Page 1 of Reckless King

CHAPTER ONE

VIOLET

Iswear, the ancient espresso machine hates me.

Planting my hands on my hips, I squint at the frustrating lump of metal, trying to ignore the bead of sweat tickling its way down my spine.

To the right of me, a small line of customers has formed at True Brew’s pickup counter. Although there haven’t been any complaints so far, I can sense the infamous New Yorker impatience building with every foot shuffle and watch glance. “Sorry for the wait,” I call out, hoping my smile doesn’t look as frazzled as I feel. “We’ll have your coffee ready in no time!”

I inch closer to the machine, peering around to make sure no one is in earshot before I whisper, “If you won’t do it for me, do it for Dad.”

I clasp my hands together and hold my breath, almost believing it might hiss into action at the mention of its late owner. Unfortunately, it doesn’t look like I’ll be adding machine whisperer to my resume anytime soon, since it stays obstinately silent. And now, short of frantically tapping the temperature gauge, I’m officially out of ideas.

Jarrod steps up beside me, nudging me away with his shoulder. “Let me look at her,” he says. “You can take over up front.”

Brushing a loose tendril of hair out of my eyes with the back of my wrist, I give him a grateful smile. “You’re a lifesaver.” Jarrod’s been working at True Brew for a couple of years and has developed an uncanny ability to keep the temperamental machine running. But regardless of his magic touch, there’s no denying the truth. It’s going to have to be replaced sooner rather than later.

Leaving him to tinker and hopefully get everything running again, I head to the front counter. There’s only one customer waiting, a young, harried looking mom with a fussy toddler on her hip. The little girl, who has a glorious mop of red curls on her head, looks hot and cranky and about ready to explode.

I smile at the mom and take her coffee order. After ringing her up, I point at the jar of giant fluffy marshmallows we keep on the counter. “Would she like one?”

The woman’s face brightens. “She’d love one.” She turns to her daughter. “Wouldn’t you, Molly?”

The little girl hides her head in her mom’s shoulder, before peeking out at me and nodding.

I smile to myself as I lift the lid of the jar and use a small pair of tongs to pull out a pink marshmallow. “Here you go, sweety.”

The little girl holds out her hand and I drop it onto her palm. She pulls it into her chest and stares down at it rapturously.

“Thank you so much,” her mom says. “She’s had a long day. We both have.”

“Well, I hope she enjoys it. And I hope you enjoy your coffee. It sounds like it’s well-deserved.”

She gives me one last smile before she heads to the pickup counter. I even get a wave from Molly over her shoulder.

Unfortunately, there aren’t any other customers lining up behind her, and my shoulders sag as I scan the space. The small rustic coffee shop with exposed brick walls looks more dull than cozy, and almost every one of the wood-topped tables is empty.

For a split-second, I flash back to another time. One when True Brew was packed to the rafters and filled with the sound of happy chatter, the grinding hiss of the espresso machine, and the clink of cutlery. Rising above it all was my dad’s booming laugh as he joked with the customers lining up to enjoy pastries baked in-house, simple, tasty meals, and a range of ethically sourced artisan coffee.

I let out a sigh. That was then, and this is now.

Twenty months ago, a heart attack took Dad from us. With his passing went the heart and soul of True Brew. And after the manager my brother Mark and I made the mistake of hiring to run the place mishandled it, the shop is no longer the bustling community hub it used to be.

That’s why, when Mark called five months ago to tell me we might need to sell, I’d known what I had to do. I quit my job working for a Maine-based non-profit and came home. True Brew is all we have left of Dad. There’s no way I’m going to be the one to put aFor Salesign on his dream.

“Got her going, boss,” Jarrod says from behind me.

I turn to him; hit with a familiar wave of gratitude that he’s still working here. He’s only twenty-five, the same age as me. He could have easily moved on to another job when things started going downhill. But he stuck around. I’m sure his familiar face is what’s kept our few remaining loyal customers coming back. Although, now that I’ve convinced True Brew’s long-time specialty coffee supplier, Jose, to renew our supply agreement—a casualty of one of the previous manager’s cost-saving measures—I’m hoping I’ll be able to draw more customers back in.

I just need to keep the place going until that happens.

I smile up at Jarrod. “Thank god that machine loves you.”

“She should.” His hazel eyes sparkle. “My relationship with her has lasted longer than any I’ve had with a real live woman.”

With a laugh, I move out of his way so he can take his place at the counter. “That’s because your charming smile gets you in trouble,” I tease.

He tilts his head, one corner of his mouth ticking up. “You think I’m charming?”

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