Daisy and Brenda are standing behind the counter taking orders and making drinks. Brenda gives me a fake smile but Daisy only glares. Great, fun afternoon ahead, I think. Daisy is pissy with me because a) she didn't get me in trouble with Derek last week and b) she's been getting really comfy with the smell of toilet bowl cleaner since I've designated her the spinner for whenever we are working together. This means every fifteen minutes or so Daisy has to check the bathrooms, bus the tables, clean and stock the condiment bar, and make sure everything looks good throughout the store.

On the other hand, Brenda, our store's official chalkboard artist, is a little annoyed because Derek asked her to come up with a fantastic sign to post on Fridays to advertise my talents.

I quickly put my things away, tie on my apron, and join the girls up front.

"Oh good, you're ready," Brenda says. "Now you can take over up here so I can go sit and work on your sign."

She practically snarls the words at me like I've done something wrong. I'm no happier about this than she is. In fact, worrying about it all week is giving me an ulcer, I think. Brenda disappears to get her supplies and returns to the front in moments. She stops momentarily by me at the register. "So what is this"– she points at the board–"all about, anyway?"

I sigh. "Well," I begin, "long story short, I'm the new Friday night attraction. From six to ten on Friday nights I will be taking down drink orders and matchmaking. It's called Espressology."

"Does it work?" she asks.

"Yeah." I can see Daisy out of the corner of my eye looking at me like I'm full of it.

"Why haven't we ever heard of this before?" Daisy asks with an attitude.

"Because I haven't told you about it," I snap. I'm so not in the mood for any crap from Daisy today. "Have you checked the bathrooms recently?" Daisy makes a face and leaves the counter to go on toilet duty.

While I'm busily glaring at Daisy's retreating back, the door swings open and my dad walks in. I quickly look at Brenda and shake my head a little as I eye the chalkboard. I do NOT want my parents to find out about this Espressology stuff. Not yet, at least. We have a fairly easy, stress-free child-parent relationship going on these days and I don't want to rock it.


"How's my favorite barista?" he says, approaching the counter.

"Good, Dad." I love it when my dad comes in. Not only is he a friendly face, but he always leaves a ten-dollar bill in the tip jar. "Small cappuccino?"

"Is she good or what?" he asks Brenda.

Brenda laughs. "She's good." She retreats to a nearby table with her supplies, still close enough to overhear our conversation.

I ring up his order and make his drink. When I turn around I see a ten in the tip jar. Dad is so dependable.

He takes a sip of his drink. "Mmm, tastes great," he says loudly to the store. Like I need extra help selling this stuff. "See you at home, sweetie," he says, just to me.

"Bye, Dad." I watch him leave.

"Your dad is so cute," Brenda says.


"Yeah." I pause. "You know, my mom and dad fell in love over coffee, so maybe it was my destiny to bring others together through my Espressology."

"Deep." Brenda giggles.

I give her a wounded look.

"No really, it does actually sound kind of cool,"

Brenda says. "I don't work Friday night, but I might have to come in and check it out."

"Sure," I say, grateful for the small bit of kindness. I want her to think I have everything under control, but inside I'm totally freaking out. Friday is only two days away. What if I look like a gigantic moron? What if I can't in fact really do this? So what if I matched three couples? It could be a total fluke. Nevertheless, I've been studying my notebook every night since Derek told me I'd have to start playing Espressologist this Friday. I even skipped studying for my chemistry quiz to study my Espressology. Derek said that each Friday he's going to set up the huge chalkboard outside, with the words:


The Espressology is In

Friday's 6-10 p.m.

Come in for a little Latte and love

The plan is that from six to ten I'll sit at a small table in the front of the store near where the drink orders are taken. People who want to participate will give me their phone numbers or e-mail addresses and I'll jot down notes on them and their drink orders into a spreadsheet on my laptop. They can hang around and see if I match them sometime during the four hours, or I can have their coffee match call or e-mail them. The service is free; well, after the customers buy a drink, that is. I'm totally freaking out because I've never had to do this on demand before. I mean, it has all just been for fun so far. And what if my matches are just a huge coincidence and I am in fact 100 percent full of crap with my coffee theory? Ugh. I just have to stop thinking about it.

* * *

I'm busily making six small white chocolate mochas for a moms' club meeting when my already bad day gets even worse. Melissa and Ginny are heading into the store.

"Jane!" Melissa exclaims happily, striding up to the counter. "Isn't December fantastic? I just love that adorable holiday music you have playing in here."

I give her a wary look.

"What can I get you guys?" I ask in a flat voice.

"Did I mention that I ran into Jane 'off hours,' "

Melissa says to Ginny, making dramatic air quotes with her fingers, "a couple of weeks ago?"

"No, where?" Ginny asks.

I stare at both of them with my mouth hanging slightly open. Do they even see me? Hello, running a business here. Place your orders already, I beam at them with my eyes.


"Oh, here of course." Melissa laughs. "But she wasn't working. She was on a date!"

"Really ..." Ginny raises her eyebrows and looks from Melissa to me.

I clear my throat. "Like I said before, what can I get you guys?"

Melissa completely ignores my question. "Yeah, and he was a total hottie, too! I didn't see any family resemblance." At this, they both erupt in laughter.

"That's enough!" I say loud enough that most of the other customers turn to look at us. "From now on we are going to just keep our exchanges to coffee, got it?" I'm shaking a little bit–surprised at myself for being able to be so direct with Melissa.

"What? I don't understand." Melissa looks slightly wounded. "I thought we were friends."

"What?" I spit at her. "When were we friends?"

"Well, uh ..." she stammers.


"Yeah, let me help you out," I say in a much quieter voice. "We never were and we never will be. Now place your order, give me your money, and go wait for your drink." Melissa stares at me for a moment with a stunned expression on her face.

"Two small nonfat lattes," she whispers, sliding me her credit card. I roughly mark two cups with their drink orders, ring them up, and quickly make the drinks. I keep the same mean face on until I watch the two girls leave the store with their drinks. As soon as the door closes behind them I fall back against the sink, shaking. I cover my mouth with one hand. I can't believe I just did that. I finally told that witch off. I handled her all by myself without Em whooshing in to save me. I have got to call Em right now and tell her all about it.

* * *

It's about an hour before closing and we're doing our nightly cleanup. Brenda is mopping the floors, Daisy is hauling the garbage out back, and I'm handling the counter by myself when Will walks in alone. I'm a little surprised to see him in here this late, but I had already thought about our next meeting and had decided to play it really cool with him about the whole Thanksgiving thing. Will gives me a huge grin.

"Hello," I say plainly. "What can I get you?"

"The usual."

"Really?" I can't resist asking. "It's kind of late."

"Yeah, I have a late night ahead of me." I nod. "That will be three fifty." Will looks puzzled. "What?"

"That will be three fifty," I repeat.

"Oh," he says, slowly pulling out his wallet, not taking his eyes off of me. I keep a straight face, but I want to laugh at his reaction to actually having to pay for his coffee. I ring him up and start to make his drink. Will comes around to the pick-up counter and watches me work. "So," he begins.

"So," I echo, quickly pulling shots and dumping them into his waiting cup.


"I was really bummed you weren't able to make it on Thanksgiving."

What?.' What the heck is he talking about? "Excuse me?" I say.

"You know, Thanksgiving. You said you were going to try to come over for our little celebration. I guess you couldn't get out of your family thing."

I hesitate with the ice scooper in my hand, trying to figure out the best way to respond to this.

"No, I couldn't make it. I had dinner with my family and then I met up with a few people." There. That sounds kind of good. At least I don't sound pathetic.

"Yeah, I figured something like that happened," he says.

Yeah, right.

"But I did try to leave you a voice mail to let you know I wasn't coming," I add, not wanting to just let the whole phone-turned-off thing go.


"Really? I didn't get it."

"Yeah, your phone wasn't in service or something."

"What?" he says, taking his phone out, flipping it open, and looking at it like it is going to tell him what happened on Thanksgiving or something. "What number did you dial?"

Okay, it's sad I know, but I have the phone number he gave me in my apron.