Chapter Two: The Ring

Dane Kowalski came into Grindstone on a Wednesday.

He was not a seven-twelve kind of man. He came in at nine-thirty, when the morning rush had thinned and the light through the front windows turned the whole shop gold. He walked in laughing, phone to his ear, saying something in what Josie thought was Polish. He hung up, pocketed the phone, and looked at her.

"Whatever you recommend."

That was it. No order. No command. Just trust, handed over like spare change.

"Oat milk latte with honey," Josie said. "Trust me."

"I do." He said it like he meant it, like he'd been meaning it for a while.

He was dark where Harlan Voss was light. Dark hair, thick, pushed back but not neat about it. Amber eyes. A jaw that looked like it had been carved by someone who got paid by the hour. He was big. Not tall-big, not gym-big. Built like a wall that had decided to walk around. Wide shoulders, wide hands, a chest that strained his navy henley in a way that should have been illegal.

He wore a ring. Silver, thick, on his right index finger. It had a symbol on it she couldn't make out. A circle with something inside it. She noticed it because he put his hand flat on the counter when he paid and the ring clicked against the wood.

"Good?" he asked, watching her face.

She realized she'd been staring at the ring.

"Good," she said.

He took the latte. Took a sip. Closed his eyes for a second. When he opened them, he was looking at her.

"Josie," he said. He read her name tag. Obviously. But the way he said it, with that soft J and the way his mouth shaped the S, it didn't feel like reading a name tag. It felt like naming something.

"That's me."

"Dane." He extended his hand. She took it. His palm was warm and his grip was firm and he held on for one beat longer than normal. "I'll be back."

He left. The bell rang. Patsy appeared from behind the espresso machine, where she'd been pretending to clean.

"Dane Kowalski," Patsy said. She said it the way you'd say that was a different grizzly bear.

"Let me guess. Owns the other half of downtown."

"Kowalski Capital. Finance. Private equity. He buys companies the way normal people buy shoes." Patsy leaned on the counter. "Those two don't like each other."

"What two?"

"Voss and Kowalski. Old money, new money, same city. They've been circling each other for years. Never seen them in the same room, but everyone knows."

"Everyone knows what?"

Patsy shrugged. "That there's something between them. Bad blood. Old deal gone wrong. Nobody talks about it."

Josie thought about that. Two rich men who hated each other in a city she'd just moved to. Not her problem. She had a coffee shop, a tarot deck, and a horror novel that wouldn't finish itself.

She pulled a card. Three of Swords. Heartbreak. Betrayal. Three swords piercing one heart.

"Fan-freaking-tastic," she muttered, and shoved the deck back in her apron.

That evening, she sat on her fire escape with a beer and her phone. The unknown number from last night had not texted again. She'd almost forgotten about it. She opened the message one more time.

*Nice boots.*

She typed back: *Who is this?*

Three dots appeared. Disappeared. Appeared again.

*The man who's going to buy his coffee from you every morning from now on. Harlan.*

She almost dropped the phone. Almost. She caught it against the railing.

"How did you get my number?"

No answer for thirty seconds. Then:

*Grindstone has a loyalty program. You signed me up yourself.*

She thought back. She had signed him up. She'd asked for his name and number for the punch card. He'd given her a business card and she'd entered it without thinking. She'd entered his cell number into the system.

"So I signed you up for a punch card and you're using it to text me."

*I don't need a punch card.*

"Then why did you give me your number?"

A pause. Longer this time.

*You know why.*

She put the phone face-down on her knee. Her heart was doing something stupid. She picked it back up.

"That's a weird thing to text a stranger."

*You're not a stranger. You made me coffee.*

She didn't text back. She finished her beer, went inside, and pulled the tarot deck out. She laid three cards. Past, present, future.

Past: The Lovers.

Present: The Devil.

Future: The Tower.

She stared at the Tower. Destruction. Sudden change. The foundations breaking apart and everything you thought was solid falling down around your ears.

She put the cards away and went to bed. On the windowsill, the black feather caught the streetlight and gleamed.

She dreamed again. This time there were two of them. One with green eyes, one with amber. They stood on either side of her and they were both watching her mouth, waiting for her to speak. She couldn't.

She woke up talking in her sleep. She caught the tail end of her own voice saying something she couldn't quite make out. A word. A name. Something that started with H.

Or maybe D.