Page 58 of It's a Brewtiful Day
“Alice speaks so highly of him and dotes on him. Apparently, their parents aren’t as sweet toward him.”
“Because he’s not an engineer like his father, and he’s just a coffee shop employee.” I air-quoted the last three words as a rise of anger boiled in my gut. I just didn’t understand how a parent could be that upset about their child’s career path. “But he’s an amazing barista, and he takes the coolest up-close photographs.”
“Wow, you’re highly defensive of someone you just met.”
“Just stating the truth.”
“Hey,” she said softly, “I wasn’t attacking him.” Her hand rested on my shoulder. “Did something happen last night? Something that promised more in a good way?”
“No.” The stupid tears built regardless, and my sister was becoming a fuzzy mess.
“Sage, tell me what’s going on.”
“Nothing.” I wiped the heel of my palms over my face and under my eyes.
She pulled me in for a hug and whispered in my ear. “Not every guy is like Dad or Jordan or Peter.”
Thanks for throwing my exes back at me.
“There are some good ones out there, and I think from what I’ve heard of Elliot from Alice and how you are acting right now, that he’s one of those rare, good ones. Be like your romance book heroines and trust a little in the emotions.”
“Trust gets your heart broken.”
“Sage.” It was heartbreaking the way shebreathed out my name.
I stared at the locket around her neck that was beating to the rhythm of her heart. My voice dropped to a cracked whisper. “He accused me of using him to get through the night.”
“Did you?”
“Only at first, but it wasn’t my intention.”
“Well then, talk to him.”
“I don’t know how. I don’t know what to say.”
“Trust your heart – let it guide you.”
I laughed painfully. “Right. Because it’s been so accurate in the past.” Patting my pockets once again, I stepped out of her embrace. “I need to go and get my things. I’ll be back later. Don’t include me in your supper plans.”
The screen door slammed behind me with a bang.
I stormed down the street, but by the time I’d rounded the corner, my anger had dissipated. As I glanced around, I was in awe of the destruction that had happened, and I checked the skies just in case anything nasty was returning for a second show. The clouds were thick but not of the heavy rain variety, just cloudy enough to block the sunshine. The baseball field was littered with downed branches and several patches of puddles, and the fence line had collected a ton of garbage. It was almost as if a tornado had rolled through town. That wouldn’t be impossible; tornadoes never happened here.
Plus, the houses were all still shingled and holding onto their siding, so it had only been a nasty storm. Judging from some of the dents on the cars as I passed by, there had been pockets of hail. I shuddered just thinking about it and shuddered even harder when I thought of the thunder and lightning.
Slowly, I walked by the Little Free Library near the fire station and surveyed the contents. The last user had failed to secure the door, so it was hanging by a hinge, and the books inside were soaked beyond anything useable. I couldn’t even turn them into a fun project if I tried. I scooped out a dozen books and carried them in my arms until I spotted a bin, in which I added each book, saying a prayer and thanking them for their service as I dropped them into the recycle receptacle.
Passing over Geike Street, I headed to Patricia Street, turning left and meandering towards Pages and Dreams. There were many more busted trees with dangling limbs, but for the most part, the shop owners and employees had already cleaned up the street and cut down any dangerously dangling branches. That was Jasper—hard to keep the residents down and everyone banded together.
I stopped at the corner by the Coffee Loft and froze. I hadn’t taken everything in when I hurried out that morning, but seeing it now, it was something else. The awnings above all three stores on that stretch of the strip had been torn away or shredded in some part. The giant tree—a hanging birch?—was totallydestroyed and there would never be the wonderful shade blanketing the doorway of the Coffee Loft again. The crews had taken it down, right to the stump, and spray painted the trunk in bright orange to alert passersby.
The house across the street had a fair amount of damage; one of the windows on the upper floor was shattered and the white picket gate had snapped free of its holds.
I wasn’t sure if anyone was in the Coffee Loft, and I especially wasn’t sure if Elliot was still there or not. Rather than take the chance of passing by and him flagging me down, although a small part of me wondered if he would do that or not, I walked around the back of the strip, through the alley, exiting on the road nearest the bookstore.
It was the coward’s way of avoiding any unnecessary entanglements.
And I was successful. Not proud of it, but successful.