Page 10 of To Catch a Latte Thick as Thieves

“Don’t worry about it. I usually get up at five-thirty anyway,” he lied.

“Really?” she asked. “That’s great. Then you don’t mind?”

“No, I don’t mind,” he said and meant it.

Annie glanced at her watch and jumped. “Oh, I had better get moving or I won’t get all of my baking done. I’m so glad you’re an early riser. I knew this would work out. I just knew it.”

Fisher watched as she disappeared into the house at a run. One more piece in the puzzle that was Annie, and it didn’t help one little bit.

2

The smell of fresh-brewed coffee drew Fisher downstairs like an invitation. Breakfast in the shop would give him a good chance to observe Annie. He could watch who came and went and get a feel for her regulars.

He found her standing in the center of the shop with one hand on her hip and the other clutching a coffeepot like a weapon.

“Why don’t you just sell?” a short man wearing khaki’s and a blue denim shirt asked.

“I told you before you bought Mucho Latte, Martin, that I wasn’t going to sell,” she said.

“But you’ll never be able to compete with me,” he argued. “Annie, I’m just thinking of you.”

A long curly strand of red hair fell over Annie’s face and she blew it aside before answering, “I really appreciate that, Martin, but as you can see I’m fine.”

The man glanced around the room. It was just after seven and the shop was packed with morning customers. His head snapped from side to side, giving Fisher a good look at his face. He had small pinched features and a thin black mustache that hung over his upper lip like a chocolate milk stain.

“Oh sure, you’re fine now,” he sneered. “But you can’t compete with a chain like the Mucho Latte. One by one, your customers will leave, coming to my shop instead. Do you really want to watch the slow demise and eventual death of everything you’ve worked for?”

Annie took a deep breath, and Fisher marveled at her patience. He’d have punched the little jerk in the nose by now.

“Martin, the fact that you’re here, trying to buy out my shop tells me one thing. You’re the one who’s worried about losing your business. Not me. Now, for the last time, I am not selling The Coffee Break. Not to you. Not to anyone. Have I made myself clear?”

“Crystal,” he snapped. “You’ll regret this.”

“I don’t think so,” she said. “Have a good day, Martin.”

Martin stalked toward the front door. Fisher reached out and pulled it open, not allowing the little man to slam it in a fit of temper.

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