Page 12 of An Espresso Machine’s Guide to Love & Mischief

“No, no, I got—”

I cringe as they argue about who gets to be more inconvenienced by my existence. I double cringe at the thought of cuddling against Fletcher’s hot abs again. I’ll get all hot and bothered with no way to find relief, and will steam him again. I might seriously hurt him if I keep losing control.

I want to tell him to stay far, far away for his own safety. I want to ask him out. I want to stay close to him. I want Neph to help carry me so this doesn’t feel so intimate.

Honestly, I don’t know what I want. But there’s one thing I absolutely need: to get my fortune back.

Focus, Diva! Poor isn’t a good look on you, I tell myself. The voice in my head sounds like my parents and sister rolled into one.

For a split second, I feel a wave of grief. Not because we were close—I knew the teachers at my boarding school better than I knew my own family—but because they’re all dead, just like me.

Except I’m not really dead—I’m trapped in a lump of metal, and I need someone to carry me.

“Just share already,” I snap at Fletcher and Neph. “Let’s go.”

Chapter 6

Diva

Fletcher presses his lips together but doesn’t argue about letting Neph help carry me. She lifts one side of me while he wraps his strong arms around the other. I revel in his strong embrace, but having my bestie help carry me really puts a damper on things.

They carry me out of the train, across the platform, and down a connecting tunnel.

“Wait,” I say when I spot a sign pointing toward Union Station. “Why are we going this way? Doesn’t this lead to the subway?”

“I hope so,” Neph says.

“It does,” Fletcher adds.

“We aren’t taking a luxury Uber? Or—” I’d shudder if I could, “—a cab?”

“Between the flight, the hotel room, the battery packs, and the ChorePossum…” Neph trails off, but I already know what she’s going to say.

We can’t afford it. It’s bad enough being trapped in an espresso machine. But now I’m making my best friend and… employee? Crush? Whatever he is… suffer because of it. The subway is probably full of rats and more gross stains.

“How much does it cost to take a cab? Poor people do it all the time! Turn around!”

“But we’re almost there,” Fletcher says.

“I said I want to go the other way!” My voice grows louder and my knobs twist in annoyance—mainly at my own helplessness. I survived that one time I had to roll my friend up in a rug to smuggle her out of a drug lord’s private jet, but now I can’t even get myself to a cab.

A few people turn and stare, but they just keep walking. Either they’re used to talking espresso machines—which I highly doubt—or they think it’s a gimmick.

“Come on, Diva, the subway isn’t so bad,” Neph says.

“But a cab is better. Take the money from my account!” I get a salary for working in Neph’s cafe. I have money, just not enough to hire someone to carry me to all the fancy resorts in the world. It’s enough for things like food and clothes and jewels, but I can’t eat and nothing fits me.

Neph helped me order a necklace once, but I had no way of wearing it. I asked her to tape it to my side, but it wasn’t the same. Plus, it kept falling off, so eventually I just let her keep it.

“It’ll take longer to turn around and go back,” Fletcher says.

“Ugh, fine,” I snap. It’s not like I have much choice, since they are literally carrying me—I don’t even get to decide where I go.

They carefully shuffle me down a set of wide stairs. People—many of whom are dressed in suits—race past us on their way to wherever it is they have to be. Meetings, I guess?

Most aren’t dressed in nice, designer suits, so I don’t really pay attention. Though I do notice the man wearing a shiny Rolex. He’s carrying a briefcase, but isn’t hurrying along like everyone else. At first, I figure it’s because he’s rich, but then I realize he’s keeping pace with us.

It’s weird, because we are moving slowly. You’d have to be injured to walk any slower—and he’s not limping or using a walker or anything. He just stays a few feet behind us, like those bandits did when they’d confused me for the princess of Lenolia. Not that I blame them. I looked good before I died, and my outfits were worthy of any royal.