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JULIE

“Horchata coffee, please,” I say. “And a double-shot espresso.”

Randall sips his oat milk chai. “It’s perfect,” says Randall.

As the weather hits peak spring temps, the late March Saturday farmers market picks up. Before the crowds descend, I hit my favorite caffeine spot. Fernando, the Cafecito barista, hands me a thick chia seed raspberry muffin. “On the house.”

I wink at him. “I can never resist your baked goods.”

“Tell your Ahma we miss her on Saturdays.” Fernando pats his belly. “No one makes shrimp dumplings like she does. Plus, we miss the extra business.”

I shoot a look at Randall, who is rereading the proposal that I printed out this morning, but it doesn’t look like he heard.

“Trust me. We do too. Hopefully, we’ll be back to Saturdays soon,” I say.

“Are you sure this is good? Maybe we should just email it,” asks Randall, brow creased.

“Yes,” I say. “I know trust isn’t exactly cemented between us right now, but I know what I’m doing.”

I glance at my watch. Boba tea drinks dot the band. Fernando hands me two to-go cups.

I drop a five-dollar bill into the tip jar. “Have a great day, Fernando.”

“We should hustle over there,” I say to Randall. “The window to talk to Enrique about our Garden of Eating proposal is short. Last year, when I was his intern, I spent most of my time reminding him of what he needed to do next.”

Randall follows as I sprint-walk over to Enrique’s tent.

“We have to catch him when he’s done for the day and walking to his car. Otherwise, someone else will be talking to him,” I say.

I hold up the tiny espresso to-go cup. “And we offer caffeine.”

“You are eerily good at this,” says Randall.

“I know.”

I spy Enrique still on his phone, pacing behind the back of his tent. He’s almost done for the day. I grab Randall’s arm before he gets too close to the tent. Randall stops short.

“Wait here.”

I don’t let go of Randall’s arm. He stands there, staring at my hand. His arm feels so sturdy. I release my grip after he coughs.

“Sorry,” I say.

“Hey, Julie,” exclaims Enrique.

I turn my attention to him, though my heart is still stuck somewhere in my throat.

“I brought my favorite boss the best coffee in all of the market,” I say.

I present the espresso with a flourish. Enrique laughs and gladly takes the cup.

“Don’t think you’re fooling me. Your Ahma is your favorite boss,” says Enrique.

“You’re a close second.”

“What’s up, kid? Hey, Randall.”

Randall immediately thrusts the proposal in Enrique’s face. Crap. That’s not at all how to handle it. I glare at Randall but smile at Enrique. Randall has zero chill.

“It’s a proposal for Garden of Eating,” says Randall.

“I see,” says Enrique. He glances through the proposal, flipping the pages. “You’re involved in this, Jules? I’m surprised.”

“We’re stuck in the same group project for school,” I say.

Enrique is intimately familiar with our families’ feud, since he’s often in the middle of our grandmothers’ constant bickering and whining about the other. He complains that he’s the kid in their divorced relationship.

“It all looks good, but I can’t make any promises.”

Enrique’s phone dings with messages. He scrolls through his emails with a loud sigh.

“A ton of customers have been griping about missing dim sum on Saturdays,” says Enrique, scrolling through his emails. “Or I get an earful from someone who traveled from Valencia for Yum Yum Dim Sum, only to find out the booth is on Sundays now.”

I excitedly clap my hands together. I know we’re losing him, so I decide to clinch the deal with something I know he wants. Hell, I want it too.

“What if we can guarantee that our families will be on their best behavior at the market?”

Enrique lets out a hardy laugh, then stops when he sees the serious look on my face. “For real? Do you have some magic potion you’re drinking in that coffee?”

I lock eyes with Randall, hoping that he gets the message as I continue.

“Ahma is itching to get back to her Saturday spot. Our Sunday sales are mediocre compared to Saturday.”

“I know,” sighs Enrique. “I have fifteen emails from your Ahma about it. But you both know, your families cannot be at the same market.”

Randall finally catches on and chimes in. “Let us handle our grandmothers. If we can keep the peace at Saturday markets, can Julie’s family come back?”

“Well,” says Enrique. “I would love to have you both on Saturdays. Customers are not thrilled that their favorite vendors are on different days.”

Enrique starts to trek to his red pickup truck with several green Pasadena Farmers Market tote bags. We pick up his storage boxes filled with administrative files and follow along. We’re getting somewhere. We just have to keep pressing.

“But the fighting, the constant bickering, the disruptions. I hate spending my Saturdays managing your grandmothers when other vendors need my attention too.”

I nod. Our grandmothers could enter the Bickering Olympics and both place gold.

“Okay, but if we keep the peace, can you consider Garden of Eating? Part of our proposal is having the Hope Street Elementary third graders selling seeds and seedlings from the ethnic veggies and fruits in our garden. It’s a win-win situation,” says Randall.

I silently let out a sigh. Randall makes a good case. Finally. We load Enrique’s truck with the boxes. He stuffs the tote bags in his passenger seat. He places our proposal on top of the bags. He tosses back the last dregs of the espresso and throws out the cup in a nearby trash can.

“I’ll think about it,” says Enrique. “I would love to have your families back in their regular spots and help the garden club. But you’re not the only proposal I have on my desk for sponsorship.”

“Of course,” I say.

“When do you need an answer for your school project?” asks Enrique.

“Monday,” I say with the biggest smile.

“Jeez, I have one day to decide?”

“Thank you for considering it,” says Randall.

Enrique hops into his truck. The pickup roars. He rolls down the window.

“You’ll hear from me soon.”

As soon as his truck exits the parking lot, I turn to Randall and give him a huge hug.

“We did it!”

Randall reluctantly hugs me back.

“He didn’t exactly say yes,” says Randall.

“He will. I just know it.”

“Also, how are we going to guarantee that our families will get along? I’m still not clear how you think that bit of sorcery is going to happen.”

“Duh. Ahma will be thrilled to get her Saturday spot back. She’ll agree. As for your grandmother, that’s for you to figure out.”

“Cool,” says Randall. “I’ll just ask her to drop a five-year grudge for my school project.” Randall finishes the rest of his chai. “Actually, school is akin to church for her. If I tell her that it’s part of our school project, she’ll be on her best behavior.”

“See? Problem solved,” I say.

Randall flashes me his brightest smile. I have to look away as the butterflies sweep inside me. I realize my problem is only beginning, because I have a crush on Randall and it’s going to be the end of me.