“See ya, Chloe,” he says, raising his spatula. “Gimme a call sometime if you ever want to . . . gimme a call.”

“I probably won’t do that, Mikey.”

He nods, accepting this.

As I step out the door and Milo and Mikey are in conversation about something, Fred grabs my arm, his eyes wide, looking like Tyra Banks just asked him to do abject fear at the idea of living in a nightmare garbage dump, but make it fashion. “Take me with you,” he whisper-hisses.

“You’ll be out of here so soon,” I promise, then step on another beer can that somehow materialized on the front steps. I think about asking him why he’s with my brother—why he even agreed to come all the way to Ohio—but it’s still raining, hard, so I pull my hood over my head and run toward Nick’s truck.

* * *

“Sorry, sorry, sorry,” I say, rushing through the coffee shop and into Nick’s office. I slide out of my coat, spraying water everywhere. “I know I’m late. It took way longer than I expected because of the rain and—”

“It’s okay.” Nick looks up from his computer, where I presume he’s balancing the books. Or reading fan fiction about Canadian ice dancers. Nick’s a private man, so who knows. Perhaps the greatest part of the Nick Velez allure—I mean, not that he has an allure to me, but if he did—is the mysteriousness. What does he do when he’s not working? What goes on inside that head?

“Ugh,” I say, wiping my bangs off my forehead. There’s no mirror in Nick’s office because it’s Nick’s office, but I can tell my sopping wet hair isn’t exactly a great look. “I’m disgusting. Customers are going to be like, ‘Who let a soaking wet golden retriever become a barista?’”

Nick stops what he’s doing and focuses on me. “You look good, Chloe. You always look good.”

He doesn’t say it dismissively, like he wants me to shut up and stop complaining. He says it matter-of-fact, like it’s so obvious, and the way he’s staring at me makes me feel hot and tingly. I can feel my skin growing pink under his gaze.

“Uh, okay, well,” I say, bumping into a shelf. “Better go help Tobin. God knows what he’s getting into up there.”

I make my way behind the counter and exhale loudly. Good Lord. This is Nick. I need to be professional, and I need to focus on my job and school and my dad and not the unbridled lust that is currently running rampant through my entire body.

Tobin stares at me, not moving.

“What’s wrong, Tobin?” I snap, then feel bad because it isn’t his fault I have an uncomfortable amount of sexual tension with Nick. “I mean, why are you staring at me?”

“I heard this story, on NPR,” he says slowly, which isn’t unusual, because Tobin says everything slowly, “about how measles are making a comeback. You know, because people don’t vaccinate their kids or whatever?”