Finished with my perusal, I leave the women’s bathroom and step across the hall to the office. I’m the only one other than the owner who has a key, and I unlock it to open the door enough to toss my backpack inside. The other employees have lockers in the small break room at the end of the hall. After locking it back up, I head to the heartbeat of the shop.
I make my way behind the counter where magical coffee dreams are made and money is collected.
I greet each of the employees by name and with a smile. I’m a good boss, overly genial and fair. I can be hard when warranted—such as come in late three times and the fourth, the employee would see the temper of a redhead—but for the most part, it’s a very chill work environment.
We have two cash registers and only one person working them, so I step up to the unmanned one and turn the key to fire it up. The line splits, and customers come over to me.
Looking up from the register, I greet the first one with a bright, cheery smile. “Welcome to One Bean. What can I get…”
My words trail off because my stomach sours, and my heart starts pounding as I take in the customer before me.
To every other person in this shop, he looks normal enough—a morning commuter dressed in slacks and a nice button-down with a crew-neck sweater over it. It’s the standard attire for most businessmen downtown and you rarely see men or women in expensive, tailored suits. Seattle’s just way too casual for that. He has a briefcase in one hand and a phone in the other. Ordinary face, brown hair, and brown eyes.
But as I take him in, I don’t have to look hard to know there’s something wrong with him. The vibe I’m getting—while making me distinctly nauseous—is cold, hard… maybe even psychopathic.
I could see him with clearer eyes if I so chose, but I tamp down on that particular gift. It’s not a pleasant experience. Like Mr. Pelman, he’s one of “them” and I learned my lesson where “they” are concerned a long time ago. The less I know, the better. It’s bad enough knowing my dad was a little crazy—I don’t want anyone thinking the same about me. And I definitely don’t want to believe that about myself anymore.
I lock myself down tight, even as a cold sweat chills my body. My vision glazes slightly as I look at him, a cheery smile still in place. “Sorry… what can I get you today?”
He gives his order, which I write on the cup. His voice is hard and gravely, his tone just short of snide. In just that short meeting, I can tell he’s a jerk to most people but that’s not the reason I’m experiencing fear. That’s just surface personality. It’s what lies beneath that has my knees shaking just slightly.
His name, so normal… Dan. If he had a knife in hand and no witnesses, I bet he’d take pleasure in slitting my throat.
And I hate that I know that about him.
I take his money, careful not to touch his fingertips, and hand over his change. I avoid obvious eye contact the entire time, instead keeping a hazy awareness of his body in general. My mouth feels like it’s going to crack as I desperately hold onto my smile.
When he steps to the side to await his order, my gaze lowers to the cash register. I let out a long exhale, returning it immediately with a calming breath.
I lift my head, welcoming smile back in place, and ready myself to greet the next customer.
“Shit,” I mutter when I see the woman standing before me.
My twin sister, Fallon.
“We need to talk,” she says.
CHAPTER 2
Finley
I tell Lisa I need about ten minutes, and she cheerfully says I should take my time. Grabbing Fallon’s tall half-caff, soy latte, and a straight-up black for myself, I wind my way through the tables. She miraculously found one under the staircase that leads to the second floor.
Fallon sits facing me as I approach, but her head is bent over her phone, fingers flying across the screen. We’re fraternal twins and stand us side by side, it’s easy to tell we’re sisters, but no one ever guesses we were born on the same day. Outside of some slight resemblances in the face—nose, arched eyebrows, chin—we’re like night and day.
Whereas Fallon is polished, educated, and accomplished, I’m a college dropout managing a coffee shop. While she wears designer clothes, elegant jewelry, and has monthly spa visits to pamper herself, I like my skinny jeans, Chucks, and t-shirts, sometimes with a flannel on top. Relaxation for me is sitting on the back deck drinking a beer and reading a good book.