Page 52 of Off the Wall

“I have no idea.”

“Hmm. I think you’ll like it.” She pours a healthy amount into the pitcher, then does something at the espresso machine that makes it hiss and spit.

“I actually do like the smell of coffee,” I admit. “I just don’t drink it. Kind of like gasoline.”

Nori sends me a smirk over her shoulder. “I’d bottle this scent and sell it if I could. Then I’d never have money problems again.”

My chest goes tight. Man, I wish I could help her more. Loaning Nori my bike was one thing. But she needs cash for her car repairs.

Heh.

Cash.

“As you can see, I’m tamping the grounds,” Nori narrates. “Then I’ll lock the portafilter into place.” She touches a button, and dark, velvety liquid streams out. “Black gold,” she announces.

I chuckle. “Youarestill talking about coffee, right?”

“Wait until I add the syrup.” She pumps two shots into the cup and tops it with the espresso. “We’ll also need milk.” As the steaming liquid froths up like a creamy cloud, she gives the pitcher a little swirl. “Gotta break up the bubbles.”

“Naturally.”

“Now for the moment of truth.” Her mouth quirks. “A steady hand is key. So pay attention.” She pours the milk in a slow stream, maneuvering the cup underneath it at the same time. When she finishes, she tops the drink off with some kind of dried herb. “A pinch of lavender,” she explains. Then she places the cup on the counter and slides it toward me. “One lavender latte. My specialty. I dare you to tell me it’s not delicious.”

I’ve seen countless pictures of coffee drinks with hearts in the middle, but Nori’s has a smiley face perfectly centered. Just like the one on her welcome mat. I look up at her and fake a cringe. “You won’t hate me if I don’t like it?”

“I won’t hate you.” She shrugs. “But I might just crash your bike.”

“Noted.” As I take a slow sip, Nori’s eyes do a little happy dance. That makes me happy too. I swallow. Bob my head. “Not bad.”

“Not bad?” She pretends to scoff.

“That’s a long way from how I felt about coffee five minutes ago.” I cock a brow. “And your smiley face is amazing.”

A grin breaks across her face. “I’ve only made about a million of these over the years.”

“How longhaveyou worked here, exactly?”

“Feels like forever.” She flicks her gaze over to Yvette, who’s busy at the register. “I started back in high school,” she says. “Then, after college, I tried my hand as a marketing manager for a small chain of bookstores. Book Smart. Have you heard of them?”

“Can’t say I have.”

“Anyway, that didn’t work out.”

“I’m sorry.” I study her face, looking for clues. I know all about careers that don’t turn out the way you expect. And I’m tempted to ask ifhersituation was difficult. Or disappointing. Or even heartbreaking. But I don’t.

Mostly because I’m not prepared to tell her about mine.

“Anyway,” she chirps, “I’m back here for good now.”

I take another sip of latte, trying to talk myself out of asking further questions, but I can’t help myself. I want to know more about her.

“Do you mean you’re back here in town for good? Or here at Serendipi-Tea specifically?”

“Both.” She leans over the counter and drops her voice. “I’m planning to buy this place.”

My eyes go wide, as I struggle to compute this new information. Nori Sinclair—who can barely afford car repairs—wants to buy an entire shop? “That’s … ambitious.”

“I’ve already got loan approval, there’s just a bit of a difference I have to make up. The bank calls it a shortfall.”

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