the clock. “Work! Weboth have to work tomorrow! You have to open!” She yanks me to my feet. “Go to bed! I’m sorry for keeping you up for so long.” She pulls me into a long hug. “You are the best friend ever for listening to me.” She leans back and smiles. “I love you, Maya.”
“Love you, too.” Which is why I keep my mouth shut and do what the woman says: Go to bed.
CHAPTER FIVE
Monday morning, I get to Cool Beans tired, cranky, and with a headache because Jen and I are out of coffee. (Mental note: Buy more today.) To add insult to injury, I’m opening today. Which means it’s 6:25 a.m.
“What’s eating you, Pattertwig?” Jack greets me at the door, pulling his keys out of his dark-rinsed, straight-legged jeans. I shrug. He unlocks the front door, and we walk into the cold, dark coffee shop.
I hate Cool Beans when no one is here and no lights are on. You can almost smell the vacancy. It’s chilly and dead and clammy.
Jack sighs. “I love being the first one here. It’s like this place gets excited to be opened.”
Jack is weird.
He pockets his keys and looks over at me. “So, seriously, what’s wrong?”
“No coffee at home.”
“Sit. I’ll make you a cup.”
He doesn’t have to ask me twice. I flick the switch for the gas fireplace and then plop on one of the couches.
“Don’t go to sleep, Maya. You do have to work eventually.”Jack’s smiling at me from behind the counter.
I block a yawn and lie down, tucking my feet up underneath me. “I won’t.” I stare at the fireplace, watching the flames lick around the fake wood. “What’s the fake wood in fireplaces made from?”
“I don’t know. Ceramic, maybe?” Jack measures the grounds into the ten-gallon basket.
“Do you think there are people whose whole job is making the fake wood for fireplaces?”
“Probably.”
“Huh.” My cheek is pressing so hard against the couch that I can feel the corduroy fabric indenting into my face.
“Okay, time to get up.” Jack comes over and tosses my cherry red apron over my head.
I sit up, rubbing my curly hair, and tie my apron around my waist.
“How’s Polly?” I ask Jack.
“She’s still nocturnal.” Jack closes his eyes.
“You look more rested, though.”
He grins at me. “She sleeps on the porch.”
“Jack!”
“What? She’s the one making all the noise. It’s not so cold out that she needs to be inside.”
I join him behind the counter and get the decaf started. At exactly seven, about ten regulars will run in on their way to work. And while I’ve never seen the reason for decaf coffee before noon, apparently other people do.
“How was dinner last night?” Jack asks.
“Not that bad,” I concede. Zach was really decent last night. I think it’s because he remembers when Travis and I broke up. It was tough, to say the least. “I think the distance isgood for me and Zach,” I say.
“Good.” Jack smiles.
“Seeing each other only once every eight months has been helpful. Any more than that, and we’d kill each other.”
He just laughs.
I pour a cup of the freshly made French roast and inhale it. It’s 6:56 a.m. By the time I had listened to Jen, brushed my teeth, and cleared my bed of all the outfits that didn’t make the cut for dinner, it was well past one in the morning.
Ugh.
I sip my coffee, thinking about Jen. She was still snoozing when I left this morning. On my way out, I passed by the tulips on the kitchen counter, the coffee table … and I know she’s got a vase of them in her room that she brought home from work.
Honestly, three bouquets of tulips? They’ve been dating for what? Three days?
“Do you think romance can be overdone?” I ask Jack.
He gives me a weird look and opens his mouth, probably to say something smart-alecky, but right then the door opens and our first regular, Leonard, comes in.
Leonard is a mystery to me. He comes in every Monday morning at 7:01 and orders a french vanilla MixUp (our version of
“Love you, too.” Which is why I keep my mouth shut and do what the woman says: Go to bed.
CHAPTER FIVE
Monday morning, I get to Cool Beans tired, cranky, and with a headache because Jen and I are out of coffee. (Mental note: Buy more today.) To add insult to injury, I’m opening today. Which means it’s 6:25 a.m.
“What’s eating you, Pattertwig?” Jack greets me at the door, pulling his keys out of his dark-rinsed, straight-legged jeans. I shrug. He unlocks the front door, and we walk into the cold, dark coffee shop.
I hate Cool Beans when no one is here and no lights are on. You can almost smell the vacancy. It’s chilly and dead and clammy.
Jack sighs. “I love being the first one here. It’s like this place gets excited to be opened.”
Jack is weird.
He pockets his keys and looks over at me. “So, seriously, what’s wrong?”
“No coffee at home.”
“Sit. I’ll make you a cup.”
He doesn’t have to ask me twice. I flick the switch for the gas fireplace and then plop on one of the couches.
“Don’t go to sleep, Maya. You do have to work eventually.”Jack’s smiling at me from behind the counter.
I block a yawn and lie down, tucking my feet up underneath me. “I won’t.” I stare at the fireplace, watching the flames lick around the fake wood. “What’s the fake wood in fireplaces made from?”
“I don’t know. Ceramic, maybe?” Jack measures the grounds into the ten-gallon basket.
“Do you think there are people whose whole job is making the fake wood for fireplaces?”
“Probably.”
“Huh.” My cheek is pressing so hard against the couch that I can feel the corduroy fabric indenting into my face.
“Okay, time to get up.” Jack comes over and tosses my cherry red apron over my head.
I sit up, rubbing my curly hair, and tie my apron around my waist.
“How’s Polly?” I ask Jack.
“She’s still nocturnal.” Jack closes his eyes.
“You look more rested, though.”
He grins at me. “She sleeps on the porch.”
“Jack!”
“What? She’s the one making all the noise. It’s not so cold out that she needs to be inside.”
I join him behind the counter and get the decaf started. At exactly seven, about ten regulars will run in on their way to work. And while I’ve never seen the reason for decaf coffee before noon, apparently other people do.
“How was dinner last night?” Jack asks.
“Not that bad,” I concede. Zach was really decent last night. I think it’s because he remembers when Travis and I broke up. It was tough, to say the least. “I think the distance isgood for me and Zach,” I say.
“Good.” Jack smiles.
“Seeing each other only once every eight months has been helpful. Any more than that, and we’d kill each other.”
He just laughs.
I pour a cup of the freshly made French roast and inhale it. It’s 6:56 a.m. By the time I had listened to Jen, brushed my teeth, and cleared my bed of all the outfits that didn’t make the cut for dinner, it was well past one in the morning.
Ugh.
I sip my coffee, thinking about Jen. She was still snoozing when I left this morning. On my way out, I passed by the tulips on the kitchen counter, the coffee table … and I know she’s got a vase of them in her room that she brought home from work.
Honestly, three bouquets of tulips? They’ve been dating for what? Three days?
“Do you think romance can be overdone?” I ask Jack.
He gives me a weird look and opens his mouth, probably to say something smart-alecky, but right then the door opens and our first regular, Leonard, comes in.
Leonard is a mystery to me. He comes in every Monday morning at 7:01 and orders a french vanilla MixUp (our version of
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