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“She uses her phone to monitor her blood sugar, you idiot.”

“I— I didn’t—” Gus swallows. “Wilma never mentioned—”

“Willow. Her name is Willow. The fact that you don’t know that—” Shane snaps his mouth closed, releasing a nasally exhale. “It doesn’t matter.”

When Shane tilts his head to the side until it pops, three people in the café gasp.

“Don’t.” I rush forward, fisting the back of his shirt as he leans forward to say, “She quits.”

My chin juts up just as Shane glances back at me. “I quit? I can’t quit. I need this job.”

“Not if you’re putting up with verbal abuse.”

A sputtering sound escapes me. “Gus is hardly ever here. It’s not that bad, and—”

“No.”

The short, single-syllable word brooks no argument.

“But—”

He turns to face me. “No, Willow.”

“You can’t quit for me,” I say in a rush.

Shane inhales slowly, his gaze not leaving mine. “You’re right. I can’t. But you shouldn’t have to deal with a scumbag like him.” His voice drops to a murmur. “You deserve better.”

I struggle to swallow over the palette knife stuck in my throat.

Shane opens his mouth, closes it, and when he speaks again, my insides turn into ooey-gooey icing.

“This is good because if you quit, you’ll be able to find another coffee shop where you can cover drinks with gratuitous amounts of whipped cream and sprinkles while also not being yelled at.”

My heartbeat thumps against the underside of my chin as I struggle to catch my breath. I’ve never had a man support my need to find the upside of any situation. My ex used to groan whenever I tried to put a positive spin on anything, and the handful of guys I dated before him used to encourage me to ‘be more realistic.’ But here stands the grumpiest man I’ve ever met, vibrating with I’ll-leave-you-bleeding-in-a-ditch energy, encouraging me to demand fair treatment by using my own words.

When a smile blooms on my face, the corner of Shane’s lip lifts into a barely there grin.

A part of me wants to revel in that slight quirk for the rest of the day, but we’re on a roll here. Actions need to be taken.

Titling my head left, I catch my boss’s pinched gaze. “Gus, I quit.”

The way Shane’s shoulders sag in relief sends unexpected energy ping-ponging between my ribs. That is, until I notice the massive line stretching out the door.

“Right after I finish this shift.”

Shane drops his head back with a groan.

Before I can turn back toward the espresso machine, he bends at the knees, tossing me over his shoulder with one arm.

“What are you— Stop it!”

Shane ignores me, saying his favorite word again while storming toward the exit. Halfway through being carted away, I notice two teens filming from the corner of the room.

Great.

Just great.

Because going viral for being manhandled is what I need on top of everything else today.