But Connor Morgan was a ghost, or at least that’s how it seemed to Forest over the next couple of weeks.
There were text messages—small notes long enough for Forest to know Connor was alive but hardly conversation. Especially since they mostly revolved around how the shop was getting fixed up and that Con’d fielded his sister Inspector Kiki’s questions about the day of the shooting for him.
Oh—and to call him Con. That was the cherry on top of Forest’s shit sundae. He didn’t do platonic. Hell, he could barely pull off casual acquaintance without shoving his foot in his mouth. Con texted at least once a day, and Forest hated the little jump of his heart when his phone pinged him with a message. And he didn’t even want to think about the happy dance he’d experienced when the cop said to call him Con.
Like a damned twelve-year-old girl. Next, he’d be writing i’s with little hearts instead of dots.
“Wait, he doesn’t have any i’s in his name—and why the hell am I even thinking shit like that? Get your head in the game.” A glass shard of reality shoved through him, driven in by his own words. Alone. He certainly was that. “Frank’s not coming back, dude. Just own this shit. You’re on your own in this.”
The this was Marshall’s Amp, and the shit was definitely what was left of it after being used for target practice.
So he dragged himself down to the coffee shop on Sunday afternoon and stared at the remains of his inheritance.
The bakery case was shot—literally—and he stood in front of the wait counter’s remains while trying to make sense of the drawings the contractor gave him to choose from. The familiar ching-ching of the Amp’s door hitting a short string of bells jerked Forest’s attention away from the plans, and he cracked a smile, the first one in forever it seemed, when Jules came through the door.
“Shit, it is good to see you.” The plans hit the counter’s single standing surface, and Forest crossed over the floor, ready to hug her, when he stopped a few inches short. “Um, hi!”
“God, you suck at people,” Jules said cheerfully, enveloping him in a hug and banging his ribs with her cast. “Hug me, you asshole.” He got a mouthful of hair and another bruising embrace before Forest could even think about peeling himself away. “What are you doing here on a Sunday?”
“What are you doing here on a Sunday?” He relaxed into Jules’s hug and sighed. “God, I am so fucking glad you’re okay.”
“Yeah, I’m good.” Laughing, she let him go and looked around, taking in the stripped-clean interior. “Wow, gutting the place?”
“Sorta had to,” Forest replied, rubbing at his side, where he was sure he’d end up black-and-blue from her cast. “One of the espresso machines still works. Want one?”
“Yeah,” Jules replied, picking up the proposed plans. “Can I take a look? That is if I still work here. Randy told me you were at the hospital and that he was a jerk. He should have made sure you stayed. I love him, but sometimes I think he’s more socially inept than you are.”
“Yeah, I love you too. Go sit down at the one table we’ve got left. I’ll bring you some coffee.”
It took him a bit to juggle two large cups of espresso and the bag of Oreos he’d brought down with him from his apartment, but after a one-sided salsa around a broken cabinet, Forest made it to the round table Jules spread the plans on. She had a purple Sharpie, tapping at the plans with it as she stared at the drawings.
“Did you agree to this yet?” Jules looked at him when he got near. “And oh God, oh God—real coffee. My mom uses instant. And not like good instant like Vinacafé. Sanka instant. With Sweet’N Low. She doesn’t believe in sugar. Like it’s a unicorn or something.”
“You’re staying with your mom?”
“She insisted.” Jules made a face, then gave Forest a rueful smile. “It made her feel better. I got released from maternal custody yesterday. And we’ll talk about why you didn’t visit me in the hospital for my short vacation afterwards, but now, answer the question—did you agree to this yet?”
“Do you still want to work here?” He slid into his own chair and took his first sip of coffee for the day.
“Why wouldn’t I?” She stared at him, then waved her cast at him. “This? Are you kidding? How the hell could you have seen this coming? Besides, the insurance company paid for everything, and they had the nerve to ask me if I was going to sue you because you didn’t have bulletproof glass. Where the fuck do they think we work?”
“Mrs. Li died,” Forest said gently. “It’s why I couldn’t come see you. I went to go get flowers from her stand, and they were packing everything up—her family was. I just… couldn’t, you know?”