Anthony
The morning had been a blur of powdered sugar, red food coloring and adrenaline, but the real crisis hit at 8:00 AM when one of Dot's part-time helpers, a high school kid named Leo, texted to say he was stuck at home with the flu.
"I’ll do it," Myra said before I could even start to panic.
I blinked at her. She was already tied into a spare black apron, the strings cinched tight around her waist, accentuating the curve I spent too much time trying to ignore. "You? You haven't worked a counter in a decade, Myra. You have an audit to run."
"I grew up in this shop, Tony. I could run the espresso machine and the POS system in my sleep." She stepped behind the counter, her movements fluid and practiced. It was like watching a soldier pick up an old rifle; the muscle memory was still
