Summers Brew eased awake. Chase held the door open, the bell chiming a single, clear note.
“This is it,” he said, guiding Amelia inside. “You’ll love the lemon scones.”
Amelia stepped further into the room, her eyes scanning the decor. “It smells amazing,” she said.
Tabitha was behind the counter, already bracing for impact in her usual armor: a black apron, sharp eyeliner and posture stiff. She looked up, her eyes narrowing as they landed on Chase before sliding to Amelia with visible, confusion.
“Tabs, this is Amelia,” Chase said, leaning on the counter. “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. “I’ve heard legendary things about the lemon scones.”
Tabitha blinked, caught off guard. “From whom?” she asked, reaching for a cup and a Sharpie.
“People with taste,” Amelia replied gently.
Chase suppressed a grin as Tabitha attacked the cup with aggressive professionalism. She wrote something in jagged, blocky letters and slammed the cup down on the counter. Chase winced: ARM CANDY.
“Coffee?” Tabitha asked, her voice flat.
“Latte,” Amelia cheerfully replied. “Whatever you think is best.”
Chase watched Tabitha work—grind, tamp, pull. She moved with the fluid boredom of an Olympian, but when she poured the steamed milk, her wrist did something subtle and deliberate. She slid the finished cup across the counter without a word. Amelia picked it up and peered inside, her smile brightening.
“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 momentarily horrified. “It’s just milk,” she snapped. “It’ll curdle. Drink it fast.”
“Still labeling your customers, Registrar?” Chase asked.
“Still carrying your personality in a briefcase?” Tabitha shot back.
Before Chase could retort, a voice boomed from the back corner. “Wright! Does HR know you bring dates into small businesses? That’s a violation of… well, some fancy lawyer rule, I’m sure.”
Snakes rolled his mop bucket. He wore his grey coveralls and a cocky, gap-toothed grin, looking like he’d formed himself out of the café’s shadow lines. Amelia glanced over, her eyebrows lifting in amusement. “A friend of yours?”
“Stalker,” Chase replied. “He lives to keep me grounded.”
“Can’t ground what never stood up,” Snakes said, parking his cart with theatrical ceremony. He squinted at Amelia. “You his secretary?”
“Vet receptionist,” Amelia said. “Animals, not arbitration.”
Snakes nodded, satisfied with the answer. “Explains the patience. Wright can’t even get his aim straight at the urinals.”
Chase shot a look at Tabitha, who was currently biting her cheek to keep from laughing. “That’s libel,” Chase muttered.
Snakes ignored him, reaching into his cart and pulling out a folded, stained newspaper. He slid it across the counter toward Tabitha, his eyes flickering toward Chase. 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. The red ink seemed to pull the two stories together.
“New ants on the line,” Snakes said, eyeing the paper and then Chase. “Sugar piles higher now.”
Chase felt a cold prickle. He’d seen Geoffrey Wagner planting those same flyers earlier; now he was looking at the charred aftermath of what happened when the Viento family “invested” in a property’s future.
“Not today,” Chase groaned. “Please.”
“Today most of all.” Snakes tapped the space between the ad and the ruin. “Try not to lose at checkers in front of your lady friend, Wright.”
“I don’t lose at checkers,” Chase said.
“Sure. Just like you don’t lose when you try to sign fancy paperwork with a crayon. Careful, kid. Your charm is getting heavier than it looks.”
Chase froze. The memory of the “Crayon Incident”—a prank from months ago that had nearly cost him a senior partner’s respect—hit him with fresh clarity. He’d reached for a Montblanc during a high-stakes meeting and pulled out a Burnt Sienna Crayola instead. He’d assumed it was a random fluke, but looking at Snakes’ grin, the truth was suddenly, humiliatingly clear.
“That was YOU!” Chase said, his hands opening in a defensive shock.
Amelia’s laugh filled the café, bright and genuine. Winona, the owner, drifted out of the kitchen then, carrying a teapot. Her scarf was a deep blue, patterned with tiny, silver constellations.
“Harmon-Tea?” she offered, setting down cups painted with stars.
“Is that for me?” Amelia asked.
“For the room,” Winona said serenely. “Which you’ve brightened.”
Amelia looked shyly pleased as Winona poured. “Two sips, one bite,” Winona instructed them. “For harmonic resonance.”
“Is there a surcharge if we drink it near chuckles over here?” Snakes asked, thumbing at Chase.
“Absolutely,” Winona said. “But the house will cover it.”
The tea was unexpectedly calming. Chase and Amelia stood at the counter while the morning rush swirled around them—a girl complaining about a move to Iowa, a guy in sandals arguing about the philosophy of socks. Chase finally ordered his own coffee, and Tabitha handed him a cup labeled ANTI-HERO.
He read it, bit back a smile.
“You work nearby?” Tabitha asked Amelia suddenly. Her tone was still sharp, but the curiosity was real.
“Clinic on Ninth,” Amelia said. “Mostly cats who think gravity is a suggestion.”
“Relatable,” Tabitha muttered. She looked at the chalkboard art in the corner—a small, intricate skull.
“I like the skull,” Amelia said. “He looks like he knows a good secret.”
“He knows where all the bodies are buried,” Tabitha replied.
Chase tapped his briefcase against his leg. “Speaking of buried bodies…”
“Do not,” Snakes interrupted immediately.
“Do not what?”
“Do not try to be interesting,” the janitor said, leaning on his mop. “I have a shit ton of markers, Wright. Don’t make me use them.”
Amelia’s laughter was the last thing that filled the café before they turned to leave. Chase signed the receipt, and Amelia took one last sip of the Harmon-Tea, offering a compliment that made Winona’s aura practically glow.
On their way out, Snakes tapped the circled El Viento ad one last time. He pointed lazily at the door, a silent warning: Watch what comes in and out.
“Thanks for the ambiance,” Chase told him.
“Anytime,” Snakes said. “Try not to choke on your own charisma out there.”
They stepped out into the Orangeside air. The bell jingled behind them.
“They’re nice,” Amelia said, buttoning her cardigan. “A little overwhelming. But nice.”
“That’s Summers Brew,” Chase said. “They keep you humble.”
He glanced back through the window. Tabitha was eating a scone and scribbling in her notebook. Winona was watching them from behind the steam of the teapot, a knowing, serene smile on her face.