Had to make a good impression.
Cream and sugar with a splash of caramel for Kathy. The good caramel. The kind that was kept behind the counter.
I fumbled across the counter. Not caramel. Not the good stuff.
Kathy would be mad.
Where was the caramel?
But what about Monty’s coffee cake?
I moved to the shelves along the side and took a plate. Mustn’t forget the cake. Caramel on the cake? Maybe he’d like that too. Where was the caramel?
“What the hell are you doing in my fucking café?”
I turned toward the sound. “I’m looking for caramel of course.” I took the plate to the counter. “Monty wants coffee cake.”
“Are you drunk?”
“No, it’s morning. I don’t drink in the morning.” I moved back to the counter and took the lid off the muffin plate. No, he wanted coffee cake. “Okay, maybe I used to drink in the morning, but not anymore. I have to get coffee for work. Please don’t make me late. Sam wouldn’t like if I’m late. I’m the new girl, and I can’t be late.”
A bright light dented the fog.
“It’s three in the goddamn morning. I don’t have time to deal with this shit. You need to keep your damn edibles on the shelf unless you’re sharing with friends.”
“Edibles?” I frowned and looked down at the plate in my hand. I frowned. That wasn’t my plate.
“Look what you did to my place.”
The slam of a drawer made me stagger back a step. This was not my apartment. “Oh, God.” I swayed a little and shook my head. Where the hell was I? “Oh, shit.”
“I’m calling the cops.”
“Wait!” I shook off the fog of sleep and confusion and slipped on sugar and coffee grinds. I barely caught myself on the counter. “Wait. Oh, God. I wanna die.”
Macy Devereaux stood at the edge of the cafe with a baseball
bat over her shoulder, dark hair in a messy braid, and her icy eyes dead serious. “What the hell are you doing in here?”
I closed my eyes, pushing my frazzled hair out of my face. “You won’t believe me.”
I didn’t believe me. I couldn’t believe this was happening.
Not again.
The particulars were fuzzy as they almost always were after one of my episodes—a lot of times I didn’t remember much at all—but the signs were quite clear.
I glanced around at the huge mess on the floor and the counters. How the hell did I get into the café?
“You need to do some explaining or you’ll be doing it with Sheriff Brooks.”
“No, no. I’ll clean it up. I’m so sorry.”
“You’re damn right you’ll be cleaning it up. How the hell did you get in here? Don’t make me ask again.”
“I, um, don’t know.”
“What?” She lowered the bat. “What do you mean you don’t freaking know? I have a security panel, for God’s sake.”