Chapter 5

A figure leaned against the counter, a faint scent of perfume drifting in the air.

Latisha looked up. It was Nikita Stafford, the owner of the café.

Nikita was tall, nearly five-foot-ten, with short-cropped hair and a casual style of black t-shirts and cargo pants. Most people mistook her for a guy until she spoke. When Latisha had first come for the interview, Nikita had playfully pinched her cheek, scaring her half to death before she realized her boss was a woman.

Latisha put down the cloth and smiled faintly, her fingers moving. *I'm used to it.*

Nikita watched her hands, then glanced at her red-rimmed eyes. A frown creased her brow.

"I'm used to it." Three simple words that held a world of pain and resignation.

She pushed a latte across the counter. "Your favorite, with extra foam. On the house. Everyone gets one today."