Chapter 1
1107 Words
Charlie unlocked the coffee shop door and immediately spotted the mail scattered across the floor.
She scooped it up, flipping through the envelopes with practiced speed. No creditors.
“Bless,” she muttered.
By the time the smell of fresh-brewed coffee reached her brain, the staff started arriving, chairs scraping as tables were hauled outside. Morning light spilled across the pavement, bright and hopeful.
Right on cue, Lacey came rushing in.
“Sorry, Charlie!” she said, already smiling like the apology might rewind time.
Lacey was tall, pretty, and perpetually exhausted. Brown hair pulled back in a messy ponytail, hazel eyes dulled by too many late nights studying. Charlie had never quite figured out what the girl was studying—accounting, maybe, or human resources—but it was something sensible. Something that would lead to a future. Lacey was the kind of person who always landed on her feet.
Charlie smiled at her. “One day, you’re going to do my accounts for free. You owe me enough hours already. Go check on Gaz. I don’t smell beignets yet, and I’m going to need something stronger than coffee if the kitchen isn’t on time.”
“Yes, ma’am!” Lacey chuckled, throwing a mock salute before disappearing.
Charlie stepped outside and took a deep breath. The air was crisp, promising a beautiful day. For a moment, she believed it.
Her phone buzzed.
How did it go last night? —Mia
Charlie frowned. She was about to type what are you talking about? when Gaz shuffled out of the kitchen, face already flushed.
“Miss Charlie,” he said, wringing his hands. “I need a few more minutes. The oven is working against me today.”
Gaz was an Irish man well into his sixties, round in both face and stomach, and always red—whether from heat, stress, or simply existing, Charlie had never been sure. But he was a brilliant chef, and she trusted him with her life. Pastries, however, were not his strong suit.
“That’s because beignets are deep-fried, Gaz,” she said gently. “They don’t go in the oven. If they did, people wouldn’t love them nearly as much.”
His face darkened another shade. “Of course, Miss Charlie. I knew that. I just… I—”
She laughed. “If you get any redder, I’m going to use you as an oven and save on the electric bill. Come on. Let’s get the oil on, old man.”
Gaz followed her into the kitchen, head hanging low. Thankfully, he’d only ruined a few. The rest of the dough she’d prepared the night before was still perfect. Charlie cut it into squares and lowered them into the oil, the sweet smell instantly filling the space.
She smiled despite herself.
She loved this. The rhythm. The chaos. Her shop, her rules.
By the time she dusted the beignets with icing sugar and carried them out front, Gaz followed behind her with three dozen scones and a face only mildly pink now.
The first customers had already settled in. Lacey was busy at the coffee machine when Charlie approached the table.
Henry and Maude Harrison beamed up at her.
“Good morning, Mr. and Mrs. Harrison,” Charlie said sweetly.
“Oh, child,” Maude laughed, “how many times must we tell you? Call us by our names. We are not that old.”
“Of course,” Charlie replied. “Barely a day over forty. I apologize.”
Maude winked. Henry shook his head. “I’ve been dreaming of your coffee crumb cake all week. It’s the weekend. Today we eat dessert for breakfast.”
“On Monday,” Maude added, “we’ll think about our figures.”
“Coming right up,” Charlie said. “I’ll even add a scoop of our new chocolate ice cream. You’re an inspiration to younger”—she stressed the word—“people everywhere.”
She walked away smiling. The Harrisons were both over seventy and had clearly never said no to sugar in the last forty years. They’d been regulars since she opened the shop almost three years ago, and they felt like family.
When she returned with their plates, Henry closed his eyes after the first bite.
“Perfect,” he said softly.
Charlie took that as the highest compliment.
She retreated to the counter and started on paperwork just as her phone rang.
“Mia,” she answered.
“Are you dead?” Mia asked immediately.
“Only on the inside. Deep in my soul.”
Mia sniffed dramatically. “Here lies my friend Charlie. Ignorer of texts. Queen of my life.”
Charlie laughed. “I’m not ignoring you. I got stuck in the kitchen. The day started without my consent.”
“Fine,” Mia said. “But how was last night? I checked your location. You didn’t leave your house until this morning, and I assumed Jasper—Jacob? Jeremiah?—had murdered you.”
“Oh,” Charlie said. “Right.”
She had been supposed to go on a date. She’d canceled at the last minute.
“Joshua,” she corrected. “And no, we didn’t go. He wanted some fancy restaurant uptown. I didn’t feel like pretending to be a functioning adult.”
Mia laughed loudly. “Charlie!”
“I know. One day I’ll do big-people things and go to big-people restaurants.”
“But today is not the day!” they sang together.
“So what are you doing tonight?” Mia asked. “You cannot sit at home again, Charlene Charlaine.”
Charlie smiled. Mia knew better than to use her real name—Charlotte—but it still made her laugh.
“Finish work by four. Cry until six. Eat until seven. Sleep by eight-ish.”
“If Jared didn’t kill you, I will.”
“Joshua.”
“Javier,” Mia corrected. “I’m coming over at five. We’re crying together, then we’re getting over it. Then we’re getting sexy, putting on our big-girl panties, faking happiness, and drinking like sailors.”
Charlie exhaled slowly.
“Sure thing, Mia Chia. Bring your own tears. I’ll supply the panties.”
They hung up, but the heaviness lingered.
Her dream surfaced again. Come out, little girl.
Her palms started to sweat.
“Nope,” Charlie muttered. “Not today.”
She straightened her shoulders. “I’m a sexy sailor today.”
The coffee shop hummed around her—voices, laughter, warmth—and Charlie returned to her paperwork, humming softly along with it.
For now, that was enough.
- Writer
