Chapter 1
CHAPTER ONE
“Miss! Excuse me, MISS! Oi, you!”
The voice cuts through the Saturday morning chaos like nails on a chalkboard. I don’t look up from the coffee machine where I’m crafting what will hopefully be the perfect flat white. The customer can bloody well wait his turn like everyone else.
“Sir, I’ve asked you politely three times to wait your turn. I’ll be with you in a moment.”
“No, you need to serve me NOW!”
His voice rises to a level that makes several customers turn and stare. I can feel my patience, which was already hanging by a thread thanks to Bree calling in sick this morning, finally start to fray.
It’s a typical Saturday at The Enchanted Bean—freaking mental. The weekend crowd is a special breed of demanding, and being here solo until Emily arrives is like trying to perform surgery with a rusty butter knife. Possible, but bloody frustrating.
“I said I’d be with you in a moment. I’m just finishing this order.” I keep my voice level, professional, even though what I really want to do is tell this entitled prick exactly where he can shove his impatience.
He scoffs—actually scoffs—and stands there tapping his manicured fingers on the counter like he’s playing some sort of annoying percussion solo. The sound is making my eye twitch.
“Order for Arden!” I call out, sliding the coffee across the counter with a smile for the customer who knows how to behave like a civilised human being.
Arden—one of our regulars—collects his drink with a nod of thanks and settles into his usual corner table. Now for Mr. Personality Disorder.
“Hello, sir. Welcome to The Enchanted Bean. How can I help you?” The words come out with my best customer service smile, though I can’t quite keep the edge out of my voice.
This bloke has been standing here acting like his coffee emergency is more important than everyone else’s, and frankly, I’m done with his attitude.
“I’d like a cappuccino with no foam, please. Oat milk.”
I blink at him. “So, you want a flat white?”
“No,” he says slowly, like I’m intellectually challenged. “I want a cappuccino with no foam.”
“Right. That’s called a flat white, sir.”
His face starts turning an interesting shade of red. “Do you even know what you’re doing?”
That’s it. The last thread of my patience just snapped.
“Yes, I absolutely know what I’m doing. I’ve been making coffee longer than you’ve been able to drive, and a cappuccino without foam is, by definition, a flat white.”
“No, it is NOT. It’s a cappuccino without foam!”
“Listen, sir?—”
“You have no fucking idea what you’re talking about! Just make my goddamn coffee!”
The coffee shop goes dead quiet. Even the espresso machine seems to pause in shock. Every customer in the place is staring at us now, and I can feel something dark and satisfying unfurl in my chest.
Game time.
“Right.” I place both hands on the counter and lean forward slightly.
“Listen here, you entitled tosser. I am not taking your order, I am not serving you coffee, and I am sure as hell not making you anything. You are no longer welcome at The Enchanted Bean. The door is right behind you—I suggest you use it before I help you find it.”
“You can’t talk to me like that! I’m a paying customer!”
“Actually, you’re not, because I’m not serving you.” I point to the sign next to the register. “See that? ‘We reserve the right to refuse service to anyone who disrespects our staff.’ Congratulations, you’ve just won yourself a permanent ban.”
He looks at the sign, then back at me, puffing up like an angry rooster. For a moment, I think he might try to start something, but the coffee shop is full of university students who look like they’d be more than happy to escort him out.
“I’m leaving a scathing review about this place!”
I laugh. Out loud. “Oh no, what will we ever do? Your one-star tantrum versus our hundreds of five-star reviews? However will we survive?”
“You haven’t heard the last of this! I’m calling your manager!”
“Brilliant idea. I’ll make sure to tell her all about your charming personality and your groundbreaking cappuccino theory. Oh, and smile for the security camera—we’re thinking of starting a wall of shame.”
“You can’t do that!”
“Watch me.” I tap my foot impatiently. “Now, are you leaving voluntarily, or do I need to ask these lovely customers to help you find the exit?”
He snatches his phone off the counter with a huff that would make a bull jealous, storms toward the door, and slams it hard enough to rattle the windows.
The entire coffee shop erupts in applause and cheers. I take a theatrical bow, grinning despite myself.
“Thank you, thank you. I’m here all week.” I straighten up and clap my hands together. “Right then, who’s actually ready to order some coffee?”
The next twenty minutes fly by in a blur of appreciative customers and much better vibes. When Emily finally arrives, looking slightly panicked, I fill her in on the morning’s entertainment.
“You told him to leave?” She’s trying not to laugh and failing spectacularly.
“In slightly more colourful terms, yes.”
“I wish I’d been here to see it. Though honestly, you handled that better than I would have.”
“Oh yeah? What would you have done?”
“Probably thrown something at his head. Maybe the tip jar. It’s got a good weight to it.”
This is exactly why I love working here.
Emily isn’t just my boss—she became my friend the moment I started working here over four years ago.
She treats this place like what it is: a community hub, not a corporate machine.
She trusts me to run things when she’s not here, and she’s got my back when customers get out of line.
“Stella?”
I look up to see Arden approaching the counter.
I know him by sight—he’s in here almost every day during semester, always ordering the same thing: skinny latte, extra hot, no sugar.
He’s got that effortlessly wealthy look going on—perfectly styled hair, crisp clothes, and today’s bow tie is a particularly snappy shade of navy.
I’ve seen him around campus and noticed he usually has some gorgeous woman with him who I’m pretty sure is his wife.
“Yeah, what’s up?” I move to meet him at the side of the counter.
“Mind if I have a word?”
I glance at Emily, who waves me away. “Go on, take a break. You’ve earned it after that performance.”
Arden and I settle at one of the small tables by the window. He’s got this amused expression that makes me slightly nervous.
“That was bloody magnificent,” he says, grinning.
“What was?”
“The way you handled Captain Cappuccino over there. I’ve never seen anyone get ejected from a coffee shop with such style.”
I shrug, though I’m secretly pleased with myself. “You deal with enough dickheads in hospitality, you learn how to handle them. The four dollars he might have spent isn’t worth ruining everyone else’s morning. Sometimes you’ve got to choose your battles.”
“Exactly my point.” He leans forward, suddenly looking more serious. “Any chance you’re looking for a change of scenery? Jobwise, I mean.”
That catches me off guard. I’ve been working at The Enchanted Bean since I started uni, and while it’s only part-time, it covers my rent and keeps me fed. Though I’ll admit, extra cash wouldn’t go astray, my poor Corolla is held together with duct tape and zip ties.
“I’m pretty happy here,” I say carefully.
“I’m sure you are. But what if I told you about something part-time that might interest you? Something that would let you keep this job too?”
“I’m listening.”
“What did you study at uni?”
“Business administration.” I graduated six months ago and have been floating ever since, not sure what I want to do with my life. The coffee shop is comfortable, familiar. Sometimes that’s enough.
“Perfect. See, I own a few businesses around town, and one of them is in desperate need of someone who can wrangle chaos into order. Someone who won’t take shit from difficult people.” He gestures toward where the cappuccino disaster occurred. “Someone exactly like you.”
My curiosity is piqued now. “What kind of business?”
“Doc’s Auto Restoration.”
The bottom drops out of my stomach.
“Oh.” The word comes out flat, deflated. “That’s... that might be a problem.”
Arden’s eyebrows shoot up. “What kind of problem?”
I take a deep breath. This is not a conversation I enjoy having.
“Doc’s my uncle. We haven’t spoken in six years.
He cut me out of his life after my mum died—his sister—and he’s literally the only family I have left.
My dad pissed off when I was little, so when Mum passed and Doc went radio silent.
..” I shrug, trying to look like it doesn’t still hurt.
“Let’s just say I’m not his biggest fan. ”
“Shit, Stella. I’m sorry. I had no idea.”
“It’s fine. Well, it’s not fine, but it is what it is. Family’s supposed to show up for each other, especially during the worst times. He didn’t. End of story.”
Arden looks genuinely sympathetic. “I get it. Family stuff is complicated. But here’s the thing—Doc retired about a year ago.
I bought the business from him. He still comes around occasionally for consultation on specific projects, but day-to-day operations are run by my best mate Chase and the other mechanics.
I’m more of a silent partner who pays the bills and tries to keep things profitable. ”
I process this information slowly. “Doc retired? I thought he’d die with a spanner in his hand.”
“Apparently not. Look, I can guarantee that if you take this job, you’ll never have to see him. If he needs to come in for anything, we’ll schedule it for days you’re not there. That’s a promise.”
The idea is tempting. I did spend a lot of time at the workshop before Mum died, and I know quite a bit about how the business runs. Or used to run, anyway.
“What exactly would I be doing?”
“Admin stuff, basically. Invoicing, scheduling, dealing with suppliers, keeping the guys organised. The thing is, we’ve been through three receptionists in as many months.
They all quit, claiming the mechanics are ‘impossible to work with’ and ‘complete animals.’” He makes air quotes.
“Which is partially true, but they’re good guys.
They just have a particular sense of humour, and they don’t suffer fools gladly. ”
“So you need someone who can give as good as they get?”
“Exactly. Someone who won’t run crying when Jake makes an inappropriate joke or José starts an argument about football. Someone who can organise the chaos and maybe knock some heads together when necessary.”
I’m interested now. “What are we talking about, hours-wise?”
“Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday afternoons—after you finish here—and all-day Thursday and Friday. No weekends.”
That could work perfectly. I’d still have my morning shifts here, plus two full days off when I don’t pick up a Saturday shift here.
“And the pay?”
Arden grins like he’s about to tell me I’ve won the lottery. “Forty-five dollars an hour.”
I nearly fall off my chair. “I’m sorry, what?”
“Forty-five an hour. I know it sounds like a lot, but I’m desperate, and I’m hoping the money will encourage you to stick around longer than the others.”
My brain is doing rapid calculations. Five hours three afternoons a week, plus two full days... that’s about thirty-five hours at forty-five dollars an hour. Holy shit, that’s over fifteen hundred dollars a week. I could have a new car within months.
“Is the work actually that difficult?”
His expression turns slightly sheepish. “Well, I won’t lie to you.
The office is currently a disaster zone.
The last girl apparently didn’t believe in filing systems or paying bills.
There are invoices that haven’t been sent out, suppliers who haven’t been paid, and the appointment book looks like it was organised by a drunk toddler.
It’s going to take some serious work to get things back on track. ”
“But you think I can handle it?”
“After watching you handle Captain Cappuccino. I think you could handle anything.”
I consider it for about thirty seconds before my practical side wins out. “Alright. I’m in.”
“Seriously? Just like that?”
“Just like that. When do I start?”
“Monday afternoon? I know it’s short notice, but?—”
“Monday’s perfect.” I’m already mentally planning how to break this to Emily.
Arden looks like I’ve just told him Christmas has come early. “Stella, you have no idea how much stress you’ve just taken off my shoulders.”
He pulls out his wallet and hands me a business card. “Text me your email and I’ll send over all the contract details. When you get to the workshop on Monday, just ask for Chase. He’ll be expecting you.”
“Chase. Got it.”
“And Stella?” He pauses as he stands to leave. “Thank you. I have a feeling you’re exactly what that place needs.”
After he leaves, I practically float back to the counter where Emily is pretending not to eavesdrop.
“So,” she says, not bothering to hide her grin. “Good news or life-changing news?”
“Possibly life-changing news. I just got offered a second job.”
“What kind of job pays enough to make you look like you’ve won the lottery?”
I tell her everything, and her excitement is infectious.
“Stella, this is amazing! It sounds like the perfect opportunity.”
“You’re not worried about me cutting back my hours here?”
“Are you kidding? I’m thrilled for you. Besides, you know you can always come back if it doesn’t work out. This place will always be here for you.”
As I finish my shift and head home in my protesting Corolla, I can’t stop grinning. In two days, I’ll be walking into Doc’s workshop for the first time in six years. I’ll be managing a bunch of mechanics who apparently eat receptionists for breakfast.
Honestly? After this morning’s performance with the cappuccino catastrophe, I’m looking forward to it.
Bring on the challenge.