Page 3 of The Break-Up Pact

“I’m glad you’re here,” I say, the words coming out in an embarrassed rush. “I was going to drop by later. We’ve made enough now to pay back the last few months.”

Nancy’s smile is kind, but I know I’m in for it when she lowers her usual booming voice and says, “I appreciate that. I do. But I know most of that came from that whole incident with Griffin, and that kind of income isn’t sustainable. I’m still worried about renewing Tea Tide’s lease.”

I resist the urge to tear up. It’s business. It shouldn’t be personal. But in a town as small and tight-knit as Benson Beach, everything is personal. It’s why Nancy didn’t kick me out of this place six months ago when I started coming up short on rent—she knows what Tea Tide means to me. To the entire town. My older sister Annie was the one who opened it, and in the two years since her death, Tea Tide’s tiny shop front is the one concrete thing that makes it feel like she isn’t fully gone.

I stare at a little nick in the table. I love this place—not just for what it is, but what it could be. But every single day I wake up terrified that I’m failing it, and by extension, failing her.

“I thought we talked about shaking things up in here,” Nancy muses. “It just feels a little stuffy is all. Not like a boardwalk shop, you know?”

Of course I do. I’m the one who puts on Annie’s old Vitamin C String Quartet playlist every day and keeps up the beach-meets-Bridgerton vibe she so carefully curated, one tasteful light fixture and watercolor print at a time. It is a little jarring, maybe, coming off the sandy beach into a Jane Austen novel, but it was Annie’s vision, and I’ve done my best to stick with it.

Nancy sits up a little straighter. “Remember how people used to love those wild scones Annie came up with?”

My eyes cut to the SPECIAL OF THE DAY sign still sitting on the counter where I left it. I don’t just remember all those “wild scones”—the Cliff Jump, the Tornado Chaser, the Skinny Dipper. I lived them. That was my favorite way of staying in touch with Annie all those years I was backpacking with Griffin. I’d go on some harebrained, death-defying adventure, turn it into a scone creation, and Annie would bring it to life and somehow make them sell out every time.

Now that I’m not out having any adventures and Annie’s not here to talk to about them, the idea of keeping it up without her is just one more shift that feels wrong.

“I could try something like that,” I hedge. “Or add some rotating sandwiches to the high tea menu, or open up more slots for birthday parties.”

Only when Nancy starts shaking her head do I realize the scones weren’t a suggestion to help but a reminder that I didn’t take her up on it. “There’s only a month left on this lease, hon. I don’t think that’s enough time to turn things around.”

Shit. Okay. We are not having the usual “get your rent to me on time” conversation. We are having the full “I’m taking back this space because you never got your act together” death blow. All at once I feel like I’m floundering, treading in the same water I was before but somehow out of my depth.

“What if I fronted the first three months of rent? Like another deposit?” I ask, not even bothering to hide the desperation in my voice. “I can get that to you in a month.”

How, I’m not entirely sure, but that’s what Craigslist and extra kidneys are for.

After a moment, Nancy nods carefully. “I’ll consider it. But I’d like to see real changes around here. I’d like to see Tea Tide really embedded in the community. Maybe reach out to some other small business owners in the area, spin some ideas.” She tilts her chin at me. “If we do end up renewing this lease, I don’t want to be having this same conversation later.”

“Right. Of course.” I know better than to argue. I strongly suspect she’s already been cutting me a deal on the rent as it is. “Thank you. I won’t let you down.”

She reaches out and gives my arm a hearty pat. “We’ll talk again soon. Now go tell Sana she can put those scones back. I want a chocolate chip for the road.”

Chapter Two

As soon as Nancy is out of the shop I stand up from the table, taking a breath and shaking out my arms at my sides. We don’t close for another eight hours, so I’m going to have to reschedule the oncoming existential breakdown for 6:01 P.M. at the earliest.

“For what it’s worth,” says Sana sympathetically, “you have really nice feet. If you wanted me to take some pictures, split the profits seventy-thirty, I’m in.”

I let out a watery, appreciative laugh. “I’ll start with some PG-rated solutions and get back to you.”

Mateo walks over from the register where he charged himself for his tea, then leans in to give my shoulder a quick squeeze. “I have to head out, but we’ll brainstorm some ideas that don’t involve your appendages tonight.”

I don’t protest, but there’s no way I’m letting that happen. Tonight we’re meeting my little brother, Dylan, for some long-overdue planning for his and Mateo’s wedding. I might accidentally break just about everything else I touch lately, but this wedding is going to be a goddamn delight from the first chords of music as they walk down the aisle to the drunk 2 A.M. cake eating on the floor.

Sana eyes the back kitchen. “Would a strongly brewed Irish breakfast with some even stronger Irish cream help?”

Just then we hear a painfully loud ringtone blast from outside, clashing magnificently with the string version of “thank u, next” playing through our speakers. I whip my head toward the noise to find the freeloader staring at his phone and taking his sweet time deciding whether to answer his noisy call.

“No,” I say, “but dealing with the riffraff out there will.”

I march out of the shop with all the indignation a woman who just managed to carve a hole in rock bottom can possibly muster. I can practically feel the sparks on the tip of my tongue, ready to tear this baseball cap–wearing, coffee-guzzling, table-thieving jerk a new one.

I struggle to place him when I walk outside. Dressed in khaki shorts and a breezy blue button-down shirt against broad shoulders, his attention fully on his laptop screen, he seems too self-possessed to be in the university crowd, but not casual enough to be a tourist. Doesn’t matter, since he’s getting the same speech either way.

I tighten my apron to steel myself, taking a deep breath.

“Hey,” I say, tapping the empty chair next to him. “If you’re gonna mooch off the Wi-Fi all day, you better at least buy a scone.”

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