The morning air inside The Grime was thick with the scent of roasted beans and the metallic tang of the old heater, but to Violet, it was the smell of home. Here, the velvet dresses were a world away, and the aggressive silence of the Thorne estate was replaced by the clatter of porcelain and the gruff, familiar banter of the neighborhood.
Violet moved behind the counter with a grace that felt entirely organic. She was in her element, sliding a fresh blueberry muffin toward a construction worker with a wink and topping off the coffee of a regular who had been sitting in the corner booth since 6:00 AM.
Sal, a man whose forearms were covered in faded tattoos and whose heart was roughly the size of a prize-winning pumpkin, leaned against the espresso machine, watching her. He had been unusually quiet all morning, his brow furrowed as he polished a glass that was already spotless.
"Violet," he grunted, beckoning her over to the far end of the counter where the steam from the milk wand muffled their voices.
"What's up, Sal? Did the milk delivery guy forget the almond milk again?" she teased, wiping a stray smudge of flour from her apron.
Sal didn't smile. He looked toward the front window, his gaze lingering on the curb where Roman's SUV had idled the night before. "That man. The big, brooding one in the suit who's been sniffing around here. The one who looks like he eats boardrooms for breakfast and iron for dessert."
Violet's heart did a strange little flip, but she kept her expression neutral. "Mr. Thorne? What about him?"
"Is he bothering you, kid?" Sal's voice dropped into a low, protective rumble. He straightened his back, the muscles in his shoulders bunching. "Because you know the rules here. You're family. I've got three dozen guys coming in here today who would happily find a quiet alleyway to explain 'manners' to him if he's giving you trouble. All you gotta do is say the word, and he's out of the picture."
Violet felt a wave of genuine warmth wash over her. She looked at Sal- the man who had hired her when she was just a ghost with a suitcase and a secret, and saw the father figure she hadn't dared to hope for. She reached across the counter and squeezed his rough, calloused hand.
"He's not trouble, Sal. I promise," she said, her voice soft but certain. "He's just... intense. He's got a lot of walls and even more money, but he's harmless toward me." She paused, a playful, sassy glint returning to her blue eyes. "Besides, if he tried anything, I'd just hit him with a blast from the steam wand. He's far too expensive to handle a little humidity. It would probably ruin his hair, and I think he values that more than his stock portfolio."
Sal let out a short, bark-like laugh, some of the tension leaving his frame. "Alright. But the offer stands. If he oversteps, he's got all of the South Side to answer to."
"I know, Sal. And I love you for it," she said, before turning back to a customer with a bright, angelic smile that made the gritty little shop feel like a cathedral.
The rest of her shift flew by in a blur of steam and caffeine. Violet found herself humming as she wiped down the tables, her mind occasionally drifting to the single blue hydrangea sitting in her kitchen- which she had secretly brought home from the estate, breaking her own "no gifts" rule just this once because, technically, she was just "rescuing" it from the foyer.
Just as she was hanging up her apron and preparing to head out the door, the bell above the entrance chimed with a frantic, happy energy.
"VIOLET!"
Adam burst through the door, his small legs moving a mile a minute. He wasn't wearing his blazer today; he was in a bright red hoodie, looking every bit the excited five-year-old. Behind him, looming in the doorway and making the small shop feel like a dollhouse, was Roman.
He looked different today. He was wearing a dark, well-fitted polo shirt instead of a suit, and his black hair was slightly windswept. His icy blue eyes immediately locked onto Violet, scanning her from head to toe as if to confirm that she hadn't been replaced by a body double since he dropped her off.
"Adam! What are you doing here?" Violet laughed, catching the boy as he collided with her knees.
"Daddy said we could come find you!" Adam shouted, his face beaming. "We had a meeting about dinner. A very 'portant meeting."
Roman stepped further into the shop, nodding a curt but respectful acknowledgement to Sal, who was currently staring him down from behind the counter with the intensity of a gargoyle. Roman's gaze returned to Violet, and for a fleeting second, the aggressive, unreadable mask slipped, revealing a man who was simply happy to see her.
"The meeting was unanimous," Roman said, his voice a rich, dark velvet that seemed to vibrate through the floorboards. "The Chairman of the Board-" he gestured to Adam "- decided that a home-cooked meal at the estate was the only acceptable conclusion to the day."
Adam tugged on Violet's hand. "Will you come to dinner, Violet? Please? Mrs. Higgins is making the chicken with the crispy skin, and Daddy said I can stay up thirty minutes late if you come!"
Violet looked up at Roman. The tension from the zoo and the mystery of her "technical marriage" were still there, lingering in the shadows of his eyes, but his posture was open. He wasn't commanding her; he was asking. In his own, heavy-handed way, he was trying to be the man she wanted him to be.
"I'd love to join you, Adam," Violet said, ruffling the boy's hair. She looked at Roman, a sassy spark in her eyes. "But look at me. I smell like espresso beans and floor cleaner, and I've been on my feet for six hours. I need to go home, freshen up, and remind myself what it's like to be a human being instead of a coffee machine."
Roman's jaw tightened slightly at the mention of her home- his mind immediately going back to the run-down apartment building, but he nodded. "I'll have the car wait. We can pick you up in an hour."
"No," Violet said firmly, reaching into her bag for her keys. "I'll drive myself. I need to pick up a few things, and I like my independence, remember? Give me ninety minutes. I'll meet you at the estate."
Roman looked like he wanted to argue- the urge to "protect" her journey was practically written on his forehead, but he caught the warning look in her eye. He took a breath, forcing himself to stay in the barracks.
"Ninety minutes," he agreed, his voice rough. "Don't be late, Violet. The Chairman is a stickler for punctuality."
"I'll be there," she promised, her voice dropping into that angelic, soothing tone that always seemed to ground him.
As Roman led Adam back toward the SUV, the boy waving frantically through the glass, Violet turned back to Sal. The older man was still watching Roman's car pull away, his arms crossed over his chest.
"Harmless, huh?" Sal muttered.
Violet smiled, the pipe-cleaner ring on her finger glinting in the afternoon light. "Like a shark with a toothache, Sal. He's more bark than bite... I think."
"You be careful, kid," Sal said, but his eyes were kind.
Violet nodded, grabbed her bag, and headed out into the sun. She had ninety minutes to transform from a coffee clerk into a dinner guest, and for the first time in a very long time, she found herself looking forward to a night that didn't involve a stage, a spotlight, or a secret.