Page 2 of Shadow Justice

The man who stepped inside needed caffeine and a personality transplant. Today, he wore a charcoal suit that probably cost more than Holly’s first espresso machine and a Bluetooth earpiece. His gaze swept the line, the tables, the pastry case, and then Holly, as if he’d found them all lacking.

Maya’s mouth barely moved as she murmured, “Heads up. Table four guy.”

Holly kept her smile easy. “I see him.”

Table Four Guy had an actual name—Hoyt Sullivan—but he’d forfeited the right to it months ago when he’d snapped his fingers at Maya. Holly had corrected him politely. He’d apologized, then continued showing up three times a week to order complicated drinks and complain about them.

Today, he skipped the line and planted himself at the pickup counter. “I called ahead,” he said.

Holly glanced at the row of cups waiting beside the machine. “Good morning to you, too. Name?”

He huffed. “You know my name, Holly.”

She hadn’t liked Hoyt in school, and she didn’t like him now. “Mr. Sullivan, we’ll have it ready shortly.”

“I called ten minutes ago.”

“We had a line ten minutes ago, just like we do now. As I said, your drink will be ready shortly.”

Maya turned away to hide a smile and returned to steaming milk. Holly reached for the cup with his name on it, but Hoyt leaned both hands on the counter and raised his voice. “I’m already late. I don’t have time for this.”

Holly had learned a long time ago that men like Hoyt often mistook volume for authority. They liked the illusion that their irritation could rearrange the world.

The old Holly—the one who had grown up measuring the emotional weather of every room before she spoke— would have made herself smaller. She would have apologized too much and rushed, hands shaking, because keeping the peace had once felt like survival.

This Holly owned the counter, the shop, and the very cup he expected to carry out with coffee in it.

“I understand,” she said, keeping her voice calm. She handed the cup to Maya. “Your drink is next.”

Hoyt looked past her toward Maya. “It better be right this time. Last time it tasted burnt.”

Maya’s shoulders tightened.

Holly’s smile thinned by one careful degree. “Then I’m sure you’ll be relieved to know Maya makes the best cappuccino in Blackridge.”

“I ordered a flat white.”

Behind her, the machine whirred as Maya started on his drink. “I’m aware.”

“Are you?”

Several customers had gone quiet. Judge Madsen paused at the door, lemon bars tucked under his arm, his eyes narrowing. At the corner table, one of the regulars, Allen Davies, folded his newspaper and looked over the top of his reading glasses.

Holly forced her smile to stay confident. “I believe everyone in here is aware of it.” His mouth turned down but before he could raise his voice to her again, she added, “You’ll feel better once the caffeine hits your system.”

Allen rose from his table. He was in his early fifties, with neatly cut salt-and-pepper hair, a navy overcoat, and a calm face that made people lower their voices around him.

“I’m sure Holly is moving as fast as humanly possible,” Allen said. His tone was mild, almost friendly. He pointedly looked at the line that was inching out the door. “Which, given the line, appears to be faster than most humans.”

A few people chuckled. The tension loosened.

Hoyt glanced at him, annoyed. “This doesn’t concern you, counselor.”

“No,” Allen agreed. “But bad manners in this particular coffee shop tend to become a community event.”

Judge Madsen made a sound that might have been a cough of approval.

Holly set Hoyt’s cup on the counter before the man could decide whether to escalate or retreat. “Flat white. Extra shot. One raw sugar. Have a good day.”