Chapter 1
CHAPTER 1
✦❘༻༺❘✦❘༻༺❘✦
My day starts before sunrise. My phone alarm shrieked at five so I could walk three hyper little pugs for Mrs. Calloway before heading to the book-café at eight. Nothing unusual there—just pulling espresso shots for the regulars. Ashbourne Books & Brews is technically a bookstore slash coffeehouse, but everyone knows the coffee keeps the lights on. The books might as well be wallpaper.
By noon, I’m clocking in at The Velvet Spoon, where the faint smell of sourdough rolls and sweet pastries greets me from the kitchen. That smell always unwinds something knotted deep in me, and God knows I need it today.
My legs are already aching from lugging bags of beans at Ashbourne, but I tell myself every dollar matters. Nova needs it. Grandma Maeve needs it. I don’t have the luxury of stopping.
I hang my coat in the narrow employee closet and glance around the bistro: deep burgundy walls, art-deco lamps, and a chandelier dripping gold like a promise. It’s the kind of place where couples sip overpriced wine and pretend they’re in Milan. A woman in her forties lingers by the door, eyes glued to the chandelier. I paste on a smile and greet her with the best “Ciao!” my manager, Francesca, insists we use to keep up the European illusion.
The fake charm grates, but the paycheck is worth swallowing pride.
I seat the woman by the front windows and return to the hostess stand. Lunch shifts are usually quiet, but I hate quiet. Quiet means thinking. And lately, thinking always circles back to Nova, curled up on the couch at home after her last chemo session. Sixteen is too young for cancer.
“You’re doing everything you can, Snow,” I mutter under my breath. “Three jobs, college on hold, bills lined up. We’ll get through this.”
But the knot in my chest tightens anyway. We’ve already drained Dad’s savings. The life insurance evaporated after the accident. Grandma Maeve tries to help, but the mortgage on her cottage is drowning her. Selling it still won’t cover Nova’s treatments.
Movement catches my eye. Renee, one of the servers, is rolling silverware into napkins. She’s perched carefully, like sitting hurts.
“You okay?” I ask softly.
Her cheeks flush. “Fine,” she mutters, focusing on her fork. She glances around for Francesca and shakes her head, telling me to drop it. I nod and return to my station. We all have secrets.
Before I can think more, my phone buzzes in my apron. Grandma Maeve almost never calls at work unless it’s urgent. My gut twists.
“Gram?” I whisper, ducking behind the divider. “What’s wrong?”
Her breath hitches. “Snow, the hospital sent the new estimate. It’s worse. They’re asking more than the house is even worth. The bank won’t give me another loan. I’m so sorry, sweetheart.”
I clench my eyes shut, swallowing tears. “It’s not your fault. I’ll figure something out. I promise Nova will get her surgery.”
We end the call, both faking strength neither of us feels.
The rest of my shift is mechanical: smile, greet, seat. But my brain keeps screaming. Out of money. Out of options. Nova’s running out of time.
Even my break feels like wasted time. The break room barely fits two people. Renee is there, sipping coffee, shifting uncomfortably.
“Hey, Snow,” she murmurs, cheeks pink.
I force a smile. My heart is somewhere else—already spiraling into the dangerous thought I swore I’d never entertain.
