Page 27 of Red Hot Roaster

Oh, no. Chloe and Zoey, long-haired mini-dachshund sibs, were at it again. Skilled at raising a racket, they yapped and lunged—on their leashes, thank dog—at the two-foot-tall Doberman skeleton in a corner of the café. As was their custom, they turned on each other to continue their high-pitched battle. No blood was shed, other than from busted eardrums.

“Ladies, ladies, leave it!” I said in my sternest dog-trainer voice—while pulling two bribes, aka biscuits, out of my hoodie pocket and waving them overhead.

I used my other hand to help their person, Miss Ada, ancient and ninety-two pounds soaking wet, pull her beloved doxies away from their bony foe. I led all three, using the dog biscuits as lures, out the side door to a seat at one of the tables on our covered deck. I promised Miss Ada I’d send one of the kids out with her coffee and favorite scone in a few minutes.

After that, I did the baton-passing thing with Mateo, where I got all the updates from the morning shift and touched bases about the upcoming catering jobs. He also graciously agreed to stay to meet with Katt about finalizing the sign-painting she was doing tomorrow on our new plate glass windows. Surprisingly, or maybe not, it didn’t take much arm-twisting.

I stepped into the kitchen prep area to peruse my Post-its on the sink’s mirror and hold my usual internal monologue—the one where I berated myself about trying to do it all on my own in my quest to grow the Chocolate Lab.

This time was different though. This time, I argued back. Maybe the fighting doxie sisters had the right idea.

Girl, you’ve got plenty of help—look at the last few weeks. You don’t need to do it all on your own. Mateo has really stepped up to manage the café. Lauren’s been using her marketing superpowers to give advice. Some of the older kids are taking over the food prep duties.

Even Rafe has been coming in early and sticking around late to cover all things coffee-roasting-wise. He’s even stayed to help close the place.

He’d kept everything very businesslike since our supper last night. Except…except a time or five today when he’d brushed close to me when we passed in the café, heat radiating from his body. Just recalling those times sent tiny puppies zooming around my stomach.

So to combat those, I grabbed a couple of businesslike Post-its off the mirror and walked down to talk to the gentleman in question.

Later that same day, a little after nine, I stood on my front porch reading the Post-it I’d plucked from my front door. It wasn’t one of mine that I’d discussed with Rafe this afternoon. No, this one was printed in Rafe’s bold hand, letters upright and in all caps. Not shouty caps—he wrote everything that way. Coffee bean orders, coffee bag labels, even his signature.

And, apparently, Post-its for me. This one read:

MEET RAFE & PRINCESS

ON DRIVEWAY AT 9:30

FOR PROMISED WALK

I smiled, unlocked the door and stepped into my front hall. Nails scrabbled on the kitchen floor, and I just had time to slap Rafe’s Post-it on the mirror by the door before Pirate ran his big ole Lab head into my stomach full force. He dropped on his side, rolled on his back and groaned his approval of my belly rubs.

Too much time later—or too little, depending on your point of view—I hurried upstairs to get ready for the walk.

First, I changed my clothes into something warmer—sure, the nubbly emerald sweater was soft for the dogs’ head rubs.Moving to the mirror in the bathroom, I unbound my hair from its knot and shook it out around my shoulders—of course, my knitted beanie would fit better. Finally, I powdered my face and swiped mascara over my eyelashes.Okay, okay, those efforts were for my own vanity.

Not thinking of that kiss last night. No. Nope. Not at all.

Back downstairs, I grabbed my hat and Pirate’s leash from the coat-tree. I tucked my phone in one hip pocket and, at the last moment, my keys in the other. Usually I left the front door unlocked for our walks. By this time, Pirate was barking and jumping in the entry, knowing something was up with all my rushing around. After I clipped the leash on his collar, we headed out the front door…and ran smack-dab into Rafe and Princess standing on our front porch.

And by smack-dab, I meant Rafe had to grip my shoulders so I didn’t topple over. And Pi yanked my arm right around Rafe so he could greet Princess in the time-honored doggo manner. Yes, sniffing was involved.

Rafe rumbled, “Everybody, stay!”

Yes, he did, and we all did.

I queried him, “I thought you said driveway?”

He answered, “Yes, I did. I also said nine-thirty. It being nine-forty, I thought we’d see what the holdup was.”

I threw back, “Impatient much?”

“Yes, where you’re concerned,” he returned.

I had nothing to say to that and was quiet for once.

He said, “Rose? Keys.”

“What?”

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