I walked back to the espresso station through fog that smelled like dry ice and teenage desperation. Harlow stood behind my machine with her tongue poking out between her teeth, pouring what looked suspiciously like cinnamon directly into the portafilter basket. The sight made something in my chest seize up like watching someone vandalize a Ferrari with a butter knife.
"What are you doing?"
She jumped, nearly dropping the spice container, and spun around with guilty pink cheeks. Her maid headband had shifted sideways, giving her an adorably lopsided look that would have been charming if she wasn't currently destroying my workspace.
"I was making the Midnight Espresso more exciting!" Her voice pitched higher with defensive enthusiasm. "Sarah said it needed more pizzazz, and cinnamon has pizzazz, right? It's like fairy dust but for coffee!"
