Page 11 of Novel Problems

Feeling more confident, I banged the portafilter against the garbage bin to empty it, refilled it with beans, and smoothly twisted it into the espresso machine. As the golden coffee flowed into the cup waiting underneath, I filled the pitcher full of milk, put it under the steam wand and turned it on. An unpleasant screeching noise made me jump. “Oh god, it sounds like I’m murdering a cat. What am I doing wrong?”

George chuckled. “The steam wand is too low in the pitcher. You need to keep it just under the surface, lowering the pitcher as the milk expands,” George explained patiently.

I lowered the pitcher down. “Shit!” I yelped as milk bubbled up, splattering Hugo’s side. I turned off the steam. “Sorry, Hugo!”

“So you overcompensated a little too much.” George grinned. “Do you mind if I give you a hand?”

I nodded, and she stepped closer to me, so we were almost touching, and wrapped her fingers around the pitcher. Her hand brushed mine for asecond as she adjusted her grip, leaving a warm imprint that expanded over my skin.

With her other hand, she turned on the steam wand again. “So, instead of holding the pitcher by the handle, if you hold it like this, you can feel when the milk is heating up. See how the milk is expanding?” I nodded again, trying to focus on the milk swirling in front of me and not how close George was standing to me. “So now we’ll slowly lower the pitcher.” George gently guided the pitcher down, her hand only millimeters from mine.

An image of George standing behind me with her arms wrapped around my middle, her hands on mine, frothing milk à la the pottery scene fromGhostappeared without warning in my mind. Heat raced up my face.

“When it’s almost too hot to touch, that’s when you know it’s done.”

My face is too damn hot to touch.I hoped to god that George hadn’t noticed.

The pitcher was hot under my hand.

“Now?” I glanced over to George, taking in the faint freckles that scattered her nose and cheeks and the flecks of golden brown in her eyes.

George was very much not a ghost. She was very real and gorgeous. She’d also pulled her hand away from the pitcher and was now nodding at me.

Ouch!Suddenly aware of a burning sensation on my fingers, I hastily released my grip and placed the pitcher on the counter.

“Is your hand okay?” George asked, concern creasing her forehead.

“Yes, it’s fine,” I said, ignoring the mild throbbing in my fingers.

“It’s probably a little hot, but the foam looksgood,” George said, peering at the milk and nodding with approval. “Now you just pour it slowly and steadily into the middle of the cup. You want to try to get around a quarter to half an inch of foam on top.”

I followed her instructions and thirty seconds later was staring proudly at a professional-looking latte.

“Perfect!” George said, grinning at me, her dimple on display. “I can teach you latte art another day. I haven’t been bothering with it this week because it’s been so busy, but it can be fun to play around with if the café is quiet.”

The prospect of another one-on-one coffee making session with George sent nerves fluttering in my stomach.

“The muffins are ready!” Romina yelled from the kitchen.

“I’ll go grab them,” I said, hurriedly, relieved to have an excuse to get away from George and her forearms, freckles and dimple. While it was refreshing to feel attraction toward someone again, I was starting to worry that my crush on George was a distraction I didn’t need right now.

CHAPTER SEVEN

HANNAH

Thirty minutes later, I was transferring a delicious-looking cake from the kitchen fridge into the display case when an attractive woman in a colorful jumpsuit, sandals, and short brown hair walked up to the counter. In her hands was a piece of paper. My stomach dropped.Shit, I bet this is the jobseeker George mistook me for, and my cover is about to be blown.

I hovered nervously near the counter, pretending to wipe a stubborn mark off the display case so I could listen to their conversation. Thankfully, despite my hearing aid still missing in action, the café had just opened so the background noise was minimal.

The woman grinned at George, who was trying to fix a paper jam in the receipt printer. “Hi! Sorry, is now a bad time?”

George lifted her head and smiled. “Hey, Olivia! Nope, all good. This is always acting up. Good thing hardly anyone needs receipts. You’re earlier than usual.”

“Yeah, I thought I’d pop in before I open. I’m actuallyhere for books. Everyone in my family has their birthday over the next two months, and this year I’m trying to be organized for once. I was hoping you could give me some recommendations.”

I breathed out in relief. Olivia, whoever she was, wasn’t the jobseeker.

“That sounds like a lot more fun than trying to fix this,” George said, putting the printer on the counter and giving Olivia her full attention. “What were you thinking?”

---