Summers Brew eased awake the way it always did: a low-grade thrum of machinery and the smell of roasted beans.
Chase held the door open. The bell chimed – a single, clear note.
“This is it, you’ll love the lemon scones” he said.
Amelia stepped inside, looking less like a lawyer’s companion and more like she’d been color-graded for a different movie, her soft cardigan, warm smile, eyes scanning the room with unweaponized kindness.
“It smells amazing,” she said.
He guided her toward the counter. Tabitha was there, bracing for impact with her usual armor: black apron, sharp eyeliner, posture stiff as a bailiff. She looked up, eyes narrowing as they landed on Chase, then sliding to Amelia with visible confusion. She had clearly been expecting someone else. Maybe a client. Maybe some ‘slay queen’.
Definitely not a cardigan.
“Tabs, this is Amelia,” Chase said, leaning on the counter considering this cafe neutral ground. “Amelia, Tabitha. Tabitha keeps this place honest.”
Amelia smiled, and Chase watched as the room seemed to tune itself to her frequency.
“Hi,” Amelia said, her voice carrying that quiet steadiness he remembered from late nights in the library. “I’ve heard about the lemon scones.”
Tabitha blinked, caught off guard. “From whom?” She reached for a cup instantly, using movement as a shield.
“People with taste,” Amelia said, joking gently.
Chase suppressed his grin. Tabitha grabbed a sharpie and attacked the cup with aggressive professionalism. She wrote something in jagged block letters and slammed it down.
ARM CANDY.
Chase winced internally. Ouch.
“Coffee?” Tabitha asked, voice flat.
“Latte,” Amelia said, unbothered. “Whatever you think is best.”
Chase watched Tabitha work – grind, tamp, pull. She moved with Olympic-level boredom, but when she poured the milk, her wrist did something subtle. She slid the cup across the counter.
Amelia picked it up and peered inside. Her smile brightened, not so much at the nickname written on the side, but at the foam.
“You have incredibly steady hands,” Amelia said softly. “You noticed I needed something gentle today.”
Chase leaned over. In the center of the cream sat a perfect, delicate white heart.
Tabitha looked horrified. “It’s milk,” she snapped. “It’ll curdle, drink fast.”
Chase chuckled. “Still labeling your customers, Registrar?”
“Still carrying your personality in a briefcase?” Tabitha shot back.
Before Chase could retort, a voice boomed from the corner.
“Wright! Does HR know you bring dates into small businesses? That’s a violation of… some fancy lawyer rule.”
Snakes rolled his mop bucket into view like a chariot. He wore his gray coveralls and a cocky grin, looking like he’d formed himself out of the café’s shadow lines.
Amelia glanced over, amused. “Friend of yours?”
“Stalker,” Chase said without looking. “He lives to keep me grounded.”
“Can’t ground what never stood up,” Snakes said, parking his cart with ceremony. He squinted at Amelia. “You his secretary?”
“Vet receptionist,” Amelia said, grin easy. “Animals, not plaintiffs.”
Snakes nodded, satisfied. “Explains the patience with this one. Wright can’t even get his aim straight at the urinals.”
Chase shot Tabitha a look, as she was biting her cheek to keep from laughing.
“That’s libel,” Chase muttered.
Snakes ignored him, reaching into his cart, pulling out a folded newspaper. He then slid it across the counter toward Tabitha.
Chase looked down. A red marker circle bled around an advertisement in the corner:
El Viento SECURITIES – Secure Your Future.
On the front page, a smaller headline detailed a gas leak at a riverfront warehouse. It seemed unrelated until Chase’s eyes caught the sub-header: Property recently acquired by Aquarius Revitalization, a division of El Viento Heavy Industries, for future development.
The circle and the headline weren’t near each other on the page, but the ink seemed to pull them together.
“New ants on the line,” Snakes said, eyeing Amelia, then Chase. “Sugar piles higher now.”
Chase felt a prickle of unease. He’d seen Geoffrey Wagner planting flyers earlier; now he was looking at the charred aftermath of what happened when the “El Viento” is invested in your future.
“Not today,” Chase groaned, though the denial felt thin. “Please.”
“Today most of all.” Snakes shifted the newspaper half an inch, tapping the space between the ad and the ruin. “Try not to lose at checkers in front of your lady friend.”
“I don’t lose at checkers,” Chase said.
“Sure,” Snakes said. “Just like you don’t lose when you try to sign fancy paperwork with a crayon. Careful, Wright, your charm’s heavier than it looks.”
Chase froze. The memory of the crayon incident – a prank from months ago that he still hadn’t solved – hit him. It hadn’t just been annoying; it had been humiliating. He remembered the heat rising in his neck during a senior partner meeting when he’d reached for a Montblanc to sign a motion and pulled out a burnt sienna Crayola instead. It was a tiny sabotage that had made him look foolish in the one room where appearance was currency.
With a mix of disgust and shock, Chase opened his hands in defense, saying firmly, “That was YOU!”
Amelia laughed, surprised and delighted.
Winona, the owner of the cafe, drifted out of the kitchen, carrying a teapot like a halo. Her scarf was blue with tiny constellations.
“Harmon-Tea?” she offered, setting down cups painted with tiny stars.
“Is that… for me?” Amelia asked.
“For the room,” Winona said serenely. “Which you’ve brightened.”
Amelia blinked, looking shyly pleased.
“Two sips, one bite,” Winona told them as if swearing in witnesses. “For Hamonic resonance.”
“Is there a surcharge if we drink it near chuckles?” Snakes asked, thumbing at Chase.
“Absolutely,” Winona said. “But the house will cover it.”
******
The tea was calming.
Chase and Amelia stood at the counter while the morning rush swirled around them – a girl complaining about Iowa, a guy in sandals arguing about socks.
Chase finally ordered his own drink. Tabitha handed him a cup labeled ANTI-HERO.
He read it, bit back a smile, holding the cup like a statement.
“You work nearby?” Tabitha asked suddenly, her tone sharp but curious at Amelia.
“Clinic on Ninth,” Amelia said. “Mostly cats who think gravity is an opinion.”
“Relatable,” Tabitha said.
Amelia smiled. She liked this girl. There was something sharp and guarded about her, but the heart in the latte said otherwise.
“You do the chalkboard art? The little skull in the corner?” Amelia asked.
Tabitha looked away. “Skull is a symbol.”
“I like it,” Amelia said. “He looks like he knows a good secret.”
“He knows where all the bodies are buried,” Tabitha said.
Chase tapped his briefcase. “Speaking of buried bodies…”
“Do not,” Snakes said immediately from his corner.
“Do not what?” Chase asked.
“Do not try to be interesting,” Snakes said. “I have a shit ton of markers.”
Amelia’s laugh filled the cafe.
The morning moved on. Chase signed the receipt. Amelia took another sip of Harmon-Tea and complimented Winona on the name, which made Winona’s aura practically glow.
On his way out, Snakes tapped the circled El Viento ad with one finger, then pointed lazily at the door, as if to say: Watch what comes in and out.
Chase met his eyes. He knew what the janitor meant. Don’t touch the sugar.
“Thanks for the ambiance,” Chase told him.
“Anytime,” Snakes said. “Don’t choke on your charisma.”
They left in staggered choreography—Chase first, followed by Amelia.
“Thank you,” Amelia said to Tabitha, crossing the doorway. The words stuck to the counter sweetly.
The coffee cups were still warm in their hands as they left Summers Brew, the bell jingling like a warning they were deaf to.
Outside, the rain had washed Orangside into the color of dishwater.
“They’re nice,” Amelia said, buttoning her cardigan. “Overwhelming. But nice.”
“That’s Summers Brew,” Chase said. “They keep you humble.”
He glanced back through the window. Tabitha was eating a scone, looking at her notebook.
Winona was watching them with a knowing smile.