Page 51 of It's a Brewtiful Day
Prying my stuck eyelids apart, it wasn’t dark anymore and my adrenaline-spiked heart rate propelled me to my feet as I shielded my eyes.
The banging happened again, but it wasn't in my head.
I spun and saw Nina on the other side of the window with the dusk-painted skies of morning surrounding her. It was early morning, very early.
“HOLY BEANS!”
I bent down to rouse Elliot, shaking him a touch harder than was necessary, but the guy was in the deadest of sleep. “Nina's outside. Nina’s here. It's morning. GET UP!”
“What?” Like he'd been prodded with a stick, he jumped out of our makeshift bed, tossing our blanket—my red leather coat. His hair was all skewed to one side and there was a crust of dried drool down his cheek.
No doubt, I looked worse for wear as well, but who cared, we were going to be free! Finally!
I scurried and climbed on top of the table, shouting through the window, “Hey!”
Elliot joined me, pointing to the tree. “We can't open the door.”
This was obvious to me and most likely to Nina as well, otherwise, why would we be stuck inside the Coffee Loft?
Nina set down her bag and tried tugging and lifting the trunk of tree that had wedged itself downward through the awning, lodging itself perfectly between the metal railing and the door. As I inspected it now in the morning glow, it had gone in at the most bizarre angle. Had it been tossed any otherdirection, it wouldn't have blocked the door.
She cupped her hands around her mouth. “It's stuck.” Her shirt was covered in bits of tree bark, and she swiped them all off. “I'll go get help. I'll be right back.”
After flipping her gaze left and right, she ultimately decided to head right—which was the direction I'd go—that’s where the fire station was.
I turned to Elliot, feeling a fresh mix of emotions. We were finally getting rescued. However, that also meant I now had to deal with the situation, like it or not. We had the most incredible night together, talking and snuggling, and sharing parts of ourselves that I’d never confided in another male. Looking back, it was what we needed to make it through, right? Like eating raisins to stay alive because that was the only food available; that’s what we had been to each other. It really hadn’t been anything more. At least that’s what my brain believed.
“Well, thank the beans your time with me is nearly complete and you can return to your everyday life. No more of this being trapped in the coffee shop with the weird bookshop girl.” Instinctively, I pressed a fist against my chest and rubbed it, trying to dislodge an ache of pain that surfaced. Feeling it was more a physical sensation than a mental one, I laced my fingers together and stretched to the ceiling, putting a little spring in my step when I finished. The movement didn’t make me feel any better. Maybe it was the way Elliot had his head cocked to the side,assessing me with a narrowed gaze. His mouth opened, then snapped shut.
“Won’t it feel good to get some fresh air on your face?”
“Yeah. The fresh air will feel fabulous.” The last word drawled out as he hopped off the table, righting the wingback chairs and stuffing the cushions in.
With a grunt, he dragged the chairs back into the corner, and I carried over the little, knee-height table.
There was an edge to him I couldn't get a read on, but it was off-putting and borderline angry-like. Was he not a morning person?
Rather than get in his way, I took our tray of napkins, empty bottles, and the disposable cups over to the garbage, and dampened a cloth, giving it a wash and polish. After a quick check of the power (nothing yet), I tidied up the counter, not that we had made a mess or anything, but still.
Out in the main part of the Coffee Loft, Elliot stomped back and forth, hauling the stools back to their rightful positions. Either he truly wasn’t a morning person, or something was rubbing him the wrong way. Probably me, especially if he realised I wasn’t the most ideal person to be with.
“Does the Coffee Loft have any baking soda?” It was something I could put on the end of my finger and scrub my teeth with. After the sugar-laden party last night, my teeth felt as if a blanket of mosshad covered them, and it was gross. No doubt, my breath was pretty rank too.
“Under the sink. On the right.”
“Thanks.”
Finding it, I made a small paste and quickly scrubbed my teeth, swishing without too much gagging; the salty water was hard to handle. Rinsing down the spit in the kitchen sink, I joined him to help reset the dining room. Not that a rescue was going to happen in record time, but at least we'd be leaving the place in the same or better condition than when we arrived.
We moved the tables back into place and set all the chairs and stools. The whole time, Elliot didn't speak. He didn't even look in my direction.
After peeking out front, and seeing no change, nor a group of people armed with saws and tools to free us, I needed a bathroom break. I wasn’t about to ask Elliot to hold the door open, but I used the toe of my shoe as a wedge and hopped on one foot inside the space. When I washed my hands, I took stock of my unkempt condition.
My once perfectly styled hair, which had looked amazing yesterday, had been reduced to a stringy, matted mess, and my makeup was nearly non-existent, aside from the smudging of mascara turning me into a raccoon. My rosacea was no longer hidden under my foundation as that had worn off, and the tops of my cheeks and the bridge of my nose glowed with the reddened disaster—as if I’d been sunburntdespite not having seen the sun. Yikes, no wonder Elliot didn't want to look at me; it was a pretty scary look, and we were still weeks away from Halloween. What I wouldn't give for a hot shower, a large cup of coffee, and my green-tinted moisturizer and foundation.
Knowing I wasn’t the same looking gal as the one who blew in with the storm yesterday (heck I wasn’teventhe same person—too much had happened), I meandered back to the main area with my chin tucked in. I scanned for Elliot, but it was like he disappeared. He wasn't in the main area, and he wasn't behind the counter. The door was still closed, and the trunk of the tree was still lodged into place.
“Elliot?” A surge of panic that he’d somehow left without me.