Page 8 of Mountain Bean Dream
“Well, I did my research.”
“Ten points to you. Well done.” I gave him a quick friendly clap and he bowed his head. “Well, now you have a little more trivia to tuck into your back pocket. Maybe someday we could play it at the bar?” It was a tongue-in-cheek statement, the same kind of thing I’d offer to Elliot. Something said to be friendly.
Thankfully, Jeremy didn’t take the bait and walked over to the bar fridge and pulled out a cheese string.
We both stood there as breaths passed between us. Finally, I inhaled sharply. “Have a brewtiful day,” I calledout, half-expecting Jeremy to roll his eyes. Instead, his lips curved into the smallest of smiles—a quiet acknowledgment that somehow left me feeling more seen than I wanted to admit.
Chapter Three
After a day of wallowing in self-pity and wondering if I should tuck tail and head back to the life I was used to, I pulled on my metaphorical big girl underpants and decided I needed to man up and not run away. Yet. Most of the time, when the first failure in a new place happened, I was gone before sunlight the next day. But I really liked it here so far. I wanted to make this town work. Until I figured out how exactly, work duties prevailed.
Amazingly enough, I knocked on the locked front door of the Coffee Loft at one minute before seven, something that was greeted with a warm smile from Elliot.
He checked his watch as he pushed open the door. “Good morning, Molly.”
“Morning.” I sidestepped him and sauntered over to the counter where I tucked my purse away.
“Thank you for being here on time.”
Hanging up my jacket and securing my hair with a claw clip, I donned the brown Coffee Loft apron over my blue floral print dress. “Thank the triple-set alarm clock. It was the third one that finally startled me awake.”
With the door now unlocked, the first customer walked in.
“It’s a brewtiful day,” I said with a smile I wasn’t quite feeling since I was still waking up. “What can I get started for you?”
The lady surveyed the board and shifted back and forth on her feet. “Hmm… How about a lofty-sized, triple-shot, half-caf, no foam, extra hot, soy milk latte with two pumps of sugar-free vanilla syrup, a sprinkle of cinnamon, and a light drizzle of caramel on top, served at exactly 142 degrees Fahrenheit?”
What the beans was that? Where was that on the menu?I made sure my fake smile stayed put rather than drop to the floor with a wide-eyed gaze. “Can you repeat that please so I make sure I didn’t miss anything?”
With a small sigh, she repeated her highly complicated order, and I charged her accordingly. She waited off to the side while I two-handed the machine. The earthy scent of coffee beans mingled with the faint sweetness of the vanilla, a combination that promised warmth even on the frostiest mornings.
A couple of minutes later, her order was perfectly made, and I served it to her with my bestcustomers-rocksmile.
“Thanks for stopping by. Java nice day.”
That was a Nina-ism; one of the co-owner’s signature goodbyes that she was good with us using.
The lady dropped a toonie into the tip jar and left the store.
“That’s a Friday morning for you.” Elliot gave the countertop a quick wipe and shook his head. “Full of all sorts of complications.” The light flickered in the display case and he thumped the far-left corner near the ballast which solved the problem.
“Let’s hope it was a one-off.”
I grabbed a nearby cloth, and wiped the steamer down, humming along to the music playing overhead. Classic music was my jam, but it was especially fun to listen to a string quartet play modern songs.
“Last night Nina and I were talking about you.” Words to put the fright into any employee’s head.
I swallowed down a huge lump of panic. Had they figured out who I was? “Oh yeah?”
Elliot straightened up to his full height. “Why don’t you play your flute here sometime? We could set up something in the corner?”
“And take away Sage’s spot?” I laughed with relief, pushing an easy excuse to say no politely. “No way.”
Sage, Elliot’s girlfriend, was also a regular and sat in the same spot—on the wingback chairs tucked into the corner. Usually, she arrived around nine-thirty with a stack of books either for the bookstore she worked at, or from it; I always forgot which.
“Besides, I only play with others. I don’t like to play on my own.” That was only a partial truth. Sometimes, I’d drive to a secluded spot along the river or near Pyramid Lake and play where no one could hear me. It was then that I came alive, becoming one with my jazz flute.
“Well, keep us in the back of your mind. You never know, and we’d love to show you off. Could just do a fifteen-minute set once a shift, or a longer set on other days. You could invite other members of the jazz band to play too.”