Page 1 of The Coffee Bar on Camellia Court

1

Juno

Poppysashayingintotheshop in good spirits before dawn should have been a good omen.

Juno's day had, indeed, started out so well. Her signature cinnamon rolls and scones had baked to perfection, and she’d had time to make a double batch of syrup for her seasonal lavender honey lattes, which had been this summer's hit. Then Poppy had gotten to work a few minutes early for a change, looking put-together with a genuinely cheerful smile on her face. Five in the morning was tough for most people, but especially for teenagers and young adults. Juno empathized and showed the young woman a little extra grace, mainly because Poppy was an exceptional barista who worked hard to master the craft.

Juno traced her finger along the espresso machine's sleek curves. She'd never forget her first job as a barista fifteen years ago, serving lattes to high school friends in this very shop. Back then, she'd fallen in love with everything—the science of the roast, the chemistry of flavors, the art of the perfect foam.

Now she owned the place.

Then, right around nine AM, Alex Frampton's truck pulled into the small parking lot across the street at Tip-Top Talons. A nail salon, not a pet spa as its name might suggest. In spite of the unfortunate epithet, Sonya and her staff did a fair amount of business, especially during the summer tourist season. Many of Sonya's clients took advantage of Juno being just across the street and became Coffee Bar customers, too.

Tip-Top Talons was open long hours, and Juno appreciated Sonya's strong hands after her own twelve-hour days. The woman was chatty but sensitive to her clients' moods—never making Juno feel bad when she wasn't up for conversation. It was as close to tears as Juno ever came these days.

Today, however, it wasn't tears Juno was fighting back. Instead, she was doing everything she could to not let her gaze wander across the street to where Alex was constructing a small enclosure around the upgraded air conditioner Sonya had gotten installed last week. The unit was enormous and admittedly an eyesore, squatting in the middle of her front flower bed like an industrial wart. According to the heating and air company, however, that had been the best placement for it.

Juno was, of course, glad Sonya was doing something to camouflage the monstrosity. Tip-Top Talons had such a pretty porch bedecked with hanging fern baskets, and lush flowerbeds bordering a small lawn out front, and Juno's customers who sat at the tables in that window often commented on what a cute place it was.

But of all the contractors and handymen in town, did she have to hire Alex Frampton to do the work?

Alex. Big, blonde, and burnished, who wielded his hammer like it was an extension of his arm, his biceps bulging with each mighty swing, the muscles of his back and shoulders rippling beneath his tight t-shirt.

And then there was the woman who was sitting at one of Juno's coveted window tables, staring longingly out the window at him while she sipped on her enormous iced vanilla soy latte with caramel drizzle in the bottom, on the insides of the cup, and on top of the extra nondairy whipped cream, with ten pumps of vanilla syrup instead of the standard six, and an additional six pumps of toffee syrup.

She'd come from Tip-Top Talons, with her shiny long nails and the distinct essence of lacquer that emanated off her when she'd ordered her drink. She'd been sitting there for almost an hour, poring over a gossip magazine like it held the secrets of the ages, mooning over Alex, scrolling on her phone, and shooting dagger eyes at anyone else who so much as noticed Alex gleaming in the rays of sunshine shooting through the puffy clouds overhead.

It was almost like God, himself, felt compelled to shine a spotlight on one of his finest creations.

Juno huffed impatiently, wrung out the rag she'd been rinsing, and started vigorously wiping down the espresso machine. There was a lull in the mid-Saturday morning rush, and by the looks of the machine, it had gone like a workhorse for the last hour or so.

"Sonya's customers have a nice view today," Liz Needham commented dryly from where she sat at the counter, sipping on a large mug of black coffee. She had her back to the window, but Juno didn't have to guess what she was talking about. Or who.

"Yes, and I'm sure they appreciate it. Probably tipping good, too."

Liz chuckled and turned to watch Alex drive a post-hole digger into the soft garden soil. "I bet they are. You should think about putting a tip jar out, too. Or charge to rent a window seat."

The woman in the window must have sensed their attention, because she glared with open hostility in their direction.

"Sheesh, lady," Liz muttered, turning back to roll her eyes at Juno. "Do you know her?"

"She came in with him last Saturday," she said in a low voice. "Dolly. Uh, Payton."

Liz snorted, and in a loud whisper, asked, "Dolly Payton?"

Juno grinned and brought a carafe over to offer her a refill. "No, you nut," she said sotto voce. "Her name is Payton. But I had to use Dolly's name for association so I'd remember."

"A WOOT, I presume?"

"Well, she's not a townie." The locals, primarily living on the south shore, had witnessed dramatic changes to their quiet little town when a travel magazine featured Autumn Lake, calling it "a hidden gem vacation spot." The wild north shore had been cleared for the high-end Carpe Diem Resort, followed by the North Shore housing development with its own amenities catering to the wealthy seasonal residents.

The townies dubbed the tourists WOOTs, or wealthy-out-of-towners, although not everyone who vacationed at the lake booked accommodations at the resort or had a summer home in the North Shore development. There were also those who rented rooms or cottages from the townies, or brought their RVs and boat trailers to the Shady Shores Campground on the south shore. Juno wasn't sure which category Payton fell under, nor did she care to find out.

What she did know was that Payton was just another in Alex's long line of pretty summer flings. He only dated women he couldn't logistically commit to—summer lakers who'd be gone by fall. Some returned year after year, hoping to pick up where they'd left off, but it never happened. Instead, every summer brought a new conquest clutching his arm and basking in his unrelenting charm.

"Poor thing," Liz said, her thoughts obviously heading in the same direction as Juno's. "Looks like she's flown too close to the sun."

"Yeah. Another summer sizzler." Juno pretended to lick her finger and held it up in Payton's general direction. "Tsssss."

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