an ample supply. As Moira went back to her work, Lloyd glanced our way. “I’m just dying for one, but, you know, I’m lactose intolerant.”
Tad, Rena, and I nodded. That’s when I noticed Tucker hoisting a tray of drinks and scanning the crowded room to find one of the model waitresses to deliver it. I was about to grab the tray from him to help out when a model swept in and whisked the tray off. But she hadn’t gone four feet before a crowd swarmed her and snagged every last latte.
“Is my soy latte coming?” Lloyd Newhaven prompted, impatient after barely a minute. Moira glanced up with annoyance on her face. Before she could say a word, I decided my short break was over.
“I’ve got it,” I declared, then moved around the coffee bar to search the fridge beneath the counter. “Figures,” I muttered when I realized we were out of soy milk up front. I ducked downstairs to retrieve a fresh container from one of our two large storage refrigerators in the basement.
“Hey, Tucker…I can do that,” I heard Moira insisting as I returned to the coffee bar. A tray with a single glass latte mug was sitting on the blue marble counter.
“Nonsense, dear,” Tucker told Moira. “You volunteered to help me behind the coffee bar, not hustle drinks to this monstrously catty cartel, and you’re doing great.”
With that, Tucker swept up the tray and headed across the crowded room.
At some point after I’d gone downstairs, Esther had stepped away from the counter to gather used mugs. She passed Tucker on her way back. “Uh-oh,” said Esther when she saw where Tucker was headed. “Watch out for fireworks.”
“Excuse me?” I said, preparing Lloyd Newhaven’s soy milk latte. “Where’s Tucker going with that drink?”
“After you went downstairs, Tucker made Lottie a latte. That’s where Tucker’s headed, to give it to her—only Ricky Flatt’s in his way.”
“Who?” I asked.
“He’s the fashion writer for Metropolitan magazine,” Rena informed me.
Esther pointed. “He’s standing in the group next to Lottie’s. And before you ask how I know, it’s because Tucker used to date him. He’s stopped in the Blend a few times.”
“He has?” I murmured, handing the finished soy milk latte to Lloyd Newhaven. I followed Esther’s pointing finger, but I didn’t recognize anyone.
“John Waters-esque mustache,” said Esther by way of description.
I nodded, spying the tall, lean, thirtyish man with a pencil-thin moustache and long black hair that fell down his back in oiled ringlets. He wore a brown silk jacket and a canary yellow shirt opened practically to his navel. At his side stood a blond young man in tight jeans and a V-neck cream sweater, his teeth bone white behind a Miami Beach tan on a hard-muscled frame.
“I’ve never seen him in the Blend before,” I said.
“You were probably off roasting beans or dealing with a delivery or something whenever he passed through. Ricky burned Tucker about two weeks ago—romantically, I mean. They had some kind of quarrel and Ricky totally dumped him. And not in a nice way. Now the jerk’s obviously here flaunting his newest boy toy. If you’re Tucker, that’s gotta hurt.”
As Tucker approached Lottie, Ricky Flatt stepped out to block his path. Esther crossed her arms and cocked her head, as if she’d just taken her seat at a WWF event. “Check it out, boss, this is going to be interesting. Five dollars says that latte Tucker’s carrying ends up in Ricky’s face.”
But it didn’t. Before Tucker could stop him, Ricky snatched the latte off Tucker’s tray as if the drink was meant for him. Then he gestured to the hard-muscled young man seated next to him as if he were ordering Tucker to bring him another for his date. Tucker snapped something at Ricky—and Ricky snapped his fingers in Tucker’s face. Of course, I couldn’t hear either man’s conversation over the loud music, but it was easy to see Ricky was baiting poor Tucker.
Finally, Tucker turned his back on the two men and returned to the coffee bar. I’d never seen him so upset. “Someone…someone took the latte I made for Lottie,” he managed. “I need another.”
For a long moment, we all just stared at Tucker.
“Clare,” Tuck said loudly. “I need another latte for Lottie!”
I turned quickly, loaded the espresso machine and pulled another shot, then prepared the latte and set it directly on the tray in Tucker’s hands.
“Thanks,” said Tucker. He lifted the tray and made a wide detour to avoid Ricky Flatt’s spot. After