Read Online Coffeehouse Angel by Suzanne Selfors - Free Book Online
Authors: Suzanne Selfors
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leaving."
"I've been trying to deliver a message here in Nordby." He patted his satchel. "But I haven't been able to deliver it."
"Look..." I paused, weighing my options--run away or deal with him. "What's your name anyway?"
"I don't have a name." He wore the same kilt and sweater. That flowery scent swirled around us. "But if you'd like to call me by a name, you can call me Malcolm. That's what they called me in Scotland. I spent a long time there. So here's a thought--if you're going to move, you might consider Scotland."
"Look, Malcolm, I've got a lot on my mind."
"You've got a lot on your mind? I've got a lot on my mind."
God, those eyes were blue. If Elizabeth had been there, she would have wanted to paint them. I felt a rush of inspiration. Maybe I should try to paint them, but I had about as much artistic talent as that elephant at the Seattle Zoo. Every Sunday, a zookeeper gave her a canvas and she painted with her trunk. I don't care how many people raved about that elephant's paintings, they were terrible. Just a bunch of splotches. That's what my paintings always looked like. That's why there was an easel and ajar of paintbrushes in my Closet of Failure.
Malcolm kept right on talking. His skin was perfectly clear. He exfoliated, no doubt about it. And his long brown hair wasn't an everyday brown. Close-up, I could see dozens of shades of brown and red and copper--like one of Elizabeth's palettes. "Are you listening?" He waved in my face. "Katrina, I wish you'd listen."
I snapped out of it. "Okay, I'm listening. But just for a minute because I've got to get to work. I don't have time to play that coffee bean game again."
"That's the problem." He pushed his hair behind his ears. "You thought it was a game.
You weren't supposed to give the bean to someone else."
"Huh? I didn't give it to someone else."
"You did. You allowed your friend to drink the coffee that you made from the bean, and your friend received fortune."
How could he know that? Had he been spying on us through the window? Was he some kind of stalker? The cold air tickled my nose. I wanted to hide behind my scarf again. "Vincent got a scholarship because he saved a man's life."
"After he drank the coffee. That bean was for you, to give you what you most desire."
"Well..." There had to be some way out of this conversation. "Obviously what I most desired was for Vincent to get a scholarship. So now everybody is happy."
But I wasn't happy. Something else had caught my attention, something even more annoying than Malcolm and his delusions. The Java Heaven billboard stood across the street. A new message had been painted across the top: Stop in and try a Vincent Mocha, in honor of our hometown hero. How had Mr. Darling managed to do that so fast? Did he have a legion of little elves working for him, running around painting things here and there, printing up flyers and coupons at elf speed?
Only one thing to do. Anna's Old World Scandinavian Coffeehouse needed a special Vincent drink. So what if we didn't have a billboard? We couldn't just sit back and let Mr. Darling turn Vincent into a commodity. He was my friend. If anyone was going to turn him into a commodity, it would be me!
"Katrina? You've got to listen."
"I gotta go. Bye!" I pulled the scarf over my face and ran down the hill, my backpack lunging with each step. We'd make a special Vincent drink and sell it at the Solstice Festival. Better yet, Vincent could help us sell it. That would bring in tons of customers. We'd have so many customers that they'd line up and block Mr. Darling's door. Sweet revenge. Vincent could autograph the cups. What would we call our drink? What's the Viking word for hero? Probably something unpronounceable--
something that sounded like you were trying to clear a wad of phlegm from your throat. Forget that.
I rushed into the coffeehouse. The chairs were empty-- no real surprise since The Boys didn't come in on Tuesdays.
"What an exciting day," Grandma
"I've been trying to deliver a message here in Nordby." He patted his satchel. "But I haven't been able to deliver it."
"Look..." I paused, weighing my options--run away or deal with him. "What's your name anyway?"
"I don't have a name." He wore the same kilt and sweater. That flowery scent swirled around us. "But if you'd like to call me by a name, you can call me Malcolm. That's what they called me in Scotland. I spent a long time there. So here's a thought--if you're going to move, you might consider Scotland."
"Look, Malcolm, I've got a lot on my mind."
"You've got a lot on your mind? I've got a lot on my mind."
God, those eyes were blue. If Elizabeth had been there, she would have wanted to paint them. I felt a rush of inspiration. Maybe I should try to paint them, but I had about as much artistic talent as that elephant at the Seattle Zoo. Every Sunday, a zookeeper gave her a canvas and she painted with her trunk. I don't care how many people raved about that elephant's paintings, they were terrible. Just a bunch of splotches. That's what my paintings always looked like. That's why there was an easel and ajar of paintbrushes in my Closet of Failure.
Malcolm kept right on talking. His skin was perfectly clear. He exfoliated, no doubt about it. And his long brown hair wasn't an everyday brown. Close-up, I could see dozens of shades of brown and red and copper--like one of Elizabeth's palettes. "Are you listening?" He waved in my face. "Katrina, I wish you'd listen."
I snapped out of it. "Okay, I'm listening. But just for a minute because I've got to get to work. I don't have time to play that coffee bean game again."
"That's the problem." He pushed his hair behind his ears. "You thought it was a game.
You weren't supposed to give the bean to someone else."
"Huh? I didn't give it to someone else."
"You did. You allowed your friend to drink the coffee that you made from the bean, and your friend received fortune."
How could he know that? Had he been spying on us through the window? Was he some kind of stalker? The cold air tickled my nose. I wanted to hide behind my scarf again. "Vincent got a scholarship because he saved a man's life."
"After he drank the coffee. That bean was for you, to give you what you most desire."
"Well..." There had to be some way out of this conversation. "Obviously what I most desired was for Vincent to get a scholarship. So now everybody is happy."
But I wasn't happy. Something else had caught my attention, something even more annoying than Malcolm and his delusions. The Java Heaven billboard stood across the street. A new message had been painted across the top: Stop in and try a Vincent Mocha, in honor of our hometown hero. How had Mr. Darling managed to do that so fast? Did he have a legion of little elves working for him, running around painting things here and there, printing up flyers and coupons at elf speed?
Only one thing to do. Anna's Old World Scandinavian Coffeehouse needed a special Vincent drink. So what if we didn't have a billboard? We couldn't just sit back and let Mr. Darling turn Vincent into a commodity. He was my friend. If anyone was going to turn him into a commodity, it would be me!
"Katrina? You've got to listen."
"I gotta go. Bye!" I pulled the scarf over my face and ran down the hill, my backpack lunging with each step. We'd make a special Vincent drink and sell it at the Solstice Festival. Better yet, Vincent could help us sell it. That would bring in tons of customers. We'd have so many customers that they'd line up and block Mr. Darling's door. Sweet revenge. Vincent could autograph the cups. What would we call our drink? What's the Viking word for hero? Probably something unpronounceable--
something that sounded like you were trying to clear a wad of phlegm from your throat. Forget that.
I rushed into the coffeehouse. The chairs were empty-- no real surprise since The Boys didn't come in on Tuesdays.
"What an exciting day," Grandma
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