“Addie? Walsh?” she called. “I’m heading out.”
Small feet pounded on the hardwood floors, then two tornados of early-morning energy slammed into Jenna’s legs, their arms squeezing her tight.
She knelt in front of them. Addie’s blonde curls were a tangled mess, but her blue eyes were bright and her mouth curved into a smile. Walsh’s still-pudgy wrists were covered in every plastic bracelet in their dress-up box and a few of Jenna’s. Walsh reached up for a hug, her breath soft and sweet in Jenna’s ear. “Bye, Mommy,” she whispered.
Jenna smiled. Thoughts of running evaporated like steam over a cup of French roast. She pulled the girls close and kissed their foreheads. “Listen to Kendal, okay? I think she brought some fun things for you to do today. I’ll be home after work, and we’ll have something yummy for dinner.”
“Breakfast! Can it be breakfast for dinner?”
As both girls chanted, “Pan-cakes! Pan-cakes!” Jenna kissed their cheeks one more time and slid out the door.
In her car she exhaled a rush of air. Through the front window of her tiny two-bedroom East Nashville house—once crisp white but now faded to a light gray begging for a new coat of paint—she could see the girls still bouncing, the sparkles from their princess pajamas visible from the driveway.
Kendal pushed her hair back from her face, offered a bright smile, and led the girls into the den, out of Jenna’s sight. Only then did Jenna remember her almost-full coffee mug sitting on the kitchen counter.
Traffic was lighter than usual and she skidded into the small side parking lot with a minute to spare. Just enough time to shove her purse into a locker in the back, grab her apron, and put on her best smile.
She checked the time. Eight fifteen. She switched her phone to silent and slid it in her apron pocket. She was setting out a stack of CDs a local songwriter had dropped off when a customer burst through the door. Jenna looked up to see Lisa Rich, CEO of Trust Partners, a well-known accounting firm with an office down the block. Purse dangling from her elbow, Bluetooth in place on her ear. Obnoxiously complicated drink order. Notoriously bad tipper.
Jenna slipped behind the counter and tapped the barista on the shoulder—the new girl, Melissa, already bracing herself for Lisa’s deluge. “I got this,” Jenna whispered.
“Thanks,” Melissa whispered back before cowering behind Jenna.
“Hi, Miss Rich,” Jenna said, despite the obvious fact that Lisa was talking to someone on her Bluetooth.
“It’s Mrs. and I’m in a hurry.”
“I’m so sorry,” Jenna said, discreetly pulling a Post-it off the underside of the counter by the register. “We’ll have your order out to you in a moment.”
Lisa reached up and pushed a button on the contraption stuck to her ear. “Wait—I haven’t given you my order.”
“Would you like your regular?” Jenna’s voice was innocent.
The woman’s right eyebrow rose just a millimeter. Probably all the Botox would allow. “Yes. My regular.”
“We’ll have that right out.” Jenna turned and handed the slip of paper to Melissa.
Melissa eyed it with suspicion, then looked back up at Jenna. “You’re a genius.”
“I know.”
Melissa grinned and reached for the fat-free milk. “Does this even taste good?” she whispered.
“I have no idea and no desire to find out.”
As Melissa worked on the grande double shot, four pumps sugar-free peppermint, nonfat, extra-hot, no foam, light whip, stirred white mocha, Jenna walked the counter and checked the three other baristas working hard to fill drink orders. She was able to get a pack of napkins for Mario and open a sleeve of cardboard cup sleeves for Jensen before Melissa had the drink ready.
“I’ll let you do the honors.” Melissa handed the drink to Jenna like it was gold plated. “Think it’ll do the trick?”
“Nah,” Jenna muttered. “Probably nothing will. Mrs. Rich?”
Mrs. Rich pressed the button again on her Bluetooth and clicked her heels across the tile floor. She stared at Jenna before taking the cup. “The peppermint’s sugar-free?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Extra hot?”
“Extra hot.”
“Stirred wh—”
“It’s just like you like it. If not, it’s on me.”
The woman hesitated, then put her mouth to the edge of the cup and took a dainty sip. Jenna could almost feel Melissa’s nervousness buzzing behind her. But Mrs. Rich just swallowed and gave a slight nod, her bright-red lipstick smudged onto the lip of the cup. After swiping her credit card and signing, she shouldered her massive Louis Vuitton bag and turned without a word. When she pulled open the glass door, a breeze of warm air floated in, and she clicked up the street to begin her day.
Jenna turned to Melissa and rolled her eyes. Melissa bit her lip to hold in her laughter.
A few minutes after nine, Mario poked her in the side. “Your date is here.” He grinned.
“Shut up. He’s not my anything, and it’s not a date.”
“It happens every morning. It’s a date.”
“Not every morning,” Jenna said, working to make a latte “extra foamy” for a woman in white Nikes and a wide-brimmed straw hat about to set out on a downtown walking tour. “He skips Fridays because he meets a buddy to run in Riverfront Park.”
“See, you even know his schedule.”
Jenna rolled her eyes. “It’s not a date.”
“Whatever it is, he’s waiting for you. And looking extra cute today, I might add.”
Jenna looked over her shoulder. Sam always looked cute. Cute wasn’t his problem.
After handing the woman her extra-foamy latte, she ducked out from behind the counter. “Be
