First Chapter: Afterglow
Mood music: “Head Above Water” by Avril Lavigne
You know you’re pissed when you can smell your anger. When your brain short-circuits, sending out flares and smoke signals in a cerebral mayday of sorts. Since right now isn’t the time—or place—to lose my shit, I attempt some calming breaths. Sometime between my second and third inhalations, it occurs to me that something’s actually burning.
Fantastic.
I drop my phone and make a beeline from the back lawn to my abandoned post in the Busy Bean Café’s kitchen.
A wall of heat slams me when I yank the oven door open. Stuffing my hand in a mitt, I snatch the tray of cookies I’ve burned and plop the sheet on a nearby counter. I shove my spatula beneath one, praying for a small miracle. Yeah, nope. The charred remnants taunt me as I shake my head at the time and ingredients I wasted.
While I was busy arguing with Burlington University’s financial aid department, I completely forgot to set the oven timer. I have some experience working as a barista in my former campus’s coffee shop, but my baking skills are limited to heating pie in a microwave. Namely, the kind with a timer that beeps every few minutes to remind you when something’s done. I have no business operating industrial ovens—or any appliances—that aren’t equipped with a “Hey, are you still with me?” feature. But at least the smoke detectors didn’t go off.
Yet.
I crank the exhaust fan to its highest setting and rub my temples. God, I wish this shitstorm of a day would end.
I knew it would be a rough one when I woke up anxious. That’s never a good sign because it sets the tone for my day, no matter how hard I try to redirect. Sleep is supposed to be restorative, but as the anniversary of my parents’ deaths approaches, my nights have been anything but. The nightmares are intense. Not only am I exhausted, but I’m tired of washing my sweat-drenched sheets each day. Factor in my recent money snags, and I’m a regular ray of sunshine.
My best friend and coworker, Will Barnes, saunters into the back. He sniffs the air and points to the oven’s digital panel. “Hey, Sunny, this numbered gadget here is called a timer.”
I roll my eyes. “Thanks, Sherlock.”
“Maybe try using it next time?” He gestures to the cookies I ruined. “That’s a sacrilege.”
“It’s not like I tried to burn them, okay?” Muttering to myself, I scrape the carcasses into a nearby trash can.
“What’s up with you?” Will’s warm, chocolatey gaze searches my face. “You were thirty minutes late this morning, when you’re always early to everything. You’ve been off your game all day. Even Zara noticed when she stopped in earlier.”
Zara Rossi gave me a job at the Busy Bean after I forfeited a full scholarship to my dream college two weeks before the start of fall semester. When I’d left my hometown to attend school in New York City, I hoped it would be a permanent move, but the Big Apple was a bit too chaotic with everything going on in my head. So here I am, back in Colebury, Vermont, taking online classes and burning cookies like a champ. Hopefully, I’ll get my shit together these next few months so I can return to New York in the spring. Sans scholarship, of course.
“I’m having a bad day.”
“Well, duh.” Will clamps a hand on my wrist, halting my carcass scraping. “You’re good. I think you got it all.”
“No, there’s definitely still some on here.” I fixate on a patch of burned dough, rubbing the utensil over the cookie sheet like someone will drown a puppy if I don’t remove every crumb.
He snatches my spatula. “Sunny, look at me.”
“What?”
He waits until our eyes meet. “You tell me.”
“I’m all right.” I force a smile. “Slept like shit, that’s all. Oh, yeah, and the financial aid office lost my file, so Moo U disenrolled me from my online courses for lack of payment.”
His eyes widen. “Shit. That sucks. Did you get it straightened out?”
“Yeah, but now I want to punch something.”
He takes a step back. “What else is bothering you?”
“I’m fine.”
“You sure? I can stand here all day.” He points to the kitchen door. “Or at least until the next customer walks in.”
Will has been my friend since kindergarten. He’s not buying my feigned normalcy act. He never does, so I’m really not sure why I keep trying to fake it. One thing’s for damn sure—either I come clean, or he’ll make good on his words and bug the hell out of me all day. William Henry Barnes does persistence like no other.
“I’m waiting,” he sing-songs with an impatient foot tap.
My chest deflates with the world’s heaviest sigh. “Okay, fine. I had a panic attack before work this morning, and I still haven’t been able to shake it.”
He raises a dark brow. “Another? That’s four this week.”
“This seems to be my new normal. Anyway, that’s why I was late.”
“Was it another random one this time, or did something trigger you?”
See, that’s the thing about panic attacks. You don’t get to decide when they happen. I’m adept at avoiding my triggers, but the attacks which come out of nowhere are the bane of my existence.
I squeeze my eyes shut. “I had to take a detour on my way to work because of a downed tree. The cop redirected me down the section of highway I always avoid. I was fine until I drove past the site of the accident and saw the little wooden cross someone stuck by the side of the road. Then everything just kinda hit me. I had to pull over until it passed.”
Change is a surefire way to spike my anxiety. When plans change, like this morning’s detour, I lose control of the situation. Losing control freaks me out—almost as much as the unknown and the constant barrage of what-ifs that plague me. It’s like I’m always waiting for that other shoe to drop. Or, in this case, a tree.
Just six weeks ahead of the fifteenth anniversary, passing the accident site cut deeper than it would’ve on a normal day.
Shuddering, I blink back tears and try to force myself back to the present. Unfortunately, despite years of my shrink’s best efforts, I’ve yet to master the techniques of mindfulness.
Will wraps his arms around me. “I’m sorry, Sunny.”
“Thanks. You’d think after fifteen years, I could coexist with my memories like a normal human being.” I pull from his hug and reach for the spatula he confiscated. “I need to get back to work.”
Will holds the utensil behind his back. “No, you need a change of scenery. How about you work the counter and do the barista thing for the rest of the day? I’ll take over back here until the muffins are done. Then I’ll join you out front, and we’ll tag-team it.” He hands me a yellow apron with the café’s logo embroidered on the front. “Put this on.”
“Thanks. I did tell Zara coffee was more my thing. Everyone knows I’m a shitty baker.” I tie the apron strings behind me. “Why would she stick me in the back?”
Zara owns this establishment with her best friend, Audrey Shipley. The Busy Bean is their creative brainchild, and I’m grateful to be employed here. Too bad I’ve only been on the job two days, and my scattered brain has already cost them in wasted inventory.
“The plan is for you to be out front.” Will gestures to the kitchen. “This is part of your orientation. Zara and Audrey want everyone well-versed in all aspects of the place. Especially for times like these when Hot Roddy is out sick.”
Will has a nickname for everyone and a huge crush on Roderick Waites, the Busy Bean’s full-time baker. I haven’t met him yet, but Will deemed him sexy as fuck. We have similar taste in men, so I trust his assessment.
“Does he know you call him Hot Roddy?”
“Fuck no. I have more game than that.”
I snort. “That’s debatable.”
He wags his brows. “I mean, while I’d love to take him for a spin—”
“Too bad he’s taken.” I chuckle and flick his earlobe. “And I’m pretty sure Kieran would kick your ass if you tried to put the moves on his man.”
Will gives a wistful sigh. “Kieran can captain my Shipley too.”
Roderick’s boyfriend, Kieran Shipley, is a former Busy Bean employee who still picks up the occasional shift to help out when the café is short-staffed. He’s here today, and we’ll likely have him for a few more shifts until Roderick gets over his stomach bug.
My best friend has nicknamed the pair “Kierderick,” elevating their swoon status to his upper echelon of gay couple relationship goals.
I poke Will’s chest. “How about we get back to business before you start air-humping the appliances. And can we please skip the orientation?”
“Nope. Think about it, Sunny. If someone calls out, or shows up late, the rest of us kinda have a clue and can jump in where we’re needed.” Something beeps, drawing his focus to the other oven. “Oh good, they’re done.” He withdraws a tray of muffins and places it on a cooling rack.
“I get it, but I’m not in the right headspace for figuring out how to bake.”
“I know. That’s why I’m telling you to go out front.” He glances at the bumblebee clock on the wall. “Hurry up. Our afternoon rush is about to start. I just have to finish up with these muffins. They’re supposed to get a lemon glaze drizzled over the top.”
I raise a brow at him. “Wow. So, your desire to linger in the kitchen has nothing to do with getting a better view of Kieran?” He flushes and gives me the double middle finger, so I snort. “Yeah, that’s what I thought.”
Kieran is Audrey’s cousin by marriage, so he’ll always be part of the Bean’s extended family. He’s also a stellar artist, which is one of the many reasons Will is enamored with him. Yes, Kieran is gorgeous and has a heart of gold, but the Shipley grump quotient can be a bit high for me.
After growing up under my half-brother’s roof, my tolerance for any level of surliness is virtually nonexistent. Cody is fifteen years older than me, and we barely speak.
“I know you skipped lunch, but have you eaten anything since breakfast?” Will asks, looking me over.
“No, I’m good.”
“Tough titties. Gigi stopped by earlier with a delivery of her Dark Horse Mochaccino cupcakes, and you’re having one. You clearly need a pick-me-up.”
“I’m fine, Will.”
“Bullshit. Now, get your ass out front.”
Knowing better than to argue with my stubborn bestie, I give him a thumbs-up and head for the front counter.
I should probably familiarize myself with the array of delicious pastries, muffins, cookies, and cupcakes on display in the glass cases. Instead, I stare through a leaded-glass window at the Winooski River. I’ve always loved walking along the section of riverbank by the old mill. The expanse of neatly mown grass with clumps of planted flowers is the perfect place for a picnic. Maybe I’ll head down by the river during my break for some running water-induced Zen. I could use a little of that today.
My head jerks toward the parking lot when a silver truck squeals to a halt in front of the door. Despite the windshield’s glare, I can tell the driver is on his phone, flailing his arms and slapping the steering wheel.
Will appears at my side, distracting me with a decadent chocolate creation. “This is the Busy Bean’s signature cupcake. Wait until you taste it.” He grins and sets the plate in front of me, waving his hand with a flourish. “Trust me, it’s fucking life-changing.”
“Oh yeah?” Will shares my enthusiasm for all things chocolate, so—like with his views on men—I trust his opinion.
“Not only is it infused with espresso, but the mocha frosting is to die for. See that gem on top?” He points. “Chocolate-covered espresso bean.”
I stuff a huge chunk in my mouth and moan as the flavor coats my tongue. “Wow.”
“Told you.”
The door opens, and a few customers file in. We get to work filling their orders, moving around one another like we’ve worked together for years instead of days. Every so often, I wrap a napkin around my cupcake and sneak a bite because I can’t help myself.
Will brushes past me, shaking his head as he peeks outside. “Ugh. That dude’s a moody fuck,” he mutters under his breath. “Maybe we’ll get lucky, and he won’t come inside. What a waste.”
I turn my attention back to the pickup that has been idling for close to ten minutes now. “Why? Is he hot?”
He fans himself with a stack of napkins. “Wait until you hear his Irish brogue. Did I mention he’s a lumberjack?”
I flush and grip the zinc countertop. “A hot Irish lumberjack? Sign me up.”
“Well, maybe not a lumberjack exactly, but he works with wood.”
“When you say, ‘works with wood,’ do you mean how you work with wood, or do you mean like a legit carpenter?”
Will barks a laugh. “He builds shit, Sunny. With wood and tools. Jesus. Not everything I say has a sexual connotation.”
“Yeah, okay.” I jut my chin toward the window. “So, who is he? Someone we know from high school?”
“Nope. He’s in his thirties.” He pours himself a cup of coffee. “His name is Declan something. Even though he’s a regular, I really don’t know much about him. Mr. O’Sexy McFuck hasn’t said two words to me.”
“I don’t know of any Irishmen in Colebury.” Since my dad taught in the Colebury school district, and Cody and I went to school here, I know most of the guys in town. Some of them far better than I’d like to. Shuddering, I steal a sip of coffee from Will’s cup. “Declan, huh? How long has he been in the area?”
“Dunno. Like I said, he doesn’t talk to me, so I haven’t quizzed him for his demographics.”
I smile at the next batch of customers entering the café and watch the pickup for a moment. The driver is still yelling on his phone. “Well, somebody needs to tell Lumberjack Declan to stop driving like a dick and polluting the pristine Vermont air. Who knows? Maybe it’ll be me.”
Will snorts. “Good luck. He’ll bite your head off.”
“C’mon, Big Willy Barnes, you know me better than that.” I elbow him in the ribs. “I bite first.”