Page 2 of Hold the Line

Thomas grimaced. “It’s all right, Ry. She said it’s her policy. Leave it.”

The big-mouthed friend raked his eyes over me. “You think you’re too good for Tommy?”

I didn’t dignify his question with a response. “Would you like to order something? The coffee’s hot, and our muffins are delicious.”

Thomas tried to pull away, but his friend—Ry, he’d said—kept his arm tight around him. “I’d like you to get your head outta your ass and see that my friend Tommy is a real nice guy. He wants to take you out on a date and treat you right. You’re not married. Far’s I know, you don’t have a man either. So, how about you make an exception this one time and give my boy your number?”

Squaring my shoulders, I kept my gaze steady and level, my tone still low and friendly but as firm as I could make it. “If you’d like to order something, that would be great. Otherwise, I’ll ask you to step aside. There’s a long line behind you, and everyone will be a lot less cranky once they have their coffee.”

Ry grew rigid, and any semblance of friendliness faded. Luckily, he didn’t get a chance to say whatever ugliness was about to drip from his tongue because Camille called out Thomas’s name.

Thomas finally got it together and managed to drag his friend with him, nodding to me as they moved along. If I’d looked, I was sure I had earned a filthy, dirty look from the other guy, but I smiled at the next customer, not giving him any more of my time.

I only breathed easier when they were gone. Hopefully, they’d find themselves at the fast-food joint instead of Sugar Rush tomorrow. My mornings were way too busy to be catering to a couple cowboys’ bruised egos.

Chapter Two

Phoebe

Duringtheweek,westayed open until five, though there were always stragglers I had to shoo along. We were nearing closing time when I slid open my glass case to take stock of what we still had. Several trays were nothing but crumbs.

“They were hungry today,” I remarked as I jotted down what I needed to make more of the next day. Cookies always went fast, today being no exception.

Camille paused in wiping down our espresso machine. Friends since we were kids, she’d been working with me since I opened three years ago, and fortunately for me, was as fastidious as I was. “They were. Seems like they went wild for the carrot cake muffins.”

“They did.” They’d cleaned me out by midday. I made a note to make an extra batch next time. “Think they realize they’re eating their veggies?”

She snorted. “Think they don’t care, as long as they get your cream cheese frosting with it.”

I straightened, crinkling my nose. “Are you implying my muffins aren’t health food?”

“Yep.” She grinned as she moved to wipe the counter on the other side of the case. “That’s exactly what I’m saying, babe.”

The chimes over the door rang, and like clockwork, my sister Hannah strolled in, heading straight for the pastry case. If she didn’t show up in the morning, she always appeared close to closing time. Sometimes, I got her at both ends of the day.

“What’ve you got for me today?” she asked in lieu of greeting, bending down to scan our selections.

If it’d been the beginning of the day, I would’ve plucked a blueberry muffin from a tray and handed it to Camille to bag up. Hannah liked to pretend she was mulling over her choices, but she’d been eating the same thing for breakfast every day for the past couple years.

Unless her boyfriend, Remi, made her waffles. Then she was willing to switch it up. That was how I knew it was true love.

As predictable as she was in the mornings, afternoons were a crapshoot.

“How about a lemon bar?” I offered, sliding the tray out of the case. “We’ve got a few left, and one looks like it has your name on it.”

She twisted her lips, considering. “Oh, all right. You convinced me.”

Camille laughed. “Wasn’t too hard.”

Hannah cocked her head toward Camille. “Think you could throw in a vanilla latte? I’ll wipe down the tables while I wait.”

Camille tossed her towel down. “Deal.”

I rounded the counter to give my sister a hug. She hugged hard and fierce—it was just how Hannah did things. Three years older than me, I used to follow her around like a little shadow. When we got older, our interests had diverged—Hannah spent her days tending to horse hooves as a farrier, while I’d gotten hooked on creating in the kitchen—but no matter our differences, we’d always stayed close.

Up until a month ago, we’d shared a duplex, her half of the house above mine. She’d officially moved in with Remi—though she’d barely spent a night without him since they’d become an item last fall—but I’d hardly gotten a chance to miss her between her pop-ins at Sugar Rush and family dinners.

“You don’t have to wipe down the tables,” I told her.

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