Page 118 of A Taste of Vanilla

But anger moves in quickly.

No more Whitaker men get to stand at a distance and name me. Never again. No more.

I take Marley’s phone out of her hand and open the article. I read the headline again.

And I laugh.

Everyone stares.

“That laugh concerns me,” Oliver whispers.

“It should,” Marley whispers back.

I hand her phone back and march to the chalkboard where I list the specials I want to start working on.

The current special is the Men Are Decorative at Best Latte.

I erase the bottom line and pick up my chalk.

My hand is steady.

TODAY’S SPECIAL:

THE LEGACY LATTE

SMOKED CARAMEL, ESPRESSO, AND VANILLA COLD FOAM

SWEETNESS SUSTAINS PLENTY, ACTUALLY

Marley makes a sound behind me.

“Jesus,” Oliver says.

Warren says nothing.

I step back, chalk dust on my fingers.

“That’s going to make it worse,” Oliver says.

I look at him. “Maybe.”

Marley is staring at the board with tears in her eyes. “But you’re doing it anyway?”

I nod.

I look back at Warren, his dark eyes holding mine. “You’re sure?” he asks.

It’s the same question from last night. Different context, and yet it feels like the same weight.

“Yeah,” I say. “I’m sure.”

His gaze stays on mine for a moment, and he nods. “Good.”

Just that.

Good.

My throat tightens.