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“You have to get that?” her mom asked.

Mack sent it to voicemail. “No, it’s Viv. I’ll call her back.”

Her mom moved to the window and cracked it open, the ambient sounds of the city street below piggybacking on the pine tree-scented air. Deliberate, short sips were taken from her mug. Her stiffened backbone was evident through her thin robe. “Mackey. We need to chat.” Her mom faced her and set her mug down with a thud. “You’re not happy. Something’s going on with you.”

Her mom had zero self-awareness that she should soften her body and tone when she made a loaded statement. Not stand there with straight lips, crossed arms, and Superwoman-style laser beams shooting from her eyeballs.

No way would Mack divulge what was really happening. She would never put that kind of pressure on her mom, who’d for sure internalize everything and flail to fix it.

Under no circumstances could her mom know that a two-ton boulder had pressed down on Mack the second her first book sold one hundred thousand copies, and how each additional sale layered on a new brick. That demons whispered behind her that if she’d worked harder, she actually would’ve sold half a million. That having exactly zero to show for her dream advance, the one Viviane left maternity leave to secure, made her want to vomit. And every inspired minute on the screen was followed by five minutes of zoning out while words muddied in front of her.

“I’m good. Promise.”

Her mother’s cocked eyebrow verified she wouldn’t drop the conversation.

“I’m feeling a little pressure to perform, you know? That’s all. But it’s under control.”

Why did her mom need to stand there like that, all silent and glarey? Each expelled breath from her five-foot frame was like a critical, judgmental flame.

“It’s not like senior year with how I acted with finals and college apps, and everything. I just need to get out of my head. And I need you to get out of this room so I can shower.” Mack swooshed her mom to the door, who remained firm and unmoving.

“Mack.”

“Get off my ass! Seriously.”

Her mom didn’t even flinch at Mack’s icy tone.

Mack bit her tongue. “Please, Mom. I just need space.”

Her mom’s shoulders fell. Gripping the doorknob, she stared at Mack. “The pressure you put on yourself isn’t good. You’ve got a lot to be proud of. Don’t lose sight of that.”

Mack swallowed as her mom shut the door. Maybe she’d tell her mom everything one day and brace herself for an hour-long, drawn-out spiel spiked with contradictory phrases like “just believe in yourself” and “why don’t you try harder?”

Viviane’s name flashing on her buzzing phone sent a sharp poke up her chest. She ripped a shirt off the hanger and stormed to the bathroom.

TEN

CHARLIE’S DRINK SPECIAL: CLOUDY COLD BREW WITH ONE PUMP FEAR SYRUP

Every time the shop bell jingled, Charlie’s stomach dipped when it wasn’t Mack. Four nights ago at the parade, when Charlie chickened out from asking Mack for her number, she sulked like a grumpy toddler for the evening. Maybe it was for the best, anyway. Charlie had as much game as a gangly eighth grader and would probably end up a blabbering mess if she succeeded in scoring her digits.

To divert her attention from sipping on the Mack lust latte last night, Charlie spent a stupid amount of time googling marketing plans. She read a gazillion articles about “building brand loyalty,” “expanding your customer base,” and “defining your target audience.” By the end of the night, nothing made sense except that she had to hire a social media manager, website designer, and a freaking magenta unicorn to persuade people to buy some damn iced lattes.

So, she did what any other responsible adult business owner would do when they were a few short months away from bankruptcy. She shut off her phone, cuddled up with a bag of grape gummy bears, and rewatched two seasons ofSchitt’s Creek.

She hoisted the Kona coffee bean bag above her head to refillthe holding container. A few beans escaped and scattered across the wood floor. The echo wailed in the bare shop without a single person to absorb the sound. She lowered the bag and exhaled through her nose. She sent Ben home an hour ago after the shop had one visitor since noon.

One. Single. Customer.

At this point, she couldn’t even afford to pay her damn self. She dragged herself to the storage room to grab lids when the bell jingled and she dashed to the front of the shop.

Mack sauntered in her with signature skinny jeans, white shirt, and that perfectly dimpled smile. And Charlie’s heart flipped.

Be cool, be cool.

“Hey, you.” Mack clutched the strap of her backpack and slid it off her arm. “Had to stop in before you close.”

“I was thinking about you earlier and wondering if you’d come by.”