Page 13 of There’s Trouble Brewing

The pretend-customers held white paper cups swirled with caramel or mint or maybe disappointment. An elderly man with gray wings of hair took a sip and scowled. “This doesn’t taste like what they told me it would,” he grumbled, and his wife agreed, tossing her own cup in the nearby trash can without finishing it.

Emily caught their exchange and filed it under one for improvement. Behind the counter, her barista trainees fought the good fight, slinging lattes and burning foam. Through the noisy chaos, one voice rose above the rest. “Surprising, that he could even rescue someone after his accident. And now he’s spending all that time with the new girl in town.” Birdie’s conspiratorial tone snagged Emily’s attention.

“It isn’t nice to talk that way about him, Birdie. He helped that boy, and that’s what matters,” her husband Mason chastised with disapproval in his voice.

“Here we go, folks,” Emily said, catching a falling cup midair and handing it to one of the waiting people. She turned to the three baristas, whose eyes were wide and jittery. “It’s just a test run. This will show me what we need to work on next.”

Bryan—who Emily secretly thought looked like he belonged in a boy band—grinned sheepishly as milk sputtered from the steam wand. The other two rushed between the espresso machine and the counter, sending liquid sloshing over cup edges and nervous smiles to their customers.

“We’ve got this,” Sue said, pushing a cup toward a waiting woman with rollers in her hair. “Honey almond latte for, um, Fred?”

The woman frowned. “Name’s Edna. And what’s that floating on top?”

“Honey dust?” Sue told her, but the way her voice inflected, it sounded more like a question than an answer.

Emily laughed, spinning around to grab a towel. “Hazards of being the guinea pigs, folks,” she said to the crowd, some of whom looked more dazed than the staff.

Someone in a golf cap leaned over the counter with a doubtful look on his face. “What’s the West family’s stake in this one?” he asked, his eyebrows looking like caterpillars that couldn’t find their way. “They own everything else around here.”

Emily shrugged, keeping it light. “Not this place.”

She wiped a splash of milk off the counter, watching as her three trainees bumped into each other in a dance of confusion. She knew she shouldn’t find it so entertaining,but it was better than letting herself get angry at their incompetence.

Nearby, Edna’s husband sniffed at his drink. “Gingerbread? Smells more like burned toast.”

“I’m sure it tastes better than it smells,” Emily encouraged, but when he took a swig and grimaced, she knew she had been overconfident.

Conversations fluttered around Emily as the line shuffled forward. “Does it always taste like this?” a woman in a blue pantsuit questioned with a puzzled face.

“It’s...different,” her companion said like he couldn't tell if it was a compliment or not.

An older couple examined their drinks like artifacts from another era. “Faith Valley doesn’t need any more big city nonsense,” the husband said with a shake of his head.

Then, out of nowhere, Birdie Jackson’s voice cut through everyone else’s. “Why, if it isn’t the new girl,” she said, loud enough to be a public address system. “Look at her, settling right in.” Her eyes were sharp and assessing like she’d been a spy in another life.

“Careful, hon,” her husband said, his gray head peeking over the menu like a reluctant mole. “We’re just here for coffee.”

Birdie dismissed him with a wave, her bracelets jingling. “I heard about Mark rescuing that boy. Surprising he could do it after his accident.” She paused for effect, knowing that she gained several listens. “And now he’s spending all his free time with you.”

Emily nearly dropped a pitcher of milk. She hadn’t been expecting to be called out like that. It was true, she had been spending a lot of time with Mark, and they had grown closer because of it. She just hadn’t realized that others in town had noticed it.

Emily took a breath and tried to keep her focus on thecontrolled chaos in front of her. “You guys doing okay back there?” she called, even as a cup with extra caramel slid to the floor. She watched her newbie crew darting and dodging like squirrels prepping for winter.

“Fifty years I’ve known you,” Birdie’s husband grumbled. “And it’s a wonder I’m not deaf.” He ducked as a paper cup sailed past him.

“Oh, hush now,” Birdie said dismissively, unfazed and smiling. “Everyone knows I’m only trying to help.”

Emily wasn’t so sure about that. Birdie seemed bent on brewing up trouble rather than helping anyone.

Trying to distract herself, Emily looked to her trainees. “Keep the drinks coming, guys. You can’t stop until everyone’s been served.”

“Are you going to tell me how it’s going with the handsome shop owner?” Birdie persisted from the other side of Emily.

She wasn’t about to give the other woman any ammunition. “We’re just colleagues, ma’am. That’s all.”

With a last look at the crowd, Emily slipped into the cramped back room. The walls were close and reassuring, the distant roar of espresso fading to a dull whisper.

Mark was grumbling under his breath as he hunched over the laptop, his jaw set in stubborn angles as the screen blinked and mocked him. Emily caught the tremble in his hands, slight and not at all small, as they hovered uncertainly over the keys. He was yelling at the inventory program as if the sheer force of his displeasure could bend it to his will.

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