Page 1 of Tangled Threads Of Fate

Chapter 1

WREN

Have you ever been violently attacked by a watermelon? I have. Twice.

Once at Ashley Michael’s eighth birthday party, when her mom tried to use a watermelon instead of a piñata. It was filled with grapes and lychees; her mom was one of those almond and yoga parents. I don’t think I ever saw Ashley smile, because she didn’t want wrinkles.

Long story short, Ashley hit the pinata, making the oversized yet hollowed-out fruit flail wildly. The hemp string snapped, sending the watermelon careening at my face.

I ended up with a bloody nose and a fear of flying fruit. The Fruit Ninja period of my life was rough.

The second time was today, when a watermelon rolled across the sidewalk and right under my feet, sending me hurtling toward the concrete, arms windmilling uselessly. I hit the ground with a bone-jarring thud. The wail of an elderly woman—who was still clutching the handle of the overturned fruit cart she’d been pushing—was almost lost beneath the sound of early-morning traffic.

Ugh.

I looked at the sky and sighed heavily. I was definitely going to be late. Hopefully my boss would understand, but he was a bit of an asshole. Actually, he was a giant, gaping, hemorrhoid-infected asshole. He was a stickler for rules and time stamps, and he “had a business to run, and if we were spending six minutes in the bathroom, then that was a customer who was inconvenienced for six minutes, which was six dollars worth of revenue, and if every employee lost six dollars of revenue…”Blah blah blah.Dude was an asshole, but I’d worked at Java Llama for a long time. It had half-decent benefits and free coffee for employees.

And it was damn fine coffee.

Rolling onto my hands and knees, I scooped up some stray grapefruit—and the offending watermelon—while the little old lady hefted her cart back onto four wheels with the help of a dude in a business suit. The woman said something effusive, but the guy just took one look at me, and the mess on the sidewalk, before hurrying away.

I couldn’t even blame him, not really. No need for us to both be late, and I’d already resigned myself to the fact I was going to get an ass-chewing, so may as well go big.

My Java Llama shirt was a little oversized, so I used it as a basket to scoop up grapefruit, oranges, and lychees, making a bunch of trips back and forth to the elderly woman’s cart. All the while, she threw her hands up and gushed at me in a language I didn’t understand. I just smiled, hoping it reached my eyes, and tried not to look at my watch.

Finally, I’d gathered most of the fruits off the ground and placed them back into the decorative wooden boxes they’d fallen out of. There were still a few oranges on the road, but they were on their own. They’d be juice by the end of the morning rush, and no one wanted to eat dirty road fruit anyway.

She repeatedly told me to “Eff Harry’s Toe,” which I imagined wasthank youin whatever language she was speaking.

“You’re welcome. Have a good day,” I said quickly, turning to rush away. I was definitely late now, and I’d have to run to not be more than five minutes late. I didn’t have to sit through the Boss Man giving me a fifteen-minute lecture about being six minutes late.

“No! No!” She gripped my hand, pulling me back with a strength that belied her frail appearance. She thrust the shiniest red apple at me repeatedly, until I took it.

“Uh, thank you?”

She mimed eating it. Sighing, I took a bite, and she smiled widely as she watched me chew. Man, old people were weird. But still, it was a really good apple. Sweet, crisp, juicy.

Before I knew it, I’d eaten the whole thing. Even the core. The old lady’s smile was infectious, and I grinned back.

“Thank you again. That was really delicious, especially if I don’t think about the fact that it was rolling across the filthy ground only moments ago.” God, I hoped she had no idea what I was saying. “Now I really,reallyhave to go to work. Be safe.”

I hightailed it out of there before she could stop me again, clutching my purse to my side and sprinting to work. My knees hurt, and I felt like I’d jarred something in my shoulder, but I didn’t have time to do anything more than dry swallow down a couple of Advil before I slammed through the doors of the coffee shop seven minutes late.

Bob was already waiting for me.Fuck.

“I’m sorry, Bob. An old lady tipped her cart on my way to work, and I tripped over a watermelon, and I couldn’t just walk away and not help her, right? Especially when I’m wearing my business-branded shirt. What if someone saw and reported me to Headquarters for inhumanity?”

Always use the underlying threat of HQ to get your way. Surviving Micro-managers 101.

I gave him a soothing smile. “But I’ll make up the time in my lunch break.” I rushed past him, praying he’d just let it go, hopefully appeased by the fact that he only had to give me thirteen minutes of my government-mandated twenty-minute break.

Apparently, luck was on my side because he just heaved a heavy sigh and returned to his office, where he’d probably stare at an empty spreadsheet and play solitaire until one of us fucked up enough that he could come out and give us a teamwide “pep talk.”

One of the baristas, Tammy, was on the drive-thru window, and I tapped her out. She gave me a thankful smile.

“Sorry I’m late,” I puffed, throwing my apron around my waist and liberating her from the headset. “Got caught up on the walk here.”

Although my boss Bob was a festering butt nugget, my coworkers were really nice. I guess we’d all banded against a common enemy in Bob the Boss, so there wasn’t much of the workplace bickering I’d had in other hospitality jobs.

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