* * *

Julie had a bad case of late-afternoon drowsiness, which was compounded by a lack of business in her shop. In the early days of being a shop owner, she’d always panicked when the flow of customers trickled down to almost nothing, but nowadays she knew from experience that it was only a lull. Flagg’s Market was probably running a produce special or something. She decided to use the downtime to catch up on dusting and restocking shelves, polishing the oven fronts, and cleaning her beverage equipment.

She had just defeated a syrup spill when the bell above her entrance door jangled. She turned from her task, wearing her customer smile, which faded abruptly when she saw Erin entering the shop. Only this wasn’t the Erin she had come to expect. Today the perfectly pressed deputy uniform had been replaced by faded jeans; a purple, wash-worn tank top; and a big blue shirt that was smeared with dirt. On her head, her friend wore a ball cap with her wealth of dark hair ponytailed out the back. Julie wasn’t shocked, exactly. Whenever Erin was out of uniform, she was a loose cannon when it came to her clothing ensembles. True to form, her tank top clashed with the red hat.

“Well, my goodness, look what the cat dragged in,” Julie called. “I thought you were on duty today. I guess not.”

Erin sauntered over to the ordering counter, which was a red flag to Julie. Her friend had been in counseling for nearly a year to get rid of her masculine mannerisms, and Julie had become her chief advisor. Sauntering was not allowed. Neither was hip jutting, a posture Erin assumed the moment she drew to a stop in front of the cash register.

“Is business slow?” Erin asked. “I need an ear.”

“Slow? The place has gone completely dead. I think Flagg’s is running another produce special.”

“Nope. There’s an art festival at the town center. Kids from the high school are selling their paintings and crafts to raise money for the football team next year. All the proceeds will go to buy new uniforms and safety gear.”

Julie’s shoulders relaxed. “Ah. So I’m losing my ass today for a good cause.” She went to make two coffees. “I’ll take a break with you, then. You can choose our table.” She angled her friend a searching look. “You dieting today? I have a new flavor I’m dying to try, caramel mocha with cinnamon, but I haven’t purchased any sugar-free syrup yet. I gotta try the real deal before I invest in another case of the stuff.”

“Hit me,” Erin replied. “I burned off enough calories today to propel a Learjet from here to New York.”

Julie quickly created their drinks, topping them off with whipped cream. She found Erin sprawled on a chair at what Julie called the lube table, featuring a spouted oil can that held a spray of daffodils and fern. She set down her friend’s coffee and took a seat across from her, thinking that Erin’s choice of table might be psychologically significant and could mean that she was slipping back down the slippery slope of behavioral change into her father’s clutches. Again.