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Jared

The sun was shining as I tipped my head back toward the narrow strip of clear sky visible between the tall buildings lining the street. I threw caution into the wind and allowed my eyes to drift closed for a moment, breathing deep, as I wove my way along the crowded sidewalk, trusting that people would step out of my way. It was a beautiful summer day, and not even the honk coming from the yellow cab at the corner could dampen my mood. The driver leaned out his window and shouted a few filthy curses at the guy who cut him off, before tearing down the street with the squeal of burning rubber, in a hurry to get somewhere.

None of the toxic traits of big-city life could touch me because I was on my way to work, and I just so happened to love my job. My hum turned into a whistle, because yeah, I was the type of guy who whistled on his way to work, so sue me. But as I came even with Crave Coffee, the jaunty tune died off as my lips flattened into a hard line, and my legs stalled. My eyes had caught on the new sign being installed down the block. It was across four lanes of traffic, but in large, bold print, it was easy to read the white lettering on a dark green background: GROUNDED.

Even as dread churned in my belly, I let myself hope. Maybe it’s a yoga ashram, or a florist, or maybe a daycare run by a disciplinarian…

An unfamiliar frown settled firmly in place as I wrenched open the glass door to Crave, setting the little bell above the door tinkling. Hugh was behind the counter as usual this time of day, and he looked over his shoulder when he heard the bell. “Hey, morning, Jared. You know you’re not supposed to start for half an hour, right?”

“Yeah, I had nothing better to do, so I came in early.” I stopped in front of the counter and hiked a thumb over my shoulder in the vague direction of the new shop. “Hey, boss, did you see—”

He cut me off with a roll of his eyes. “The café going in down the street? Yes. Everyone and their dog has been telling me about it today.” Dammit, there went any hope I had that it was some harmless business. He went back to cleaning the cappuccino machine like this was no big deal.

I rounded the counter and stood, hands on hips, until he looked back up at me. “What?” he asked.

“Why aren’t you upset?” I asked, incredulous.

He straightened up, wiping his hands on a cloth, looking confused. “Why would I be upset?”

While I’d always prided myself on being laidback, Hugh’s lack of anxiety was making me agitated. “Um, hello. Because he’ll be in direct competition with us?”

Hugh arched a brow, far too skeptical. “Do you have any idea how many people in this city drink coffee? I’m sure we’ll be fine.”

A timer went off in the kitchen, and he headed for the back, leaving me scrambling after him, begging him to see reason. “But what if their coffee is better? What if all our customers decide they would rather spend their money at Grounded instead, and we slowly lose income, day by day, until you no longer make enough to pay the bills?!” My voice had been getting higher and tighter as I went. “You’d have to lock your doors for good. You could lose your apartment, leaving you and your family destitute!”

Crave was my home away from home. Hugh had taken me in when I was in desperate need of a job, giving me my first paycheck in advance so I could afford rent that month, even though he didn’t know a thing about me. I’d been here for years now, and he treated me like family, often inviting me over for dinner at his place with his husband Charlie. I babysat his kids! It would break my heart if something happened to his business.

Hugh just shook his head, chuckling. “You have an overactive imagination, Jared. It’s a tiny little café, not a Starbucks. There’s enough coffee for the both of us. You’ve never said a peep about the Q Cup on the corner.”

I shot him a crooked look, because we both knew that black tarry sludge the Q Cup served couldn’t be classified as coffee.

He shuddered at the thought then waved a hand. “Never mind, forget I said anything.” He turned off the timer and pulled open the oven, a billow of dark smoke wafting out. “Oh…”

Choking on the fumes, I came to peek over his shoulder at the muffin-shaped briquettes. “Please don’t serve those.”

Hugh snorted. “What kind of man do you take me for?”

“The kind of man who sets the oven too high, apparently.” Reaching past him, I turned down the oven temperature to where it should’ve been.

We were interrupted by the tinkling of the bell from the front, signaling a new customer. “Go, I’ll take care of this,” I offered, jerking my head toward the front .

“Thanks, Jared.” He gave my shoulder a squeeze on the way by, and I grabbed one of the aprons hanging on the wall, looping it over my head and wrapping the straps around to tie in a messy bow at the back.

The happy murmur of voices carried through to the kitchen and soothed my frayed nerves. I set the tray of burnt muffins aside and propped the back door open to help clear the air, before I got lost in the familiar rhythm of making a fresh batch. These were bumbleberry, my favorite, and I used a piping bag to inject a dollop of jam straight into the middle. Topped with a toasted oatmeal crumble and I was a happy man.

Debra came in at noon, and together, the three of us rocked the lunch rush. We’d all worked together for so long that it was like we’d developed ESP or something. All it took was a tilt of my head and Hugh knew to toss me a cloth, or Debra would say, “Hey, could you—” and I would pass her the oat milk. This… This right here was what I was scared to lose. It broke my heart to think of anything getting in the way of the business.

Because without Crave, I had nothing.

Even though I always insisted that Hugh not pay me when I came in to work early or stayed late just because I was bored, he found ways to show his appreciation. Today it was a paper bag of food that he passed to me on the way out at the end of my shift. “Just some day-olds and a few goodies for Lulabelle,” he told me before I could argue.

“I would tell you not to waste food on her, but I can smell through the bag that they’re the burnt muffins.”

He laughed. “I know Lulabelle has a refined palate.”

“That she does.” Lulabelle was my senior basset hound. As sensitive as Lula’s sense of smell was, burnt was her favorite flavor. Her second favorite was floor food—anything I wasn’t fast enough to pick up .

My ex and I had adopted Lula from a rescue a few years ago, back when we thought we were each other’s forever. Needless to say, we were wrong, but our love for our floppy-eared baby was unconditional. We now shared custody of Lulabelle, which worked well for both our work schedules. Ridley worked as a real estate agent, so he was lucky to have flexible hours.

“Hey, Ridley,” I called, walking in without knocking. I heard the heavy thump of Lula hopping off the couch and the click-clack of her nails on the hardwood as she sauntered down the hall to greet me. “There’s my squishy-faced girl,” I cooed, crouching down to smoosh all her loose skin up while she tried to lick my face.

Ridley emerged from his office. “Hey, Jared. You’re looking… um, how are you?” He winced, scrubbing a hand over the back of his neck. We were still working on this whole friends thing. It had been three months since we broke up, and my insides still squirmed as I avoided making eye contact.

“Um, I’m good. You?”

“Yeah. Good.”

We settled into an awkward silence full of fidgeting that neither of us knew how to break. If this was what it was like to co-parent a pet, I didn’t envy parents with an actual biological child. Luckily, Lulabelle had scented her favorite snack, and the tension was broken when she began snuffling at the bag tucked under my arm.

“Oh, here. I saved you one of the not-burned ones,” I said, holding out a muffin to Ridley.

He took the muffin, smiling as he cradled it in his palm. “Thanks. Do you…” He sighed, bracing himself. “Do you want to stay for dinner? It’s no big deal, I’m just making some chicken nuggets and tater tots… you know, if you want. ”

He knew I loved nuggets and tots, and that somehow made it worse. “No, I’d better… Thanks, though.”

We stuttered our way through a goodbye, and he promised to come pick up Lula from my place on Friday. Back outside, I blew out a long sigh of relief, a not-insignificant weight lifting off my shoulders. Sometimes it was hard to remember why we didn’t work out as a couple, since we looked good on paper, but we’d just reached that point of our relationship where it was either get married or break up. And we just… couldn’t do it. Sure, we’d loved each other, but sometimes, love just wasn’t enough. We were missing the spark, that je ne sais quoi .

Lula puttered along beside me, her short legs working double time and ears swaying, her head on swivel as she took in all the scents riding the breeze. And since it was the perfect day for a walk, we did a lap of the park before heading home. I lived in an outdated apartment complex, in a tiny bachelor pad barely larger than a closet, but it was cheap, clean, within walking distance of work, and they allowed pets, so I couldn’t complain.

As soon as we walked in, Lula wandered over and sat in front of her food dish, looking up at me with those big brown eyes, showing off how patient she could be. “Yeah, yeah, but only one for now,” I muttered, grinning as I peeled off the paper wrapper and broke the muffin into a few pieces and dropped them in her dish. “We both know it’ll give you gas, so I hope you appreciate the sacrifice my nose is willing to take.” Three seconds, that was all it took, and then she turned her face back up to me, as if waiting for more.

I shook my head. “I told you just one. Not my fault you didn’t make it last. You should learn the art of the savor.” I knew people food wasn’t good for her, but I told myself it was in moderation, and I knew there were no preservatives or artificial flavors or colors. Lulabella groaned in complaint and padded over to her bed for a post-snack nap.

When her back was turned, I grabbed a muffin for myself and ate it quick before she saw. Then me and my best girl settled in for a long, lonely night of reality TV. I told myself this was better than settling for a relationship that would never be quite enough.

I lifted Lula up onto the couch and stroked her velvety ears while complaining about how unrealistic the show’s contestants were. “This has to be scripted. There’s no way people are this na?ve.”

As silly as I found it, though, it was a nice distraction from all the unease I felt when I thought of that café going in down the street. I just had a hard time seeing it as anything but a bad thing.