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CHAPTER ONE
REBECCA DAY SHRUGGED on her raincoat and eyed the rain tapping against The Koffee Kat’s storefront window. It turned SoHo’s block-paved streets into an impressionistic blur, the sidewalks uncharacteristically empty of tourists, the iron-trimmed buildings seeming to slide down like melting wax. A cab lurched along the road, sending up fans of dark spray.
Should she splurge and grab one instead of taking the subway? Given her crazy end-of-spring cold, it’d be justified. Given her overdrawn bank account, however, she knew better. A heavy rush of air escaped her.
“Toots, we need to talk.”
At her boss’s voice, Rebecca’s fingers stilled on her top button. So close to a clean getaway. After her twelve-hour shift, she needed a bowl—no, an IV bag—of chicken soup. Stat. Tomorrow she’d return to her primary job as a school psychologist after the district’s spring break vacation. Ten days off and she could use ten more, though she didn’t dare ask for sick time, not with her overdue tenure still an undecided question by the stalling school board.
Were they planning to let her go?
She swallowed painfully and forced her mind off of possibly losing the dream job she’d sacrificed so much to finally land.
“Sure. What’s up?” She eyed her employer’s hangdog expression and tried to ignore the flutter of nervousness in her stomach. Given the steadily dwindling business this past month, accompanied by her boss’s grumps and his wife’s sighs, she’d been preparing herself for what could be bad news.
“You’ll need a seat for this.” Mr. Roselli’s baritone echoed in the now empty coffee shop. How many customers had she served today? Fifty? Seventy-five? Not even close to their usual draw. Since the Death Star of all cafés—JavaHut—opened across the street, the mom-and-pop SoHo business at which she moonlighted had been hemorrhaging clients.
“Sure.” She reopened her coat, pulled out a chair and glanced up at a Leaning Tower of Pisa wall clock. Midnight. “Is something wrong?” Once she sat, she dabbed at her running nose and clamped a hand on her jittering knee. Counted the black-and-white hexagon floor tiles. Tried not to look scared.
Mr. Roselli let out a long, deep breath. “Rebecca. We’re closing The Koffee Kat.”
Her mouth dropped open. No. Mr. and Mrs. Roselli had owned this establishment for over forty years and his father another fifty before that. She glanced at the framed pictures of their hometown in Italy and generations of family members. This was more than a business. To her and to them.
A faint waft of fresh roasted beans whispered through the air as a painful silence descended. She struggled to speak and, despite the remnants of warmth coming from the bakery ovens, she shivered. Now that she thought about it, she should be tasting the first batch of lemon-almond biscotti Mrs. Roselli baked for the morning rush. But instead of pans clanging, she heard a muffled sob from the kitchen.
Her heart broke. Why would this happen to such kind people? For a fleeting moment she imagined calling her Fortune 500 CEO aunt for help. It wouldn’t be breaking the moral code about taking favors she’d made for herself when she’d left her guardian’s privileged nest. This was aid for someone else. A very good cause. And so deserving.
“Mr. Roselli, I’d like to help.” Rebecca’s words ended in a coughing fit that she muffled with the crook of her arm.
The older man’s weathered face creased in a sad smile. “I know you would, sweets.” His thick eyebrows knitted. “But me and the missus have made up our minds to buy one of those Florida condos. Our daughter lives there in a gated community. Keeps out the riffraff.”
Rebecca imagined living in such a safe, predictable environment and suppressed a shudder. She liked chaos. Choices. Freedom to live by her own rules rather than the constrictive ones she’d grown up with in her aunt’s Upper East Side penthouse and elite world. Despite Aunt Kathryn’s infrequent appearances in Rebecca’s childhood, her caretaker had known of each of Rebecca’s infractions, especially the one that’d nearly landed her in jail and destroyed her life...
“But you’ll be losing your home, your friends, everything...” Her aching throat closed. NyQuil. She should have paid closer attention when she’d grabbed it instead of DayQuil when she’d sprinted to the convenience store earlier to replenish her supply.
Would another dose of it hurt? She’d already thrown back a mouthful of the chalky cherry goo a half hour ago. It couldn’t be worse than the way she felt. Her body ached, temples throbbed, throat felt scraped by glass, and her nose was so raw she flinched when she touched it. She never would have come to work today if she hadn’t needed the money so badly.
The gray-haired owner shook his head. “The only thing I’ll miss are wonderful friends like you. The rest is always replaceable.”
Rebecca smiled at his brave words and agreed. And then it hit her. She’d need another job. Since her ex-roommate Laura, an old college friend she’d reconnected with when she started working at the Koffee Kat, moved out, Rebecca had been struggling to manage the rent on her illegally sublet SoHo loft. Losing was more like it. The extra income from her second job at the coffee shop was the difference between home and homeless. But more importantly, she needed these warmhearted people who made her feel like family—or what she imagined a family would feel like.
But looking into Mr. Roselli’s weary face, Rebecca realized that she wasn’t the victim. Her eyes narrowed at the glowing orange and green neon lights across the street’s shining pavement. She’d be darned if she’d apply for a position at the new JavaHut. In fact, she’d boycott the whole chain—and avoid the one in her neighborhood, too.
Goodbye to the part skim milk, part half-n-half mocha latte with extra caramel and whipped cream she ordered every morning on her way to school. Somehow she’d find a way through her fifteen-hour workday without a bag of chocolate-dipped espresso beans. Think of the money she’d save... It’d be a tough day without it, but she’d make a clean break from her habit if it killed her. Her stomach lurched. Maybe it would.
“I’m so sorry. When are you closing?” After reaching into her purse, she gulped more medicine and set down the bottle. It toppled on the granite-topped table, empty, and panic seized her. She’d drained it in—what—two hours? Three? Was that too much? She’d been so determined to return to school healthy and finally get some answers on the timing of her tenure decision that she’d lost track. Plus, hadn’t her pharmacist showered doom and gloom about mixing meds when he’d dispensed the muscle relaxers she’d been prescribed after pulling her hamstring during a martial arts class? How many of those pills had she taken to keep moving today? Her brain fogged as she fought to concentrate.
“Actually, this is our last day.” The white metal chair beside Rebecca protested as Mrs. Roselli joined them. She smoothed her floral skirt and lifted watering eyes to her. “We would have told you sooner but we didn’t think the place would sell so quickly—or that they’d want us out right away.”
Mrs. Roselli’s eyes flitted outside and Rebecca’s stomach twisted as she followed the other woman’s gaze. “They bought it, didn’t they? JavaHut?”
Mr. Roselli harrumphed and passed his wife one of Rebecca’s tissues. “What’s important is that we got a fair price and Margaret can finally retire. See the grandkids. Right, my love?”
She managed a tiny smile and
