Page 22 of It's a Brewtiful Day
“I can’t disagree with that.” When I heard nothing from him, I asked, “Elliot?”
His hand touched my shoulder. “Right here.”
A whoosh of air expelled. “Don’t let go.”
“I won’t.”
What I needed was a plan to get us into the depths and back out. And maybe find a bathroom somewhere along the way because I really needed to go. My bladder was painfully full. With one solid sneeze, I’d rival Hoover Dam bursting.
I took a few more sliding steps away. “Describe the space we’re in. I need to visualize where we’re going.”
His voice was slightly above a whisper. “Okay. This room is full of boxes on racks. There are some sleeves of disposable cups and lids, that kind of thing.”
“I’m not going to run into a cooler or anything?” Because it sounded eerily quiet like we were in a giant void or something. In the main part of the Coffee Loft, you didn’t miss the whipping winds.
“No, no, no. That’s in the opposite corner. When I come into the storage room, I turn right tothe cooler. We turned left.”
I nodded. Not that he could see. “So left we’ll go, however, I’m all turned around.” I tried to keep my sigh contained, but it slipped out. “Let me grab the door again and start fresh.”
“I’m sorry.” A cool whisp of air replaced the heat from his hand when he broke our bond.
I didn’t know I needed that connection until it was gone. Dang. Always thought those heroines were lying. Turned out, there was a reason they all needed that touch.
I shook my head. “Oh no, it’s not your fault. I swear. I’m just never going to take my vision for granted again.”
I waved my hand through the air, sliding in the direction I thought I came from. Until I connected with the door. It moved and smashed against Elliot.
“Oh my gosh, I’m so sorry.”
“It’s okay, it’s only my face.” It came out as a weak chuckle. His palms scratched against his whiskery cheeks.
“What was your face doing sticking out so much?” I tried to picture someone walking, leading with their face and not their chest.
“Does it matter right now?” Was that annoyance in his voice?
I took a different approach. “Are youbleeding?”
His hand tapped against his face. “I don’t feel anything wet.”
“That’s good. Hopefully, you don’t bruise like a peach, either. You’re okay to keep going?”
“Life’s a journey, right?”
“I suppose.”
“So let’s keep going.”
“Together.” I sighed with relief and while holding the door with my right hand, slid my foot to the left, connecting with a box. “I hit something.”
“That’s the storage shelves.” His voice perked. “We should be able to follow that around, and when it turns to the right …”
“The right?”
“The left. I meant the left. When it turns to the left, that’s the staff area. Metal lockers.”
Listening for Elliot’s steps, I tapped along, moving slowly to the left, feeling cardboard boxes beneath my fingertips, then a plastic bag with what felt like cups inside. I touched something cold and metal, like a pole, and assumed it was wire shelving. I reached out to the side again, and the side of my hand hit another cardboard box.
Turning my head, I tried to imagine where the door was, and I felt nothing. For a moment, my heart stopped, but I swallowed, knowing we had to do this. If I was moved by fear again, then most definitely so was Elliot. “You still here?”