Chapter 12 Daniela
DANIELA
Bean There, Done That.
The name is ridiculous but weirdly perfect for a coffee shop. I follow Vinnie and Robin inside, expecting it to feel like every other chain café I’ve ever been in.
It’s not.
The smell hits first—fresh espresso, something spiced, maybe cinnamon or clove—and then the sound. The place hums, but not in a frantic kind of way. It’s warm. Lived in.
The walls are exposed brick, and the furniture is a mismatched mess of vintage leather, mid-century knockoffs, and one velvet armchair.
The menu is scribbled across a giant chalkboard in at least three different styles of handwriting. One corner reads, “Drink of the Week: Cardamom Honey Flat White (Yes, it’s weird. Try it anyway).”
We spot Juno right away. She looks just like her photo on the website—electric green highlights in her black hair, and she wears a crop top, fishnet leggings, and combat boots. Her eyes are buried under black eyeliner, and her lips are purple. Not soft violet or plum. Purple.
I checked out her paintings last night.
I only meant to scroll for a few minutes—just a quick glance through her website, a couple posts on Instagram—but an hour slipped past without me even noticing. Her work pulled me in like gravity. Her canvases aren’t flat. They breathe. They ripple and shift depending on how the light touches them.
So many moons. So many stars. Nebulas and solar flares and planets half-swallowed in shadow.
I kept revisiting one in particular—an eclipse painted in heavy layers, the darkness rich and deep, but edged in gold so vibrant it looks like it’s still burning.
Robin catches Juno’s eye and walks forward.
“Juno,” she says, holding out her hand. “I’m Robin Bernard. Great to meet you.”
Juno stands and takes Robin’s hand in both of hers. “Robin, hello. Thank you for the interview. I’m always open to talking about my work, especially with new publications.”
“Wonderful. Please meet my associates. This is Daniela Rodriguez and Vincent Smith.”
“Lovely to meet you both.” Juno shakes my hand and then Vinnie’s.
“We’re going to get some beverages.” Robin glances toward Juno’s mug. “Can we get you another?”
“That’s kind of you.” She darts her gaze to the chalkboard behind the front counter. “I’m dying to try that flat white thing, if you don’t mind.”
“Not at all. We’ll be right back.”
“Is this place for real?” Vinnie murmurs as we head toward the barista.
“I kind of like it,” Robin says.
“You don’t think it’s trying too hard?” I ask.
“Oh, absolutely.” She chuckles. “But that’s what’s perfect about it. It seems created for the outcasts of society. For those who go against the grain. Like Juno there.”
I nod. “Or my friend Lavender from culinary school. She has—seriously—light-purple hair. I guess she likes her name.”
“Or that’s not her real name,” Robin says. “Lots of young people these days are changing their given names.”
“May I help you?” the barista asks.
“Yeah. We’ll need a Cardamom Honey Flat White.”
“Size?” she asks.
“Uh…I don’t know. Venti?”
“That’s Starbucks.” She points to a board. “Those are our sizes.”
I look up along with Robin and Vinnie.
Coffee Cup Sizes: Been There, 8 oz; Done That, 12 oz; Seen Some Things, 16 oz; Spill the Beans, 20 oz
Seriously?
“Well,” Robin says. “I guess let’s do the Seen Some Things. And make that two. I’ll try it as well. What do you guys want?”
“Uh…black coffee,” Vinnie says.
“Which roast?” She points to another board littered in fanciful roast names. “Personally, I recommend the Crème de la Bean. It’s bright and lively, with a citrus twist. We highly recommend it to our customers who are big dreamers.”
Vinnie blinks. “Um… Okay. And what’s your dark roast?”
The barista widens her eyes. “Oh, you’ll want the Bitter End, then. It’s bold, intense, and deeply satisfying. For those who have been there, done that, and are back for more.”
Vinnie nods slowly, his entire body stiffened. “Then I’ll have that, and just give me the biggest size.”
“That would be Spill the Beans.” I nudge him.
He exhales sharply. “Yeah. Whatever.”
“And you?” the barista asks me.
“I’ll have”—I quickly peruse the board—"the Daily Grind roast, Done That size.”
“Perfect.” She taps onto her iPad. “I’ll need a name for these.”
“Robin.” Robin swipes her card and leaves a tip. “Thanks.”
We get back to the table and take our seats.
I give Juno a more assessing look. There’s a faint smear of gold paint on her wrist. She hasn’t noticed it. Or maybe she has and just doesn’t care.
Robin leans back in her chair. “So I have to tell you, Juno, that your work is inspiring. I’m not sure I’ve seen anything like it.”
“Thank you.” She smiles. “I like to think I have something unique to give.”
“You definitely do.” Robin smiles. “Let me in on your secret. How do you get your paintings to exude such perfect motion? I swear I couldn’t stop looking at that one piece on your site, Lunar Whisper. I moved my glance to the left and the whole nebula shifted.”
Juno smiles, her eyes sparkling. “It’s mica pigment. Crushed mineral powder. I layer it in resin with a dry brush, so depending on the angle, you see different textures and light.”
“That’s not just technique,” I say softly. “That’s magic.”
“I like the in-between moments,” she says. “Right before dusk, just after dawn. I want the paintings to feel like that—like they’re breathing.”
Robin exhales. “Okay, now I need to buy one. Or steal one. I’m not above crime for art.”
Juno laughs, the sound low and melodic. “You wouldn’t get far. My frames are made of reclaimed oak. Heavy as hell.”
“So why celestial bodies?” I ask.
Before she answers, the barista calls out, “Robin!”
“I’ll go.” Vinnie rises. He seems glad to be away from this conversation.
Juno shrugs. “I grew up in the mountains of Antioquia, a province of Colombia. I was ten years old when we left. Before that, the sky was everything. We didn’t have much, but I’d sit outside at night and make up constellations. Stories to match. My grandfather taught me to read the sky.”
Robin tilts her head. “Do you ever go back to Colombia?”
She shakes her head. “I miss some of it. But I miss parts of it in ways that don’t feel good. There was beauty. But also…danger.” She frowns. “We left because my mom said it was time. She never said why.”
Shocking, I think to myself. Does she know what her uncle is involved in? Her mother no doubt did.
“I think that’s why I paint space,” Juno adds, voice softer now. “There’s so much room up there. So much silence. And I get to decide what fills it.”
Something twists and settles in me at her words. Like I’ve just stepped into one of her canvases and let the dark surround me—not to be swallowed, but to be still. To listen.
Robin breaks the silence with a sigh. “I want to live in your head for a day. Just float around and watch stars be born.”
Juno smirks. “It’s crowded up there. But you’re welcome anytime.”
“You make the cosmos feel intimate,” I say. “Like I’m not just looking at stars. I’m looking at memory.”
Juno meets my eyes. “That’s the idea.”
“I’m from Colombia too,” I say.
“Really?” Juno tilts her head. “You don’t have an accent.”
“I learned English from an American au pair when I was learning Spanish at the same time, so I picked up an American accent. You don’t have an accent either.”
“I continually work at it,” Juno says. “But I’ve been here since I was ten. I can even manage a Texas twang sometimes.”
I smile. “Hawk has a little Texas twang.”
She cocks her head. “Hawk?”
Crap. Why did I say that? Hawk’s twang is barely noticeable most of the time.
I guess he’s just on my mind.
“My brother,” Robin says, staring at me.
“Oh?”
“Yeah, he’s a big fan of your work. That’s how I got introduced to you.”
“Oh. How nice.”
“So do you have any relatives still in Colombia?” I ask, desperate to change the subject.
Juno raises an eyebrow. “Why does that matter?”
“Oh.” I think quickly. “Just…I miss home sometimes. I know what it’s like to have part of your life rooted somewhere else, and another part rooted here.”
“Yes,” Robin agrees, “and for me to get to the true nature of you as an artist, we’d like to know what you left behind in Colombia, even if it was long ago. And even if it wasn’t all pretty.”
She frowns. “Well, I’ll spare you any grisly details. But my grandparents lived there until a few years ago when they both passed away. My parents, of course, live here in Texas.”
“Anyone else still in Colombia?” Robin asks.
She clears her throat. “I have an uncle. He’s a senator in the legislature. He does a lot of work for the poor and lower class.”
Right. He’s a corrupt politician at best and a rapist at worst.
“Do you see him often?” I ask, willing my voice not to tremble.
“Yeah, actually. He has a place in Austin, and I just had a visit with him last week.”
My heart jumps.
The gifts. The cryptic messages.
They must be coming from Hernando Reyes. It all lines up.
“It’s wonderful that you still see him often.” Robin smiles.
Man, for a veterinarian, she is one hell of an actress.
“It is,” she agrees. “He always showers me with gifts while I’m here. Last time he got me this.” She shows us the Rolex on her wrist.
Which seems oddly out of place with her general demeanor.
“It’s beautiful,” Robin says.
“Thanks. It’s not my style, really, but Uncle Nando is so generous.”
“He is,” I say, fighting back nausea.
Robin rises. “I think we can call it a wrap,” she says. “Thank you so much, Juno. I’ll get this written up as soon as possible.”
“When will the article be published?” Juno asks.
“That’s up to my editor-in-chief,” she says, “but he was excited about the interview, so I’m sure it will be sooner rather than later. I have your email, so we’ll let you know when it goes live.”
Right.
Sooner rather than later for a publication that doesn’t exist. Juno will be waiting for that email for quite some time.
Oh well.
Once Juno is gone, my phone buzzes.
It’s Hawk.
I move away from Robin to where Vinnie has taken a seat with his laptop.
“Hawk?”
“Yeah, it’s me.” His voice is breathy.
“Are you okay?”
“Yeah. I’m good. Where are you?”
“At this coffee shop with Vinnie and Robin in downtown Austin. It’s called Bean There, Done That.”
“Perfect,” Hawk says. “I’m not far from you. I’ll meet you there in ten minutes. We have to talk.”