Read Online Ginger Krinkles by Dee Detarsio - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Dee Detarsio
Ads: Link
counter and ordered my coffee. He got the hint and mumbled that I should have a good day.
“Happy Holidays!” chirped the barista. Probably the one who drew holly branches on Joe Noel’s cup. “Would you like to try our holiday ‘Chai Before Christmas Latte?’”
I shuddered. I’d rather drink bathroom air freshener spray, which is exactly what chai tastes like. My grandmother’s shadow chilled my bones. I stood up straight and smiled so hard I could hardly see. “No, thanks. Just a latte. Thanks! Merry Christmas! I love this song!” I picked up my coffee and couldn’t help but take a quick look around. He was gone.
I couldn’t stop thinking about him. He had been a kick-butt and take-names, strong silent type, à la Jeremy Renner in The Bourne Legacy , the best movie I didn’t understand. I had to call Lauri.
“You know, he was one poor shoe choice away from being a nerd. He looked like he probably enjoys camping .” I giggled. Lauri knew none of that mattered. Of course, I had already imagined a little X-rated rendezvous. We had been trapped in the coffee shop. I don’t know why, that’s not important. He made us a bed out of huge burlap bags filled with coffee beans. Scratch that. No one wants to bed down on burlap. The bags morphed into soft, white cotton, the kind that Mr. Oleson would have used as he hefted bags of flour at his mercantile on Little House on The Prairie . The kind of soft cotton that, ironically, is actually sold as flour sack dishtowels that you can buy at Crate&Barrel for six bucks. We cuddled to stay warm. His just-the-right-amount-of-scruffy-whiskers-to-give-him-an-A+-in-testosterone introduced themselves to the crook of my neck. As if he couldn’t help himself he began …
“And what’s wrong with him again?” Lauri interrupted my imaginary kissing scene.
“His name. Joe Noel. Can you believe it?”
Long silence. I could practically hear my good friend shadow boxing with her own thoughts while trying not to say something. I pinched my lips and may have flared a nostril. Or two.
“Silent Night,” she finally said.
“Holy crap,” I agreed.
($1,580.00 Groceries, coffee, and don’t forget $5.00 donation—it still counts, despite spirit in which it was given.)
Chapter 14
Tree Wise Men
I was out of the mood to bake by the time I got home. My coffee was cold, and I was daydreaming about one day having enough money to try Kopi Luwak coffee. There was so much missing from my life I didn’t deserve a stray thought about plunking down cold hard cash on coffee beans that have been eaten, then, PR alert, “ Naturally fermented in the stomach ” before being pooped out by some kind of Asian cat. As a former PR minion, I tip my hat, but as with the artichoke, I did wonder who first discovered that delicacy.
“Why can’t you do something like that, Ming?”
I hit the floorboard, no Ming. I put the groceries away, and muted the day’s piss poor meditation, W hat do you hope to discover? Can you go out on a limb? I hopped in the shower. Mid-shampoo I had a horrifying flash of leaving my door open for a few minutes before I went to the store. I jumped out of the shower and threw on a T-shirt and a pair of old yoga pants entirely sequined with cat hair. “Ming? Ming?” There weren’t that many places she could be. She wasn’t under the bed, on top of the refrigerator, in the bookshelf, or laying on my bathroom towel on the floor. I felt like coughing up a hairball.
I ran outside, and began calling for her. That she-devil knows her name, but never, not once, ever came when I called her. I don’t know why I thought it would work randomly, outside, where she could be anywhere. I ran back inside and came back out with a can of food. I stood still and held my breath and pulled up the lid, a small hiss released the pressurized vacuum and a whiff of meaty goodness. I ordered my brain to ramp up my ear canals. I thought I heard something. I ran a few houses down.
“Ming?
“Happy Holidays!” chirped the barista. Probably the one who drew holly branches on Joe Noel’s cup. “Would you like to try our holiday ‘Chai Before Christmas Latte?’”
I shuddered. I’d rather drink bathroom air freshener spray, which is exactly what chai tastes like. My grandmother’s shadow chilled my bones. I stood up straight and smiled so hard I could hardly see. “No, thanks. Just a latte. Thanks! Merry Christmas! I love this song!” I picked up my coffee and couldn’t help but take a quick look around. He was gone.
I couldn’t stop thinking about him. He had been a kick-butt and take-names, strong silent type, à la Jeremy Renner in The Bourne Legacy , the best movie I didn’t understand. I had to call Lauri.
“You know, he was one poor shoe choice away from being a nerd. He looked like he probably enjoys camping .” I giggled. Lauri knew none of that mattered. Of course, I had already imagined a little X-rated rendezvous. We had been trapped in the coffee shop. I don’t know why, that’s not important. He made us a bed out of huge burlap bags filled with coffee beans. Scratch that. No one wants to bed down on burlap. The bags morphed into soft, white cotton, the kind that Mr. Oleson would have used as he hefted bags of flour at his mercantile on Little House on The Prairie . The kind of soft cotton that, ironically, is actually sold as flour sack dishtowels that you can buy at Crate&Barrel for six bucks. We cuddled to stay warm. His just-the-right-amount-of-scruffy-whiskers-to-give-him-an-A+-in-testosterone introduced themselves to the crook of my neck. As if he couldn’t help himself he began …
“And what’s wrong with him again?” Lauri interrupted my imaginary kissing scene.
“His name. Joe Noel. Can you believe it?”
Long silence. I could practically hear my good friend shadow boxing with her own thoughts while trying not to say something. I pinched my lips and may have flared a nostril. Or two.
“Silent Night,” she finally said.
“Holy crap,” I agreed.
($1,580.00 Groceries, coffee, and don’t forget $5.00 donation—it still counts, despite spirit in which it was given.)
Chapter 14
Tree Wise Men
I was out of the mood to bake by the time I got home. My coffee was cold, and I was daydreaming about one day having enough money to try Kopi Luwak coffee. There was so much missing from my life I didn’t deserve a stray thought about plunking down cold hard cash on coffee beans that have been eaten, then, PR alert, “ Naturally fermented in the stomach ” before being pooped out by some kind of Asian cat. As a former PR minion, I tip my hat, but as with the artichoke, I did wonder who first discovered that delicacy.
“Why can’t you do something like that, Ming?”
I hit the floorboard, no Ming. I put the groceries away, and muted the day’s piss poor meditation, W hat do you hope to discover? Can you go out on a limb? I hopped in the shower. Mid-shampoo I had a horrifying flash of leaving my door open for a few minutes before I went to the store. I jumped out of the shower and threw on a T-shirt and a pair of old yoga pants entirely sequined with cat hair. “Ming? Ming?” There weren’t that many places she could be. She wasn’t under the bed, on top of the refrigerator, in the bookshelf, or laying on my bathroom towel on the floor. I felt like coughing up a hairball.
I ran outside, and began calling for her. That she-devil knows her name, but never, not once, ever came when I called her. I don’t know why I thought it would work randomly, outside, where she could be anywhere. I ran back inside and came back out with a can of food. I stood still and held my breath and pulled up the lid, a small hiss released the pressurized vacuum and a whiff of meaty goodness. I ordered my brain to ramp up my ear canals. I thought I heard something. I ran a few houses down.
“Ming?
Similar Books
