“Love you, too, pet.”

Bryony closed her cell phone, tossed it on the passenger seat, and headed back to the office. An apple and a snack pack of almonds in her purse would get her through the rest of the day.

Late in the afternoon, Bryony’s coworker, Paul, popped his head around the corner. “Did you hear?” he asked.

“Hear what?” Bryony’s eyes shifted rapidly as she compared the two screens in front of her.

Lightning flashed outside the window followed by deep, rolling thunder. Spring storms galvanized Bryony, especially during the work day when the bright, productive office softened threatening weather. She hunkered down, scrutinizing the screen, safe in the search for an elusive typo.

“Big news,” Paul said.

“Hmph,” Bryony muttered. Something somewhere in the account on her screen had not been properly transferred to the new software, and it threw off the sum by fifty-three cents. Unacceptable.

“Clyde sold the company.”

Bryony swiveled her chair to face the man leaning into her side of their shared cubicle, his hand resting on top of the divider. “Clyde told me he was thinking of selling,” she said. “He said we’d all like the new buyer. We’ll be fine.”

Clyde Metcalf had started the accounting firm when he returned to Fieldstone fresh from Harvard, two years before Bryony and Paul finished high school. By the time they walked across the stage to receive their diplomas, Clyde had enough work to take on employees. Both Paul and Bryony started working on a Monday, still reeling from a weekend of graduation parties.

“How did you find out?” she asked, trying to soothe him. Paul adjusted at a slow pace. Updated software gave him hives. Bryony hoped a change in leadership would not upset him for too long.

“The new receptionist told me,” Paul said. “She overheard Clyde talking to the new owner as he walked her out the door.”

Bryony scoffed. “The new receptionist doesn’t know her place yet.” She would have a talk with the young woman later, but right now the elusive numbers glitch beckoned. Bryony swiveled back to the screen, determined to find the error before the work day ended.

“Clyde’s a smart guy,” Paul said. In her peripheral vision, Bryony saw him lean in farther. “He’s getting out while he still has the stamina to enjoy retirement. I bet he’ll buy a yacht and sail the Mediterranean.”

“Lucky Clyde.” Bryony scrolled both screens to the next set of numbers.

She knew little about Clyde other than his fairness as a boss. He had trained them from the ground up, paid for their associate degrees, and provided beyond adequate benefits. He kept his personal life private, having established separation of work and home life from the beginning. Bryony had no complaints.

“Lucky us, Bry,” Paul said. “We’ve been here so long we can afford to retire. Aren’t you itching to get out of here?”

“No.” She itched to have Paul vamoose so she could solve the numerical mystery in front of her. As long as the new owner did not cut pay or benefits and allowed Bryony to do her job without micromanaging, she couldn’t care less who stood at the helm. Her direct customers were her main focus.

“I’m ready for something new,” Paul said.

Bryony turned only her head this time. “You’re thinking about leaving?” Others came and went, but Paul had been a constant. “Are you serious?”

“You bet I am.” Paul stepped around to her side of the divider and leaned against it, hands clasped in front of him.

“Doing what?” Bryony asked.

“Library Science. I can finish my bachelor’s degree in anything and complete my MLS online.”

She swiveled her chair again to face him full on. “You’re quite serious about this, aren’t you?”

“I am!” His grin matured into a full-fledged smile.

He’d talked about that for years, but she never thought he would follow through. Such a bold move had never occurred to her. And Paul, of all people, to consider an undertaking like that at his age both stunned her and unsettled her.

He continued to stand there, looking more confident than ever before.

“If you go, I’ll miss seeing you around here,” she said. Though a bit fidgety at times, he did his job with accuracy and speed. He had been the perfect colleague.

Paul unclasped his hands, crossed his arms in front of his chest, leaned down, and said, “You might not want to stay after you hear who bought the business.”

“Who?” Whatever could Paul be thinking? Bryony had no enemies.

He straightened his back and pronounced the name of the rumored new owner with precision. “Charity Henderson.”

Bryony paused, looked back at her screen, took a breath, pushed her chair away from the desk, and stood. “Excuse me.”

After confirming Paul’s assertion with Clyde, Bryony tendered her two-week notice in a brief resignation letter with no typos centered on a fresh sheet of plain white paper. Then, she called her best friend. Lillian lamented not being able to meet in the evening and begged Bryony to stop by in the morning.

The next day before work, Bryony arrived at BeanHereNow alert and ready. She chose the table with red chairs. Red for two shots of adrenaline and a future with no plan. Bryony’s mind was on fire. The vase in the middle of the table held fresh pink freesia and a few sprigs of baby’s breath. Leafless thorny stalks with sharp tips would have been more apt.

Lillian moved toward Bryony’s table from the back of the work area. Her husband, Rick, followed close behind, a white apron covering his shirt, plastic gloves on his large, strong, capable, brown hands. His real job was managing a construction company, but he pitched in to help when needed.

Stopping on the other side of the order counter, Rick asked, “Did you ask her yet?”

Without answering her husband, Lillian placed a mug of steaming coffee in front of Bryony, a bowl of strawberries in the middle of the table, and another mug in front of the empty chair opposite.

“What did you say, Bryony?” Rick asked, his eyes now directed at her, his brow furrowed.

Lillian went to the counter, stretched her arm across its surface, and put her finger to his lips. “Shh, baby, we haven’t talked yet. Go back there and finish the sandwiches. I’ll let you know what she says.”

“Ask me what?” Bryony asked.

“My bad.” Rick walked backward with his hands up. “Sorry to interrupt. I’ll get back to my general man-duties while you two talk business.”

“What’s he talking about?” Bryony asked.

Rick resumed his stance at the table in the back of the employee work area. His arms moved as he assembled, cut, and bagged sandwiches. He raised his head to look toward them, and lowered it again when he saw Bryony watching him.

“I was wondering,” Lillian said, lowering herself to the waiting chair. “It wouldn’t be anything near what you’re making now, but would you like to help out at the coffee shop until you decide what you want to do next?”

“Yes, I would.” The answer came fast and hard. “I can start right away on weekends.”

Lillian sipped from her mug and lowered it before saying, “You do understand the pay is not much above minimum wage, and we’d split the tips?”

“You don’t have to pay me,” Bryony said. Spur-of-the-moment job offer acceptances weren’t her style. But neither were spur-of-the-moment resignations, and she had been awake all night wondering how she would fill her days. The offer was heaven-sent.

“I’m not going to let you volunteer, dear.” Lillian bit into a strawberry.