Chapter 8
Sabrina
I arrive fifteen minutes before my eight a.m. shift is scheduled to begin at Bean & Nugget and use the spare time to sit in the backseat of my car with Jitter and check my text messages while I finish the travel mug of coffee I brought along.
Nothing from Emma. For once, I don’t know what to say to start a conversation.
If she’d broken up with anyone else, under any other circumstances, I would’ve camped out at her house with wine and chocolate and sourdough from the bakery at the other end of Main Street. Laney would’ve been there with a custom dartboard printed with Emma’s new ex’s face.
Instead, I’m staring at a text from Laney telling me that Emma’s back and camping out at Theo’s old place on their dad’s property just outside of town, and that she’s requested that she not have company.
Any company.
Or that anyone else is told where she is.
Laney adds that it’s because she’s feeling super vulnerable after being the subject of a massive viral video at such a horrible time, but naturally, paranoia, guilt, and anxiety make me wonder if that’s all it is.
And how much she might blame me for the video having to happen at all.
I’d still bring wine and chocolates and bread, even if she wanted to yell at me and cry, if it meant we could work it out.
I move on to the next text message thread.
I need something else to concentrate on if I’m going to successfully get through today.
The Mercedes isn’t in the parking lot, but that means virtually nothing considering I watched Zen take it out solo last evening after we had all retreated to our respective townhomes.
Decker apparently hasn’t slept since we all left Silver Horn early last evening. I have a string of texts from him at various intervals all night indicating he was diving deep into everything he could find on Greyson Cartwright.
Decker probably does have writer’s block if that’s what he was doing all night.
Poor guy. I should send him some Writer’s Tears whiskey.
But his brothers have likely beat me to it.
During his all-nighter, he dug up some new information.
Like that Grey’s divorced, and it was ugly.
Accusations of cheating on both sides. Arguments over who broke which part of the prenup. A whole series of videos his ex-wife posted on social media about how to love a man who ignores you regularly. Grey’s sister going public, taking her sister-in-law’s side and calling him cold and uncaring.
Grey’s public defense going radio silent after that.
Cold and uncaring sticks with me.
That doesn’t jive with the man I met in Hawaii.
The man I met in Hawaii was funny and kind and all-in with doing good deeds with me.
And then there was an utterly killer text in the string of texts from Decker. Look at this dog. He had a dog. It’s fucking adorable. And his ex got it in the divorce. I’d be a cranky-ass bastard too if someone took this dog from me .
I clicked the last link to Instagram and instantly wished I hadn’t.
It’s a picture of Grey in sweatpants, jogging on a path with the most adorable chocolate lab, his tongue hanging out crooked, his legs all akimbo while he ran too, looking like a total goofball who would be so easy to love.
The dog, I mean.
Grey just looks hot .
The fucking nerve . I prefer men that I’ve slept with who are now unexpectedly my boss—which has never happened and I hope will never happen again—aren’t hot when I’m remembering that they were kind and funny and generous while I’m simultaneously being told there is a story behind his divorce.
But the biggest kicker?
The dog’s name.
Duke.
He told me his name was his dog’s name .
And now my heart is melting a little more.
My phone lights up with a text as I’m staring at the picture.
Final thing , Decker says. Turns out Grandpa was at Carnegie Mellon the same time as both of GC’s grandparents.
Guess Chandler and GC were both legacy admissions.
Wonder if they knew that? And now I’m off to boycott all cereal and crackers that use the magic self-sealing bags.
And to nap so I can write some words later.
I wish him luck and thank him for the info, then check the messages from Lucky.
Didn’t expect much, and that’s what I get.
It’s just three GIFs of people falling asleep along with a message that he’d ask around his friend circle to see if anyone’s up on the gossip once he’s had enough rest to fully process the information he’s getting, and also that he’s pissed we went to Silver Horn without him.
And now I’m done with my text messages, and I have exactly one minute and thirty seconds to walk through the back door.
Time to get to it.
“C’mon, Jitter,” I say. “Let’s go shake it out and get inside.”
Yes, he should go to doggy daycare.
Yes, I’m shamelessly using him to continue winning over Zen and Grey.
No, I won’t apologize for it. Not when my family’s café is on the line.
My pup whines with excitement while we get out of the car, shakes himself off, does his business, and gets it all done in time for me to get to work right on time, down to the second.
I’m bracing myself as I go in through the back entrance, prepared for whatever today might throw at me, when I spot Zen where I’m half expecting their uncle to be standing.
If Zen’s here and the car is not, I assume Mr. Mood Swing is also absent.
“Morning,” they say, sliding a glance at Jitter. “Can you work the counter today?”
“I’d love to, but I can’t,” I chirp happily while I steer Jitter to his house, and honestly, I’m annoying myself here.
I hate being fake happy. “I have this gossip problem that I’m trying to give up to make me a better employee, and if I work up front, people will tell me things, and then I’ll repeat them, and it’ll cause the equivalent of an international crisis here in the Tooth.
But I have a little welcome to Snaggletooth Creek present for the boss-man. He around?”
There’s a long, suspicious pause before an even longer, more suspicious, “No.”
“It’s actually from Jitter. He feels terrible for being too forward about making friends and drooling all over Mr. Cartwright’s coat last night.
Can I leave this on the desk for him?” I hold up a small stuffed pillow with Jitter’s face on it— thank you, Laney —that I’ve attached a dry-cleaning gift certificate to with a red bow.
And I thought their first suspicious pause was long.
Rightfully so.
We both know it wasn’t my or Jitter’s fault that the man tumbled head over teacups in the parking lot last night.
We probably both know this is a bribe attempt to get back on his good side too.
And we both know I either had to pull some massive strings to get a present this perfect put together overnight, or that I randomly keep apology gifts on hand.
It’s the latter. Though sometimes it’s just a good deed gift.
Either way, I suspect Zen’s thinking this isn’t a very good gift at all, considering the man lost his dog to his ex-wife.
I’d be pretty upset if someone took Jitter from me at the end of a relationship, and I don’t know if I’d want reminders that other people have their adorable pets still.
“Sure,” Zen finally says, shooting another look at my dog that I interpret to mean I can’t wait until she’s not watching so I can love all over you because you’re adorable and perfect .
I smile so hard my cheeks and my eyeballs hurt. “Fantastic. Thank you! Are you a breakfast person? Anything you’d like me to whip up for you today?”
They squint at me, but instead of questioning me, they shake their head, politely decline food, and go back out front where I can hear Cedar and Willa helping customers.
Such a weird spot to be in.
I know Grey wants to destroy this place.
I suspect something happened between him and Chandler, but Zen doesn’t trust me enough yet for me to tease details out of them, and Grey was so poker-faced last night when I half apologized for ghosting him in Hawaii that I don’t think he’d tell me what he wants and why either.
And yes, it was only a half apology on purpose.
I wanted to see how he’d react and take it the rest of the way from there.
On the off chance he’d consider selling Bean & Nugget back to me—not that I can afford it on my own, but I have a massive community behind me and faith in myself—I need to not do anything to jeopardize my chances.
Anything more .
No more sleeping with him. No more flirting with him. No more hurting him. No more ghosting him.
Hence the present from Jitter.
And my continued cheerfulness.
The morning drags forever.
And ever.
And ever.
Zen checks on me occasionally, always with a look of I want to trust you because you have a cool dog but I don’t like people who hurt my uncle .
Willa and Cedar whisper questions when they walk by about why I’m still being a stubborn ass and insisting on hiding from people in the kitchen.
“This is where I fit best right now,” I tell them.
I got questions at Silver Horn last night too, and the only answer I’d give anyone was come in to Bean & Nugget tomorrow. Don’t give up on us just because we have new management. It’s still great .
No one will be able to tell Grey that I’m sabotaging him.
No one will be able to tell him I don’t want this place to succeed.
But also, hopefully no one tells him about Silver Horn, because now that we’re sharing a wall off-hours, I need the speakeasy to stay a secret.
I need the place I can go when I need to let my guard down. And with Laney and Theo in the throes of young love and Emma possibly never talking to me again, it’s the best I’ve got when it’s too late to bother Grandpa or my mom.
I’m scouring the grill controls with a toothbrush when I feel a presence behind me. Instead of turning, I start singing along with the radio.
“You are not that happy to be scrubbing a grill,” Zen says.
“I love this place. I’ll do anything to make it shine.”
“Even though it’s not yours anymore?”