“Are you aware that Jeremy is assaulting your tattoo displays?” Jeremy huffs. “I’m dusting them.” Charlie’s face collapses in confusion. “Why?” “Because I work here,” Jeremy says, sounding far too smug for someone who has been employed for less than seventy-two hours. Charlie turns back to me with both of his eyebrows raised. I raise mine right back. “What?” Charlie picks up one of the coffees, opens the lid to peer inside, then hands it to me. “Nothing.” I reach for it and curl my palms around its warmth. It smells like cinnamon and pumpkin, my favorite Tuesday pick-me-up from Ms. Beatrice’s.
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