I scrubbed the counter until the last ring of coffee came away. "Stop," Rosario said, stepping into the shop with two paper cups and a grin. "You're going to wear a groove into that wood." "Then stop bringing me customers who drink black coffee and leave rings," I shot back, standing up and wiping my hands on my apron. She set a cup down and sniffed the air. "You keep scrubbing and you'll polish the shop into a museum piece. Then what? Charge admission?" "You'd pay," I said. "You'd tell everyone you knew a marble statue of a younger Rosario." Rosario laughed and slid behind the counter, pulling a small tray of jasmine tea bags from under the register like a magician. "You and your dramatics. When are you going to stop pretending your independence is a brand and let someone spoil you?" "I did not 'pretend,'" I said. "I run the books, the inventory, and I can pronounce 'bergamot' without googling it." "You can pronounce it. You can't pronounce 'let someone spoil you' without rolling your eyes," she said. "You need a break. You need someone to be annoying in a romantic, endearing way." "I have customers who leave tips without asking for a story," I said. "That's enough drama for now." "You're twenty-four, Minerva. That's cute and also a public service announcement. People your age are doing elaborate things to get followers. Why not you?" She set the tray