impressed by stupid things — and he was just remaining true to his personality.
The problem was me. I didn’t know what I was doing with my life and that was starting to create a burning pit of panic beneath my breastbone. Shouldn’t I have something as important as the direction of my life figured out by now?
The espresso machine hissed, and I gratefully returned my attention to the task of cajoling a cranky machine into pumping out more orders.
But if my gaze wandered to the man sitting by the window, it wasn’t to see if he caught any of that embarrassing display, it was simply to wonder why he hadn’t left for the office yet.
The man kept to a schedule.
Until today.