Page 6 of It's a Brewtiful Day
“Never. A singing voice I do not have.” I took another sip of my coffee and then resumed my book sorting. Embarrassing myself publicly, and on purpose, wasn’t a type of fun I enjoyed.
“Too bad. I love karaoke.” He lifted one of the books off the damaged pile. “How old is this relic?” He flipped through the warped and yellowed pages.
“If I had to judge by the cover, which you should never do,” I said with a wink. “I’d guess…” I gave the cover a solid assessment, looking at the typography and the images. “Maybe 1955?”
Elliot flipped to the copyright page and ran his finger down the length. “Wow. Great guess. You’re off by a year, but still.”
“I know books probably like you know coffee.”
“Speaking of which, I need to get back. Nina sent me on a quick errand. We ran out of almond milk, so I needed to dash to the store. I was only going to drop your coffee off and be on my way, I didn’t think it would turn out to be the high—” He shut his mouth with a quick snap. Whatever he was thinking though flashed across his face and he needed to fan his shirt.
I couldn’t help but watch the ripples shimmer down his shirt and as I gazed up over his neck, and over his reddening ears, the brown curls were dancing in the breeze. Blinking, I tore my gaze away and refocused on the pile of books.
“Well, I need to get going.”
“Alright.” The word was weak and wispy, very much like my breathing.
“See you tomorrow? Nine thirty, I believe?”
“Yes.”
“Perfect. I look forward to it.” He tapped my finger, once, twice, and turned. A moment later, he was gone.
Chapter Two
Hours later, after closing Pages & Dreams, I walked home with a fresh stack of books to add to the Little Free Library by the fire station. Willard, the fire chief, gave me a quick wave as he polished the chrome bumper on the ladder truck. Fires rarely happened in our small town, and no doubt, we had the shiniest fire truck in the whole province. Our firefighters were more likely to deliver a baby or rescue a cat in a tree than they were to actually extinguish a full-blown building fire. Guess we were lucky.
After restocking the take one, leave one library with new thrillers, sci-fi escapades, and a few bodice rippers, I headed down the street to the house I shared with my older sister, Cassie and her husband Chad.
I marched into the kitchen, after dropping my bag by the backdoor.
“Oh, hey,” Cassie said, taking a quick peek at the clock hanging above the sink. “You’re home early.”
“Work was quiet, and I closed right on time today.” Locking the doors precisely at five was a rarity, but I had crossed off everything on the to-do list, so it was easy to leave when the store shut down. I pulled out one of the high stools at the island and perched myself on top. “What are you making?”
“Three-cheese mini-macs for book club tonight.” She lifted a pot of elbow macaroni off the stove and dumped it into the colander in the sink. Steam obscured her face and fogged up her glasses.
To look at the two of us side by side, you’d never guess we were sisters. Cassie resembled our mother, whereas I seemed to have gathered all the genes from my father’s side. Her shoulder-length, wavy, auburn hair was a total contrast to my long blonde poker-straight hair I had to spend time on just giving it the perfect curl on the ends. Her face was angular and defined with high prominent cheekbones, while mine was more rounded. Of the two of us though, I definitely had the cuter nose and a fuller set of lips.
And as for attitude? Cassie was also much bossier than I ever was, but with that came determination and an unhealthy ambition to hit all her goals; the earlier the better. And her glasses gave her a no-nonsense look which only added to the bossy demeanour.
“What can I do?”
“Top up my wine.” She nudged toward the empty glass on the counter.
The open bottle was sitting all by its lonesome near the window, so I brought it over to join us. I grabbed a wine glass for myself and filled them both up halfway.
Cassie drained the pasta, leaving it in the strainer. “How was work?”
I stole a cucumber slice from the tray of cut veggies. “The usual. Same old story. Spike came in and tried hitting on me again. Thought if he bought six new reads, I’d finally say yes.”
Without looking up, she sprinkled some cheese into the muffin pans. “Oh yeah? That guy can’t take a hint, can he?”
“Apparently not. He reminds me too much of Dad, and that in itself is a no-go. He can ask me out until the cows come home and buy as many books as a library, but it’ll never happen.”
Cassie put the empty pot back on the stove and started adding in all the ingredients she had already measured out, so it was just a matter of her dumping them in when needed. My sister was such a great cook, and I envied her skills, even if all she said was how she simply followed a recipe. She was going to be a great mom someday.
One by one, the bowls emptied of butter, flour, and milk.