6. Chapter 6

Chapter six

Silas

I don't understand what's going on, probably because I seem to be blinded by Fenella.

Snow-blinded, maybe. She's wearing all white today— pants tight at the hips with twin rows of buttons running diagonally to her waist and a loose sweater cropped at her belly button. Her coat might be denim and falls just below her knees.

How much luggage did she bring?

I watched her through the tiny window in the back storage room when she was ordering and I could tell Nathalia was making her the wrong drink but couldn't bring myself to intervene.

Nathalia has only been working here for a little over a week, but I'm already exhausted from telling her what she's doing wrong.

Earlier today, she dropped a bag of our most expensive beans and all she could say was a giggly oops as they skittered all over the floor .

Nathalia is almost forty; there should be no giggling over mistakes at that age. At any age. But it was worse when she overboiled the milk because she was checking her phone and decided to argue with Leodie over what she did wrong.

She's a horrible barista. I have to fire her but I hate firing people. It's like my pet peeve and my worst nightmare all rolled into one.

But I don't understand how Fenella can help with that.

"She made me the wrong drink," she says in a loud voice that's about two shades more pretentious than her usual tone."And when I corrected her, she insisted I try it, that I could make it a popular drink. She's trying to take advantage of my celebrity when all I wanted when I came here was peace and quiet. Is that too much to ask for?"

I watch as Nancy Tanker and Bernie Carols lower their phones with guilty expressions. Were they filming Fenella? Were they taking videos of her? Who does that?

"Your coffee shop is suffering with her working here," Fenella announces loud enough for everyone in said coffee shop to hear.

Leodie and Nathalia stop their argument.

Well, she's not wrong. Still—what is she doing? One minute, she seemed fine with the wrong drink and now…

"I'm so sorry," I mutter. "I'll make you another one."

"I don't want another one. I want the one she was supposed to make. If you don't have employees who treat their customers with the respect they deserve, I don't think I want anything from here." She gives me a wink.

Oh, is this… is she only pretending? "I am very sorry that she upset you," I say, raising my voice.

"You should be upset. In fact, you should be so upset that you don't want her to work here any longer."

"What?" Nathalia screeches.

"Caramel is not vanilla," Fenella tells her. "They don't even smell remotely the same. And lavender should not be a part of that drink."

"It's lavender. Maybe you should drink it and calm down. Stop the temper tantrums."

The whole place goes silent. Fenella lifts one carefully groomed eyebrow and stares at Nathalia, who pales when she realizes what she said. "I mean, I couldn't tell what I put in because of the overpowering stench of coffee," she protests weakly.

"That's because you dropped the bag of beans earlier and the whole place smells more than it usually does," Leodie points out.

"Which I told you, is not my fault. I had butter on my hands from that croissant I warmed up and—"

"Nathalia," I chide. "We don't argue."

I sound like I'm talking to my nephew. When he was five.

"We do when they're wrong . She's trying to get you to fire me because she's famous, Silas—"

"She won't have to try very hard,"Leodie mutters.

Fenella crosses her arms and gazes down her nose at Nathalia. With her lips pressed tight together and her purple eyes looking almost black, I suspect Fenella resembles her father on a bad day rather than the model/influencer/partygirl that she is. "I'd be trying to fire you even if I was a nobody like you," she says, her voice as icy as a January wind.

"Nathalia," I begin, unsure of how exactly to do this. Fenella has given me the opening and now I have to take it and run.

"You are not taking her side." Nathalia looks incredulous and I half expect her to stomp her foot.

"That's what we do when she's right," Leodie points out like she practiced this with Fenella.

"You're trying to fire me!" By now, every eye in the place is watching and I notice Fenella drift back a foot to get out of range of anyone who may be videoing the exchange. Not that anyone would—

Okay, so Nancy Tanker has her phone trained on Nathalia with an expression of delight on her face. "Nathalia," I try again.

"Oh, no you don't! You're not firing me—I quit!" She rips off her Coffee for the Sole apron with the little fish and thrusts it at me. "I don't need a boss who won't back me up. You're no better than my husband. He refused to take my side over his mother's and I will not have it. I won't work for you again, Silas, even if you begged me to." Nathalia grabs her phone that's still on the counter, reaches down and hauls out her coat and purse, when I have explained at least six times that we don't keep personal property out here. "I'm never coming back to work here. Not even if you beg me to."

She waits a beat, like she's actually expecting me to ask her to stay. I don't say a word and she storms out.

The door slowly closes, but it seems that's not enough for Nathalia because she pushes it shut with an angry expression.

"And you will never, ever, beg her for anything, let alone to work here again," Leodie says under her breath.

"I really think she thought you were going to," Fenella comments in her regular tone.

I gesture at Nancy, who is now laughing at the scene. "You should get rid of that," I reprimand, gesturing to her phone. "No one needs to see it." And then I stare out the window where I can see Nathalia stomping across the street. I still have her apron in my hand. "She just quit."

"You're welcome." Fenella flips her black hair behind her shoulder.

I turn to her. "I didn't want her to quit." That's not exactly true, but I definitely don't want to start over trying to find someone who wants to work here. At least I didn't have to look very hard with Nathalia—she asked me for a job, and after working thirteen double shifts without a break, I was desperate enough to agree.

I didn't think working here was that difficult, but she never really got the hang of things. Or really wanted to. But still, the thought of having to start again is not a pleasant one .

"Well, you didn't want to fire her either, so again, you're welcome." Fenella smiles but there's a coolness in her gaze. "That woman was not meant to work here."

"Says… you?"

"Says me, too." Leodie leans over the counter, fist outstretched for Fenella to bump.

"I'm not sure you realize this, but I'm in charge here?"

Leodie waves. "You think that, Silas, but… no." She grins conspiratorially at Fenella who… laughs.

Fenella Carrington laughs and it's not a pretty sound. It's almost like she hasn't laughed in a few years and is only now remembering she's able to do so. And the thought of that snuffs my annoyance like birthday candles being blown out.

"It will be a more harmonious work environment without Nathalia," Leodie continues. "She was really bringing the moral down."

"You could have told me that earlier rather than stand there and watch her walk out," I say, resigned. "That didn't make anyone look good. And I know she only wanted the job to keep her from being bored during the day, but what if she really needed it? What if she needed the money?" I look at Fenella.

You don't know anything about that . Even though I don't say the words, I can tell the realization hits Fenella. I won't make a judgement about her because I told Leodie the truth—I really don't know her. I know she's a beautiful woman and that, along with her family's fortune has opened doors and given her opportunities that not everyone can have .

It's hard to say if she understands this.

I'm sure she has to deal with a lot—billionaires do have their problems—but they're not the issues that regular people face.

It's clear Fenella Carrington is not a regular person.

And that thought makes me sad.

"Had to be done, Silas," Nancy calls from the table where she and Bernie don't even pretend that they're not listening. "Fenella's right—she had no business working here. You have to respect the bean," she says dramatically. "Nathalia didn't respect the bean."

She's right. They're all right. I shouldn't have hired Nathalia but still… "Do you respect the bean?" I ask Nancy. "Want a job here?"

"No way," Nancy says with a laugh."I don't even like making coffee for my husband."

I shrug and turn to Leodie. "I liked watching her walk out," she admits. "You should thank Fenella for getting it done because I don't think you could have done it."

"He's too nice a guy," Fenella agrees.

"That doesn't sound like a compliment."

Fenella holds my gaze. "Oh, it is." Up close, her eyes look like they have at least three different shades of purple,but that could be the light. They're almond-shaped and set wide apart in her face, and I can't seem to turn away. "I think I like nice guys."

Fenella is not a regular person and I should kick myself for thinking the thoughts I'm thinking about her. Like how her upper lip is a little fuller than her lower and both turn down at the corners. How her ear is like a delicate shell peeking out from her curtain of dark hair, adorned with diamond studs the size of the nail on my pinkie finger. And how her throat moves as she swallows.

The moment stretches between us and Leodie moves away to serve Andy Babbit, come for his daily chai tea latte on his way home from work.

"You're not sure?" I finally ask.

"I haven't known too many of them," she admits.

"Gunnar is a nice guy." Mentioning an old boyfriend—what am I doing?

"He's a prince. And I'm not princess material."

"I don't know about that."

Fenella's face lights up at that. It's like there's a glow emanating from behind her, illuminating her every feature and making her simply breathtaking.

Seriously. Seeing a happy Fenella takes my breath away.

There's a smile on her face—at least there is until she takes a sip of her drink and winces. "Ew."

I laugh because me just standing here staring at her like she's bewitched me is getting old. "I'm sorry."

"There's nothing for you to be sorry about. That just shows that the person who thought the combo was a good idea has no business working here. Pumpkin, caramel and lavender? No, thank you. "

"Let me make you a new one," I offer. "It's the least I can do after you got rid of my employee."

I reach for her cup and my finger brushes against hers.

Is there a spark when I touch her?I can't tell because the scent of cinnamon and cloves drowns out my other senses. Nathalia must have used half the bottle of syrup and I make a mental note to fill it up before the late-afternoon rush starts.

It is better not to have to cleanup after Nathalia, and maybe I'll be able to find someone quickly. It's not like I have anything that gets in the way of doing double shifts. Or anyone. Work, Wyatt, and trying to find time for a regular stargaze sees to that. Neptune will be visible this week and I'd like to get out to the spot near the lighthouse at least once to see it.

"I'm sorry if I crossed a line."

I glance at Fenella. I get the sense she's not the type who apologizes.

Ever.

"You were right," I concede. "I've never had to fire anyone. They just leave by mutual agreement."

"Sounds like this is a good place to work then, you being a nice guy and all." She smiles and this one isn't blinding but natural. And kind of sweet. "Did that sound more like a compliment?"

I hand over her new drink. "Guess so."

And then with a wiggle of her fingers, she's gone.