ONE
Scarlett
I have a theory.
If someone says, “things can’t possibly get worse,” what they actually mean is they have no imagination. Because things can always get worse—sometimes to the point that you want to crawl under a blanket and stay there.
Ask me how I know.
For instance, right now I’m standing outside the Magnolia Brew Coffee Shop, holding a letter from our landlord that I’ve now read three times, hoping the numbers are wrong.
Our lease is doubling.Doubling.Like we’re suddenly swimming in lottery money instead of drowning in bills.
I shove the letter into my hoodie pocket and push through the cafe door, where the smell of roasted coffee beans and cinnamon reminds me of the scent of my father’s shirt at the end of the day. We were the first coffee shop in Sully’s Beach, the sleepy beachside town near Charleston, and this place has been my home since I was ten, when my parents opened the Magnolia Brew. By age fifteen, I was on dish duty, working my way up to each job when I proved myself ready—cashier, server, barista, and now cafe manager.
After the Carolina Crushers built their hockey arena nearby,our business exploded overnight, and it felt like the world was our oyster. But then Dad was diagnosed with cancer, and we’ve been barely hanging on ever since. I thought we had turned a corner when his new treatments started working, but the medical bills are crushing us. And with Dad sick and Mom wrapped up in his care, I’m the only one keeping this place going. We still talk every few days, but always about Dad’s latest labs, his next appointment, or whether he’s keeping his strength up.
I rarely bring up the cafe anymore—Mom has enough to carry, and truthfully, I’m not sure she’d have the bandwidth to hear one more problem.
“Thank God you’re here,” Gabriella mutters under her breath after handing a latte to a customer. “The high school kid who works here is a no-show again, and it feels like I’m competing on some high-pressure barista reality show.”
Gabriella is my perky, redheaded best friend who sometimes covers for me at the cafe when I’m desperate. Her real job is athletic trainer for the Carolina Crushers hockey team, which makes sense given that she played college hockey. This morning I called her in a hurry and she showed up without hesitation.
I drop my backpack on the counter, then turn around to help. “I’m so sorry I’m late. How bad was it this morning?”
She slides a cup toward me so I can make a cappuccino for myself. “Not bad, aside from a slight panic when we ran out of cinnamon rollsandbanana-nut muffins at the same time. But so far, nobody has complained.” She hands me a poppy seed muffin, knowing I probably skipped breakfast. “How’s your dad?”
“Fine, now,” I say, tamping down the espresso grounds. “He called at five a.m. to tell me he’d fallen again and was at the ER with Mom.”
Gabriella’s eyes widen. “Was he hurt?”
“No. Just side effects from his new medicine. But I’ve just lost two hours of my life in a day I can’t afford.”
I scan the cafe, which is packed with our usual morning crowd. In the corner booth, Brax MacPherson, team captain andlocal hockey star, is talking with rookie goalie Miles Morgan, who keeps sneaking glances at Gabriella—veryobvious ones—that Gabriella isn’t acknowledging.
“Why is Rookie Goalie looking at you like that?” I tie an apron around my waist. “I thought you were dating Tattoo Guy from Boots and Buckles.”
“Ew, no.” She crinkles up her nose in disgust. “He was really into clowns. And not like, cute, birthday-party clowns either.” Gabriella shudders slightly. “I’m officially single again.”
I nod toward the goalie. “So what’s the deal with Miles?” I probe, starting on the next order so Gabriella can take a breath.
She leans against the counter. “Nothing!” The pitch of her voice suggests it’sdefinitelysomething. “He’s just cute.”
“You mean, cute like a puppy, right?” I pry, because Gabriella has a soft spot for gorgeous, athletic types.
Her face gets that dreamy, glazed-over expression. “You know I have a thing for the good ones.”
“No, Gabriella. Absolutely not.” I give herthelook—the one that’s gotten her out of too many bad dating decisions the last few years.“You cannot date a player. You’re their athletic trainer. That’s like a doctor hooking up with a patient.”
Her face falls. I know I’m being unsentimental here, but there’s too much at stake, and Gabriella jumps from guy to guy like the norovirus spreading through a preschool classroom. That’s kind of her thing—tonotbe a thing for long.
Gabriella huffs out an annoyed sigh. “Yeah, you’re probably right.”
“Hey.” I nudge her shoulder lightly. “As your friend, I’m just watching out for you. You need to focus less on your next romantic distraction and more on your job. Becoming the team’s trainer was your dream after you stopped playing hockey. And deep down, you know that dating Miles could ruin that whole dream.”
Then I say more to myself than to her, “Just like outrageous rent could make me lose mine.”
She frowns. “What are you talking about?”