Page 20 of By Any Beans Necessary

"Michelle, watch out," Candace, her loyal regular and good friend, called out as a particularly plump hen made a beeline for a croissant.

"Gotcha." With a swoop worthy of a K9 handler—oh no, not more thoughts of Jeff—Michelle scooped up the ringleader chicken, wings flapping indignantly.

"Back to your coop, ladies," she huffed, shooing the last of them off with the help of amused patrons.

"Never a dull moment here, huh?" Miss Betty chuckled, brushing crumbs from her pantsuit.

"Free entertainment with every purchase," Michelle quipped, her heart rate settling back into a rhythm that wasn't dictated by thoughts of Jeff or his tousled hair.

"Thanks, Michelle," Randy Turner waved, snapping a quick photo for theHero Tribune. "Best chicken chase I've seen all week."

"Anytime," she replied with a laugh, though her smile didn't quite reach her eyes as she collected the abandoned pastries. The last thing she wanted was to be made fun of in the local newspaper, but the owner was like a dog with a bone. If she protested, it would only make Mr. Turner want to make the story a bigger feature.

Michelle released the ringleader and swept the last of the feathery assailants out with a practiced flick of her broom, the door jingling in protest as it swung shut. She straightened up, rolling her shoulders to shake off the tension. The Coffee Loft was finally returning to its usual hum of caffeine-fueled tranquility.

"Chickens, huh? Never a dull moment with you, Shell," said a faintly familiar voice behind her. "Guess it's true; you really do run a tight ship around here."

Startled, Michelle turned to find Harold Bernstein leaning casually against the counter, a smirk on his lips. His eyes—sharp blue and always too knowing—crinkled at the corners as he watched her.

"Harold." His name caught in her throat like a sip of too-hot coffee. "I didn't see you there."

"Couldn't miss the show."

"Looks like I've got everything under control now," she said, hoping her voice sounded more convincing than she felt.

"Always do," he agreed with a nod.

"So, Harold, what brought you my way this morning?" she asked, tucking a stray lock of hair behind her ear.

"Business," he replied, pushing off the counter to saunter closer. "And a bit of nostalgia, I guess. This place used to be old man Henry's hardware store, right? And before that, it was the old mercantile from the 1800s."

"Guilty,” Michelle confessed, leaning on her broom like a crutch. “I turned nuts and bolts into beans and brews."

"Quite the transformation." Harold glanced around, nodding appreciatively. "Looks good. Feels good."

"Thanks," she said, though the compliment settled uneasily, like whipped cream on hot milk.

"Speaking of transformations..." Harold hesitated, scratching his jawline. “I heard something last night, Shell. At the bar.”

“Oh?” Her stomach tightened, a premonition prickling at the base of her neck.

"Jeff Parker. He was running his mouth a bit...about you." Harold's gaze held hers, steady and unblinking.

"Jeff?" she repeated, the warmth in her chest cooling. "What about him?"

"Let's just say he's more interested in polishing his badge than your heart." Harold's words were careful and measured. "He thinks dating you might spruce up his rep."

"His rep?" Michelle's laugh was sharp, disbelieving. "You're joking."

"Would that I were," Harold murmured, his expression somber. "I'm sorry, Shell. You deserve someone who’s in it for you, not for what you can do for them."

She opened her mouth and closed it. The air seemed thinner all of a sudden, her thoughts a swirl of coffee grounds at the bottom of a drained cup.

"Excuse me," she mumbled, ducking past Harold, the broom slipping from her fingers and clattering to the floor.

"Shell—" Harold reached out, but she was already retreating, her mind filled with doubts louder than any chicken squabble.

As she pushed through the back door to the alley where the garbage cans stood like silent sentinels, Michelle leaned against the cool brick wall. Jeff's laughter echoed in her head—not warm and joyful, but hollow, mocking. Could Harold be telling the truth?

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