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But this wasn’t just about Mack.

Viviane didn’t need to say it. Mack knew Viviane well enough to know that she wouldn’t say it. But Viviane’s commission, a chunk of her livelihood, was also on the line.

After they hung up, Mack laid the phone on her chest.She barreled through every scenario, determined to find the one with the least carnage.

She couldn’t let Viviane down. She couldn’t pay back the money. She couldn’t use Charlie. And she couldn’t produce in four weeks what normally took four months.

So whatcouldshe do?

Her phone vibrated, and her heart soared and sunk at once with Charlie’s name on the screen.

Charlie: want to come over tonight?

Mack: more than just about anything.

Mack: But I can’t. I have to work.

TWENTY-FIVE

CHARLIE’S DRINK SPECIAL: CHANGES CAPPUCCINO WITH BLAST FROM THE PAST SYRUP

This was normal, right? This ache in her heart, a sort of mash-up between hurt, a touch of nausea, and desire. Charlie picked up the phone for the fifth time today to text Mack, then quickly clicked it off before she did something stupid.

Don’t do this. Stop being so needy.

Only two days had passed since her and Mack’s night together. What had felt so right, so secure,so perfectin that moment now filled her with borderline mayhem. So far today, she’d rung up several orders wrong and tossed a few botched drinks.

Sure, Mack texted her. But long delays passed between texts, and her usually snappy responses evolved to two-word quips. Was Mack already pulling away? Maybe she really was just busy. Maybe there were other women. Maybe Charlie liked Mack more than Mack liked Charlie, and now it’d be so freaking awkward when…if… she came back.

“Maybe you should get out of your head.” Ben rattled a cup of iced coffee in front of her face.

Was she talking out loud? “No idea what you mean.” How long had she been standing there, staring at her bonsai tree with snippers in hand and no leaves falling?

“You go from all glazy-eyed to your face wrinkling like a dehydrated sloth and back again.” He reached for the box cutter. “Want to talk about it?”

Nope.

She couldn’t even properly articulate what was happening to herself. What would she say? After knowing someone for just a few weeks, she thought she was already falling in love? And that after the last few years of being celibate, one night of fantastic sex had her seeing visions of roses and dancing in her future? What about the fact that she was probably misinterpreting everything and that she should never have slept with Mack because now Charlie was overthinking and self-conscious, and…

“You thinking about Jess?”

“Yes. No. I don’t know.” Charlie dropped the shears into her apron and followed Ben into the storage area.

Ben ripped open the coffee bean boxes and stacked them on the shelf as Charlie slumped into the chair. She propped her elbows on the counter and relaxed her chin in her palm.

Jess, the person, wasn’t what occupied Charlie’s mind. It was Jess, thesituation. The whirlwind of their relationship. The searing pain of their breakup. The amount of therapy and effort it took to reclaim who she was. One night with Mack had stripped back all her hard work.

Nope. She was not doing this. The person she used to be was gone, and she had evolved into someone else entirely. Someone better, independent, suited, and fit to handle her affairs. She would never mangle her identity with someone else’s. Two years ago, she busted through the needy cocoon and soared out as someone new entirely. She refused to revert.

An unknown number displayed on her cell screen and she flung it onto the desk hard enough that she winced. The very last thing sheneeded was a cracked phone when she had zero funds to replace it.Fan-freaking-tastic. First, she swirled about Mack. Now creditors were calling. She couldn’t keep her stuff together, and she was totally over it.

“Wait. Stop shelving.” She drummed her fingers against her chin and focused on the inventory. “We need to order things better. From now on, Colombian on the right, Ethiopian in the middle, Kona on the left.”

Ben stared open-mouthed.

“What?” she snapped as she pulled out a Sharpie and masking tape. “I’m sick of not being more buttoned-up. I need to gain some control over… everything.”

He lifted an eyebrow but said nothing. Last week she found a five-thousand-count straw box shoved between the toilet paper supply, and today she was organizing the beans by region.