The one thing Meyer’s does have, I note with delight, is a small coffee bar next to a glass case of cream pies and icing-laden cupcakes to my right. A whiteboard hangs on the wall above the metal chest-level counter, with a handwritten menu of hot drink options.

I make a beeline to where a young girl hides behind the stacks of paper take-out cups. “I’m desperate for caffeine.” A painful throb flares in my head as if to emphasize my need.

Her near-black eyes do a once-over of me. “What size?”

“The largest you have. A latte, with soy, please.”

“We don’t make those.”

I glance up at the sign, to double-check that I’m not hallucinating. “It says you do.”

“Well yeah. We make lattes. Normal ones.”

Six fifty—American dollars—for a grocery store latte is not normal, I want to say, but I bite my tongue. “It’s the same thing, just made with soy milk.”

“I don’t have soy milk,” she says slowly, as if to help me understand.

I take a deep, calming breath. “Okay, do you have almond milk or cashew or . . .” My words drift with her shaking head.

“So . . . I guess you don’t want the latte, then.” She sounds put out.

“No, I guess I don’t.” I can’t recall the last time I stood in front of a barista—if that’s what I can even call her—and was told that there was no alternative option. I don’t think it’s ever happened.

“She giving you problems, Kayley?” Jonah asks, coming up from behind me.

“Hey, Jonah.” The girl—Kayley—grins at him, dismissing me entirely.

She isn’t so much girl as woman, I now realize as I study her more closely. Early twenties, maybe mid, with large, almond-shaped eyes and high cheekbones. Not a smudge of blush or a swipe of a mascara brush has touched her face today. She’s naturally pretty, and the fact that her brunette ponytail is masked by a hairnet doesn’t detract from that.

I wore a hairnet once, when I was sixteen and rebellious, and decided that I couldn’t handle working weekends for my mother at her florist shop. So I got a job at the cupcake shop three doors down. I lasted one Saturday before I went back to my mother, because as difficult as she seemed, she didn’t make me wear an unflattering headpiece.

“Why aren’t you flying today?” the girl asks, her idle hands lazily stacking and restacking paper cups, her hawkish gaze never leaving Jonah’s face.

“I’ll be in the sky within the hour, as soon as I’m off day-care duty.” He tips his head toward me. “This is Wren’s daughter. She hasn’t figured out where she is, yet.”

“In hell, at the moment,” I snap, my irritation flaring unexpectedly. I’m hungry, my head is pounding, and he’s making jokes at my expense.

He gives me a flat look before leaning in to rest his sinewy forearms on the counter. “Hey, any chance you can grab a carton of whatever it is she needs off the shelf and make her that coffee so she’ll be a bit more pleasant?” His voice has turned soft, gravelly.

Kayley’s lips twist with reluctance. “Yvette doesn’t like us doing that. It always ends up going to waste.”

“Don’t worry. We’ll take the carton with us and pay for it up front. Won’t cost you a thing. Come on, Kayley, you’d be doing me a huge favor.” I can only see his profile, but by the way his eyes are crinkling, I can guess the look he’s giving her.

Is he . . . flirting with her?

Does the yeti actually know how to flirt?

Kayley rolls her eyes but then tilts her head to the side, her lips twisting playfully. “Sure, Jonah. Give me a sec.”

I can’t help the momentary glare, but then cover it up with a wide, fake smile. “Thanks so much, Kayley. I’m so sorry for any inconvenience.”

She ignores me, disappearing around the corner, her hips swaying slightly. She has a thing for Jonah. She’s hoping for something romantic between them. That or something romantic has already happened between them.

Both scenarios mean she’s clearly masochistic. Also, possibly a psychopath.

I feel Jonah’s gaze on me. “What?”

He shakes his head. “Couldn’t wait to get home, could you?”

“You know what? Thanks for the ride. You can head on over to fly your little planes now. I’ll be fine.”

I’m expecting him to jump at the chance to ditch me, but instead he leans against the shopping cart handle, amusement in his eyes. “And how are you gonna get everything the five miles home?”

“I’ll borrow a duffel bag for the essentials and fly the rest later,” I mock, staring pointedly at him. Though a cab would be easy enough to grab.

He holds a hand up in a silent greeting to an older gentleman who passes by. “Relax. Your clothes will be here today or tomorrow.”

“Today, thanks to Agnes and Billy.” And not you.

“Billy?” Jonah’s brows pop and then his head tips back. An unexpectedly loud, boisterous laugh sails from his mouth, turning numerous heads in the vicinity. “Billy spent last night with his hands in your things.”

“He did not!” I scoff.

“Brought your suitcases home, emptied them onto his bed. Got naked and rubbed his—”