A Grounds for Gossip Cozy Mystery

A Deadly Roast

By Terence Burgess

The espresso machine hisses like it's got an opinion about the morning, and honestly, so do I.

It's a little past seven, the sun still low enough to lay gold stripes across the pine floor of Grounds for Gossip, and I've already pulled forty shots before most of Millbrook has finished deciding whether it wants to be awake. Tofu is stationed in his usual patch of sunlight by the window, chin on his paws, doing his impression of a dog who has never once caused a scene in a public place.

We both know that's a lie. We've just gotten better at pretending otherwise.

A year ago I stood in this exact spot with a rented steam wand and a stomach full of doubt, wondering if Millbrook would ever feel like more than a town I was borrowing. The floors were still scarred from whatever the previous owner had dragged across them for two decades.

Now Mrs. Chen's paperback stack lives permanently under my counter. Lila has a stool with her name basically engraved on it. Ray Burkett walks in at seven-oh-five like the building would collapse without his supervision, and some mornings I half believe him.

I pull another shot, watch the crema bloom amber and thick across the top of the cup, and let myself feel, just for a moment, the particular satisfaction of a routine that finally fits.