Page 41 of Living La Vida Mocha
“I’d like that.” He gave me a friendly wave and headed for the door. “Thanks for sharing out the coffee, Stanley. You’re mugnificent.”
Quickly he assessed the coffee station and replied with a smile. “It seemed like a hit. I have nothing left.”
“I’ll bring a few packages tomorrow.” With a wave goodbye, Carter left the shop.
Stanley ambled over with a tired limp in his steps and locked the door once the last workshop customer exited. “That was a fun night.”
“It was.”
I resumed my sweeping, slightly embarrassed I had been caught chatting on the job. It was like being fifteen all over again and working at the local ice cream shop. The boss had been strictly adamant about not standing around. He didn’t pay for conversation; he paid for a sparkling clean restaurant and happy customers, and in that order.
Stanley cleared his throat. “When I asked you to make sure the coffee was filled, I simply meant the pot, not for you to go around serving everyone. They are more than capable of refilling their own Styrofoam cups.” He grabbed a couple of used cups and dropped them into the garbage. A deep building smirk tugged on the side of his mouth. “However, I know they appreciated it, as did I having an extra set of hands around. You done good tonight, Kid.”
I swallowed. That was the most praise I’d received on a job in a really long time, even jerkish Tory never complimented my work, and I’d been there for nearly two years. “Thank you.”
“Benson would be proud.”
“How’d you know?”
He leaned against a table. “I’m old, but I can piece a puzzle together.”
“I never…”
His weathered and calloused hand swiped through the air. “We weren’t friends or anything, but he ran an honest business until he closed shop. When you started talking tools, well, I put two and two together.”
Tears welled in my eyes.
“Nah, nah, none of that here.” He spun around and with the rag, wiped off the coffee station. “I’m running another workshop tomorrow night and Thursday night, and I’d love to have your help.” He straightened and turned. “Last workshop is on Friday night, and I’ll be getting you to run it while I finish up the work for the tree lighting ceremony on Saturday. You good with that?”
I gulped and tightened my grip on the broom handle. “I’ve never run a workshop before.”
“You’ll get the feel for it. It’s not hard, and there’s no wrong way for them to mess it up.” Laughing, he bent down to swipe a twig off the floor. “Well, this may be the wrong way.” He dropped it into the garbage. “But it’s more up your alley than mine. You seem like a people person.”
“Thank you, Sir.”
“Stanley. Please call me that and not sir.”
“Yes.” I nodded, knowing better. “Thank you for the offer. I can,” I inhaled sharply, “I’d be honoured to run your workshop on Friday night.”
“Great. Finish sweeping in here and shut the lights off when you’re done. I’ll be next door finishing up some paperwork. Leave me a list of things you need as I’ll be in town tomorrow grabbing supplies.” Steps from the flower shop side, his big frame halted in the doorway. “It’s none of my business, but when you said you was leaving your city life behind, was it because you were running away from problems or running to them?” He shook his head and waved a hand through the air. “You know what, don’t answer that.” About to step into the shop, he dropped his head. “On second thought…” He ran his thick fingers through his grey strands. “About Carter, do me a favour and go easy on him. He’s a solid guy but he’s … Well, just be kind is all.”
That was the second warning I’d gotten about Carter. Time for me to roll up my sleeves and do some digging.
Chapter Twelve
My digging was fruitless. GooglingCarter Crossprovided little to no information. He had to have signed an NDA or some other privacy document with the overseas schools as there was no mention of him. Like zero. No debate team captain. No moral ethics committee member. Not even a hint of participation in a low-budget drama production.
His online presence was even more mysterious. No social media pages and nothing about his travels to the coffee bean capital of the world either. It was like he was the real-life version of Casper the Ghost.
All I could find was his name on a link to the Coffee Loft page, which was understandable since he currently worked there. Everything else was a mystery. How was that possible? Even Googling my name produced several hits to pages other than my locked-down social media accounts, which actually caused me great concern. Was my temporary six-week stint at a minor league marketing firm really worthy of internet knowledge? I highly doubted it was.
How was Carter able to avoid all that?
It baffled my fragile mind and gave me more questions than I could find answers to. Which I detested. I hated that he was this enigma, and not just to me, but to the whole world. Lack of communication was one of my many pet peeves, so I promised myself, the next time I saw him, which I hoped was before our big Tree Lighting ceremony date, I was just going to come out and ask.
Perusing the aisles of the grocery store on an empty stomach, I was in desperate need of something other than vending machine food or the yummy add-it-to-my-waistline foods from the Coffee Loft, and absolutely everything looked worthy. However, I needed nutrition, but also easy-to-prepare foods since the kitchenette wasn’t loaded with all the comforts of my appliances still tucked into the cabinets back in my apartment.
The produce clerk, or perhaps the manager, was unpacking a box of not-quite-ripe bananas and setting them on the stand. Craning my neck, I scanned them looking for ready-to-eat ones. The ones on display were still firm and green.