Page 3 of An Espresso Machine’s Guide to Love & Mischief

“My first job of the day!”

“Yay!” Ben says and throws his arms into the air.

I chuckle and show him the request on the ChorePossum app. “A pony shifter needs help carrying a talking espresso machine from the airport to an office building just down the street from here.”

“Double yay!” Ben says.

“Told you this job rocks. Easy possumysy.” I press the accept button. “Plus, I get to do arm day at the same time. Hauling heavy machinery through Pearson and on transit beats the gym any day.”

“I love the office gym. They have free juice. You can even mix them to make your own flavor! My favorite is apple, beet, and carrot. I call it ABC.”

“Oooh, I’d try that! Not that I’d ever want an office job.”

“Yeah, sitting still that long is definitely not for you, buddy. Just like I could never run around the city all day. For one, no free juice mixes and comfy office chairs. Plus, I’m stressed enough without insurance.”

“Just three more weeks.” I slap his shoulder. “You got this.”

“Thanks, man. Have fun doing espresso arm day.”

We do our secret handshake—which ends with me tapping his right dress shoe with my right sneaker—and then I head back toward King Station.

As I pass by Mrs. Ellis again, I pause to say another prayer, and my eyes drift to the subway entrance ahead. What was she even doing at King Station? In the three years that I’ve known her, I don’t think she’s ever left our North York neighborhood. Hell, she even complained about the noise and crowds downtown.

Why did she come out here? Presumably before sun-up, because she’s clearly been dead long enough for rigor mortis to set in.

I pull out my phone and tap the contacts icon to bring up her landline—yep, she still has one of those, and I’ve had to use it whenever her packages would accidentally get delivered to our unit instead of hers.

I tap the call button, since her wife would know, but hang up before she picks up.

What if no one’s told her Mrs. Ellis is dead? Do I really want to be the bearer of bad news? Especially over the phone?

I bounce on my toes. I want to find out why Mrs. Ellis was jaywalking downtown in the middle of the night, but the right thing to do would be to express my condolences in person… after I’m sure the authorities have let her know what happened and she’s had time to process.

I tuck my phone into my jeans pocket and head for the subway steps. I’ll just talk to her in person tonight. I’m going to have to, because something about this situation feels off.

Chapter 2

Fletcher

After a short subway ride and a longer train ride, I arrive at the airport and head toward arrivals. I pass through the sliding glass doors when my phone rings. That must be Nephrite—fuck, am I late? I shouldn’t have stopped for the coffee and donuts at Union Station. There’s always such a huge line there!

I break into a run as I tap my phone. “Hello, sorry! I’m almost there.”

“You’re running late?” Mom asks.

“For what?” I should have checked the caller ID before answering. “I can’t talk now, Mom. I’m on a job.”

“Don’t tell me you got the job without an interview?”

Oh, shit, the interview. Was that today? I race past a man lugging a giant green suitcase.

“I’m so happy for you, Fletchy! When do you start?”

“I don’t. I’m on a ChorePossum job, Mom. We’ll talk later.”

She’s quiet during the time it takes me to squeeze through a group of tourists wearing giant cameras around their necks. I should just hang up on her, though if I do, I’ll never hear the end of it.

Mom lets out an exasperated sigh. “You didn’t get the job yet? That’s okay. You can still make the interview if I send you a cab. I can call Mary and make up an excuse. I know you’ll get this job if you just apply yourself.”