Colton
Bzzt.Bzzt. Bzzt.
Frowning down at my phone, I excused myself from behind the counter, motioning to one of my employees to cover the register while I took my father’s call. This wasn’t normal for him. A call in the middle of the day? Especially when he knew I’d be busy getting the cafe up and running? Unease built in my gut as I picked up the phone.
“Hey, Pop. What’s up?” I tried to keep my voice level, oddly self-conscious that he’d hear my concern.
“Colton, son, can you swing by the house?” My father’s normally sweeping drawl was clipped and thick with something I couldn’t name.
“Now?” I asked, ice-pricks of dread spreading down my skin.
There was a short pause before he responded, “If possible. I need to speak with you.”
I was already walking back to the break room to grab my keys.
“Yeah, be there soon.” I said, stripping off my apron. Anxious energy coiled deep in my belly threatening to send meinto a spiral of panic, but I was trying desperately to hold it at bay—at least outwardly.
My dad grunted in approval before ending the call.
Pocketing the device, I made my way back out to the main room before quickly muttering a short explanation to my staff—two whole people, but hey, they counted—and practically running out the front door.
I would have bet my left nut that today would be one of those dreadfully normal days here in my little tourism-driven town. And I’m quite attached to my left nut, thank you very much.
In fact, from the moment I woke up this morning, everything had checked the boxes on a list of average things that happen on a June day.
Mrs. Anderson came by at nine on the dot, walking Buttercup, her annoyingly loud but tiny dog, along the already sun-warmed sidewalk. We exchanged the normal pleasantries as I got the mail and Buttercup yapped at me like we didn’t do this same song and dance every morning. I opened my cafe, Bikini Beans, for the afternoon at one o’clock with the help of my employees. Even our first set of customers for the day were a group of scantily clad teenaged tourist girls that strutted in wearing nothing but their swimwear.
They waltzed up to the counter, acting like they weresocool being half-naked, just to order some basic iced coffees and fruit pastries. But, when I explained I couldn’t serve them due to their apparel—or rather lack thereof—they argued that a place with the word ‘Bikini’ in its name shouldn’t require a shirt or shoes. (Pro-tip for future guests: health codes still exist. Wear a shirt.)
In a town like Westwend, Texas, excitement was a seasonal thing—gossip about the tourists, a minor scandal here or there. The biggest shake-up in recent memory? My dang cafe with afternoon-to-late hours.
Plenty of people swore it wouldn’t work; that nobody intheir right mind would want coffee at nine p.m., but here we are. Still standing.
Even in the off-season, the place stayed busy with local kids using it for study sessions or a get-together location. It had been a dream of mine to run a cafe in town, and now that I was doing it, I was dedicated to ensuring everything ran smoothly. Which my father knew, and why he pointedly never called me during business hours.
My chest tightened as I drove through picture-perfect Main Street, my mind racing through worst-case scenarios about my mother or brothers. Did Mom have some sort of accident in the garden? Did Brooks get into another fight? He hadn’t in a long time, but… What if? What about Bailey?
This. Was. Not. Normal.
I sucked in a slow breath through my teeth, trying to force my brain to stop running away from me. My twin older brothers had always been hell-on-wheels growing up, which had given my parents more than enough grief over the years. It’d been only natural for me to fall in line and go with the flow of things rather than contribute to the hurricane-like destruction they caused.
Brooks and Bailey would throw a tantrum over literally anything, and I’d politely accept what was given so as not to cause a scene—even if I hated whatever I was getting.
My brothers would terrorize their teachers at school, so I’d swoop in to save the Shaffer name by making sure to kiss ass and get good grades.
They wanted to throw a rager in our backyard while our parents were away? I’d designate a cleaning crew from the attendees and move the party down by the river so Mom and Dad would never find out, all while partying on.
I might’ve followed the rules for everything I could, but I wasn’t a saint by any means. A teenage boy needed to let loose every once in a while, after all!
Mentally, I was preparing myself to be handed the worstnews of my life as I bounded up the steps of my parents’ wrap-around porch. My thoughts were all over the place, but I took a steadying breath before heading inside.
Blessedly cool air was the first thing to greet me as I entered the house, the second being the sound of my father’s boisterous laugh.Laughing?Feeling thrown by the murmurs of chatter and more laughter, I followed the noises until I found myself stepping into the living room.
My old man sat perched in his armchair, arms pulled back over his head in a relaxed gesture that was a stark contrast to the raging anxiety coursing through me. Across from him was a dark-haired man who was chuckling along to the apparentlyfunnystory my dad was retelling. My father looked up and beamed as he caught sight of me, adding another confusing piece to the messed-up puzzle before me.
“Colton, my boy! You made it!” He grunted in his effort to stand, putting down his glass of… whiskey? Whiskey was a celebration drink. Areuniondrink. I was so beyond lost, I might as well be in Narnia.
“Hey…” I managed a bit breathlessly. “What’s going on?” I asked, glancing toward the stranger, who was now standing up himself. I clocked the second glass of amber liquid on the coffee table, just across from him.
