She handed the first carrier to Moose like she was passing him a container full of live copperheads, her movements slow and deliberate. The second carrier she placed in front of me with the kind of exacting precision usually reserved for defusing bombs, each cup perfectly aligned, as if she was daring me to so much as breathe wrong and spill a single drop.
“And here’s your…” She paused, eyes narrowing as she looked at me like I was an annoying puzzle she didn’t know how to solve. “Whatever it is you drink.”
“Black coffee.” I reached for the carrier with what I hoped was a grateful smile. “You know I always order the same?—”
“Don’t care.” The words came out flat and final as a judge’s gavel.
Moose elbowed me again, hard enough to rattle my teeth. “Man, I love her. She’s like a porcupine with a PhD in sarcasm.”
Jess rolled her eyes so hard I worried she might strain something vital.
Before I thought of something clever—or at least something that wouldn’t make me sound like a complete idiot—to say back, one of Jess’s part-time workers came jogging up the sidewalk, her breath puffing in little white clouds. Kelsey, I was pretty sure.
“Sorry I’m late!” she called out, voice a little breathless as she hustled toward the side door of Pour Decisions. “My car wouldn’t start in this cold, and I had to get my roommate to jump it, and then the traffic on Highway 72 was backed up because of that accident near?—”
She grabbed the metal door handle and yanked upward with both hands, expecting it to swing open like it was supposed to.
Nothing happened.
The door didn’t so much as budge.
Kelsey pulled harder, her cheeks turning pink from both the cold and the exertion. Her Santa hat slipped down over her eyes,and she had to push it back with one hand while maintaining her grip with the other. “Jess? The door’s jammed again.”
“It is not jammed,” Jess snapped, her voice sharp enough to cut glass. Her sharp forest green eyes dared me to say one single syllable about the malfunctioning door.
I raised both hands in the universal gesture of surrender, palms out, trying to appear as innocent as possible. Which, given my size and the history between us, probably wasn’t very convincing.
But my mouth had other ideas. “You really should?—”
“Don’t.” She held up one warning finger, pointing it at me like it was loaded. “Just. Don’t.”
Kelsey tried the door again, throwing her whole body weight into it this time. The metal handle creaked ominously, and the door shook in its frame like it was having some kind of mechanical seizure. But it refused to budge an inch, like it had decided to stage a one-door rebellion against the concept of opening. It might as well have been welded shut.
Jess muttered something under her breath that no doubt wasn’t appropriate for public consumption and stomped over to the door. She grabbed the handle with both hands, set her jaw, and pulled like she was trying to rip the entire side panel off the truck. Her knuckles whitened with the effort, and I saw the muscles in her forearms strain against the fabric of her long-sleeved shirt.
The door screamed open with a screech of protesting metal that echoed off the courthouse brick like a banshee wailing its last breath. Every person within a three-block radius turned to stare, including Mrs. Henderson, who was stepping out of Bloomsday and dropped her bouquet in surprise.
Jess closed her eyes and blew out a long, controlled breath that spoke of years of practice in not completely losing her coolin public. When she opened them again, her expression was composed, but frustration simmered just beneath the surface.
“See?” Her voice was tight enough to snap. “Not jammed.”
I bit the inside of my cheek and tasted copper, because the words “Uh-huh” were right there on the tip of my tongue. Along with about fifteen other observations about the obvious mechanical problems with that door latch that would get me banned from coffee for life.
Kelsey slipped inside, mumbling apologies, and tried to shut the door. She had to pull it down three times, each attempt requiring more force than the last. The metal groaned with each tug, like it was personally offended by the concept of closing.
On the third try, it clicked into place.
Barely.
The sound was more of a reluctant whisper than the solid thunk a properly functioning latch should make.
Jess marched back to the service window. Beneath the surface composure, she vibrated with don’t-you-dare energy. “Anything else for you two?” The artificial sweetness of her voice told me she was imagining creative ways to dispose of our bodies.
“No, ma’am,” Moose said, immune to the tension crackling in the air. “Thanks for the laughs and the entertainment.”
“I wasn’t trying to be funny.” Her tone could have frozen the Tennessee River solid.
“That’s what made it funnier,” he said with the kind of oblivious grin that had gotten him in trouble since kindergarten.
