Begin Again(17)

Before I can fully get my bagel bearings, Shay tosses me a powder-blue apron with a bagel and the name of the shop embroidered on it. “I assume you can work a register.”

“Oh. Wow. I thought I was just interviewing—”

“So did we, but Milo’s brother Sean’s car won’t start, so . . . congratulations,” says Shay, pinning a white card on a lanyard to my apron pocket. “You’re hired.”

I finish tying the strings around my back and roll up my sleeves. “These aprons are so cute.”

Shay types something into the register, then pulls the white card up to a scanner and grants me guest access. “That’s half the reason I took this job, but trust me, everything’s going to look a lot less cute in a few minutes.”

“What’s happening in a few minutes?”

The phone rings and Shay holds up a quick finger to answer it. I go back to staring at the menu, which is so prolific it deserves to be adapted into a novel and a Netflix original movie. Then the bell to the store jingles, and in comes a group of freshmen loudly speculating about whether the first event for the ribbon hunt will drop this weekend or next.

“Wow. I turned my back for like, a second. What’s the look of abject despair for?” asks Shay.

I swallow down the bitter taste in my mouth. “I can’t collect any ribbons. My professor took my starter one.”

Just then a hand interrupts my line of vision. A hand holding a white ribbon with my name inked on it.

“What the . . .”

I look up to find Milo looking somehow even more sleep-deprived than yesterday morning, but nonetheless conscious and holding what might as well be a winning lottery ticket.

When I’m too stunned to move, he puts it in my apron pocket and says, “Hutchison and I go back.”

“Milo, I . . .” Absurd as it is, I have to blink back tears. “Thanks.”

I want to ask him how he managed this feat, but he’s already waving me off, attending to a coffee machine behind us that’s large enough to have its own zip code. I assume it must have something to do with one of his “zillion” siblings Shay mentioned.

“Well, problem solved,” says Shay. “Except don’t you have to get one for Connor, too?”

“Who’s Connor?” asks Milo.

“Her boyfriend. She transferred to surprise him, but then he’d already transferred out to surprise her. It’s all very rom-com of them.”

“I didn’t transfer for him.” I’d press that point, but I’m too overwhelmed by the miraculous return of my white ribbon to care. I put my hand back in my apron pocket, skimming the silky surface of it with my thumb. “And . . . I’ll figure it out.”

“Eh, why bother. Love’s dead anyway,” chimes in Milo, feeding a massive bag of beans into a coffee grinder. Before I can ask where that grim pronouncement has come from, he shakes the dregs of the bag and says, “Hold on. Need more beans.”

“Don’t mind him,” says Shay as Milo ducks into the back, revealing a massive setup of ovens and a boiler and a seemingly infinite mound of bagels in every flavor imaginable. “His brother Harley stole his girlfriend, and he now refuses to speak to or acknowledge either of them, resulting in a Flynn family schism of epic proportions. Hence, why he’s trying to flee the state like some kind of CW teen-drama antihero.”

Milo swings the door back open with a fresh bag of coffee beans slung over his shoulder. For a moment I see it flash again—whatever it was I saw in his face last night, before we both pushed past it as fast as it came. But his voice is steady and flat when he says, “You’re making me sound very dramatic.”

“You’re brewing a special blend of coffee you call ‘Eternal Darkness,’” says Shay, lifting the cap on the grinder for him. “I think you’ve got your own drama covered.”

“Eternal Darkness?” I ask.

Milo nods as he pours another batch of beans in, squinting at them as he measures. “It’s about as caffeinated as you can legally make coffee. But the special ingredient is having no regard for your mortality.”

Shay nimbly moves from the coffee grinder over to the front counter, where there are several cups full of coffee perched in wait. “Here,” says Shay, handing me a cup. “This morning’s test batch.”

I hold it up to my nose and try not to gag. There’s no way I could allow it near my human form, let alone my mouth. “It smells like death.”

“It smells like resurrection,” Milo corrects me.

“Is this why your sleep schedule is so wonky?” I ask, handing it back to Shay. To my concern, she shrugs and tips it back herself, in the manner of someone taking a shot. “Because you’re chugging five cups of this a day?”

“Three cups,” says Milo, affronted.

“Plus ten more out of the Keurig in his room,” says Shay out of the side of her mouth. She turns back to me. “You might have noticed there’s an entire HomeGoods worth of mugs in there.”

“Look who’s talking, Barnes and Noble,” Milo shoots back.

“Books don’t destroy my sleep schedule, though.” Milo opens his mouth to protest this, but Shay amends, “Usually.”

“Eh,” says Milo dismissively. “I was gonna try and cut back over winter break, but then I thought to myself, I’m not dead yet, so.”