Suddenly Psychic (Glimmer Lake #1)(81)

He was staring at his phone and fingering the zipper pull on his Patagonia vest. “Nothing. Just my usual.”

The usual for Americano Asshole was a café Americano diluted with so much milk and sugar that it would be impossible to detect the subtleties of flavor between espresso and the regular brewed coffee Val had sitting on the counter.

There was a valued place in the coffee world for the café Americano, but not when you drank it like Americano Asshole. That’s why he had his name.

“Café Americano, heavy cream, three sugars,” Val said, ringing up the customer. He had a name, it was Allan Anderson, but nobody at Misfit Mountain Coffee Shop used it. He was Americano Asshole or AA for a reason.

Val reached for the silver coffee mug on the counter. She hadn’t even noticed the hole in her glove until the flashing image of a woman pouring coffee into the mug filled her mind. The woman was wearing nothing but Americano Asshole’s button-down shirt. The woman was also not AA’s wife. Val knew that because he was married to a genuinely lovely woman named Savannah who came into Misfit every other Tuesday night with her book club.

The image was fast and graphic. It was as if Val had been plopped in the room with AA and his side piece for a split second, then yanked out.

“Shit.” She sucked in a breath and AA looked up.

“Problem?”

Val plastered on a smile and swallowed the ream of curses she wanted to throw at him. “It’s fine. Let me just rinse this out.”

She turned and adjusted her glove to turn the hole to the back of her finger before she slipped up again. Then she went to rinse out AA’s coffee mug so she could get back to the growing line at Misfit that morning.

It had been over a year since she’d experienced the car crash that had triggered her weird telepathic abilities, and most days she was able to live pretty normally. She only reacted to objects, not people. She didn’t hear random voices or see ghosts like her friend Robin. She didn’t have scary premonitions or graphic dreams like her friend Monica. All in all, she wore gloves at work and while doing chores around the house, and she lived pretty normally.

Most of the time.

She handed the rinsed cup to her barista Eve and turned back to the register to get AA’s money for his Americano.

“Two seventy-five,” Val said, worrying the hole in her glove. Touching money without gloves could be a nightmare.

AA noticed her glove and smirked. “You’d think with what you charge for coffee you could afford new gloves.”

Eve sucked in an audible breath, and behind AA, the next customer’s eyes went wide.

Val wasn’t bothered. They called him Americano Asshole for a reason. “I try to coast on my wealth from twenty-five-cent tips like yours, but the struggle is real.”

Ramon, her cook, barked a laugh from the kitchen behind her, and AA’s eyes went cold.

“I’d give anything for a decent coffee shop in this shithole town.”

Eve handed her the Americano and Val passed it over with a smile, along with the quarter AA usually left in the tip jar.

“But instead you’re stuck with us. Bite me! And have a nice day.”

He turned without dropping the quarter in the jar and Val flipped off his back before she turned to the next customer.

“Hey, Mom.”

Marie Costa pursed her lips. “Honey, you really shouldn’t treat customers that way.”

“You worry too much. That guy’s always in a bad mood.” She handed her mom a coffee cup. “Dad coming in?”

“He’s parking the car.”

Val handed over another and pointed to the counter. “The counter is yours. Grab stools and Ramon will make up your usual.”

“Thank you, Valerie.” She pulled out her wallet and took out twenty dollars even though Val never took her money. She wasn’t going to make her parents pay for their weekly coffee shop breakfast when they’d been the ones to loan her the start-up money to begin with.

Marie, knowing Val wouldn’t take her money, put it in the tip jar, just like she did every week.

“And this is why my employees love you more than they love me.” Val grinned.

“They’re the ones cooking for me,” Marie said. “Not you.”

“And be grateful for that.”

“Thanks, Mama Marie!” Ramon shouted. “You better grab one of those lemon scones Honey made.”

“Oh, that sounds good.” Marie’s eyes lit up. “I do love Honey’s scones.”

“She’s trying to make me fat, Marie.”

Val and Eve both laughed at that. Ramon was thin and wiry, the kind of guy who ran marathons and couldn’t put weight on to save his life. He was married to Honey, who was as sweet as her name and carried all the curves in the family.

Val grabbed three more coffee orders and passed them to Eve before there was a break in the line. Two more tables had seated themselves, and Max was already getting them set up with coffee.

Long before she’d been a mom or a telepath, Valerie Costa had dreamed of having a place like Misfit Mountain Coffee Shop. She’d never gone to college, though she’d done administration courses at the community college in Bridger City. Instead, she’d married her high school sweetheart and spent her twenties partying up and down California with Josh, living for the next concert or road trip. Josh fixed cars and Val got jobs at whatever office was hiring and didn’t mind someone with multicolored hair and tattoos.