An Americano with an extra shot, Emily told her. While Ana filled her order, a kid who couldn’t have been more than sixteen came out from the back, turned the sign in the front door from OPEN to CLOSED, and started to mop the floor.

“On the house,” Ana said when Emily tried to pay.

“No. Seriously,” Emily said, offering a ten-dollar bill.

“Absolutely not. And I am so sorry.”

“Not your fault.” Emily stuffed the money into the tip jar and went out to her car. Coffee was splashed across her rear window and had run rivulets through the grime coating the white trunk lid.

Furious as well as shaken, Emily unlocked her car and got in. She hoped that asshole’s fancy shoes were well and truly ruined.

10

ON THE SHORT ride home, the smell of coffee evaporating off her clothing made Emily nauseous. She turned onto her street and drove slowly down the block. Just once, it would be nice if Frank left the outside lights on for her. She pulled into the driveway and got out of the car, hurried to the back door and felt for the lock.

Once inside, she made her way to Frank’s office. The door was ajar. She pulled it open. A single lamp was on in the corner. Frank sat at his desk, his face lit by his computer screen. She crept up behind him. Startled, he jumped in his chair and nearly knocked the coffee from her hand.

“You’re back,” he said, snapping his laptop shut.

“What are you up to?”

“Working.” He pushed his chair away from the desk and swiveled to face her. He was wearing boxers and an undershirt.

“At this hour?”

“Okay. Sussed me out. I’m working, but I’m also bidding. Online auction ends in a half hour and I need to stay sharp.” Emily didn’t want to know what he was bidding on; she just hoped it was small and flat. She held out the coffee. He took it, lifted the lid, and sniffed. “Thanks.”

“How was the game?” she asked.

“We won. Barfield had four hits, cleared the bases in the seventh. What about you? You said you had to work, but I didn’t expect you back this late.”

He looked up at her with that million-dollar smile of his, his look turning askance. “Looks like you’re wearing some of this.” He blew on the coffee and took another sip. “What happened?”

“Asshole ran into me at the coffee shop.” All that remained was a fleeting impression of a big man with a trim dark beard, tinted glasses, and an angry scowl. Stupid cow. It was telling that he’d picked that particularly demeaning insult. “Spilled his coffee and blamed me.”

“That sounds unpleasant.”

“It was.” She looked down at her shirt and pants. “It’ll come out in the wash.”