Lakeside Family. Lisa Jordan
pointed to the coffee bar, hating the way her fingers trembled. She clenched them into fists, hoping he didn’t notice. “Help yourself to coffee. Today’s specials are Almond Toffee Crunch and Hazelnut Cream.”
“Thanks.” He smiled and pulled his wallet out of his back pocket.
Josie shook her head. “On the house. You didn’t need to clean my walk.”
He turned sideways, resting one elbow on the back of the chair and another on the spread newspaper. “Your friend almost slipped. And you were busy.”
“I would’ve gotten to it.” She winced at the defensive tone in her voice.
He held up a hand. “Hey, that wasn’t a criticism.”
“Sorry. Thanks.” She shut her mouth before finishing off a course of foot-in-mouth. She moved to the fireplace and flipped the switch. Flames came to life and tangoed across the fake logs. If she closed her eyes, she could pretend to hear crackles and smell burning pine.
Nick slid off the stool and wrapped long fingers around the mug. “Wasn’t a problem. Really.”
For him, maybe. He wasn’t the irresponsible one who couldn’t even get out of bed on time.
“Do you have time for coffee? To talk?”
She glanced at the clock. “Not now. Besides, I don’t drink coffee.”
He headed to the coffee bar and filled his mug. “What kind of barista owns a coffeehouse, but doesn’t drink coffee?”
She dashed behind the counter and grabbed the candle lighter. “The kind who’s allergic to caffeine.”
“Then why a coffeehouse?”
“Coffee and food bring people together.” She lit the votive candles nestled in a bed of coffee beans on each table.
He nodded toward the word wall next to the fireplace. “What’s this? Saw it when I came in.”
She shrugged. Would he think she was silly? Did she care? “A community word wall. Each month I put up miscellaneous words and challenge customers to create something unique. At the end of the month, they’re voted on and the winner receives a free drink.”
“Great way to inspire people to write.”
Spoken like a true English professor.
Nick moved past her to get his coffee.
She stuck the candle lighter in her front pocket and grabbed the box of tulips still on the edge of the counter. She replaced the red-and-pink Valentine arrangements on the window counter and near the cash register with the potted tulips.
The front door jangled. Two women and a man in business attire entered, brushing snowflakes off the shoulders of their overcoats. Within minutes, a steady stream of customers filed through the café, keeping her busy behind the counter. The whirring of the espresso machine competed with the rustling of the morning newspapers, cell phone ring tones and chatter.
Emmett Browne, one of her loyal customers and true genius with a camera, banged on the counter with his hand-carved cane. “Josie, where’s the paper? I come in here every morning, sit in the same spot to do the morning crossword, and today of all days, you open late and the paper is missing. What is this world coming to?” His salt-and-pepper eyebrows knitted together. His sausage fingers gripped the curve of his cane. Tufts of white hair sprouted beneath his tweed fedora.
Josie smiled and turned to reach for a glass mug. She set it on the counter in front of him. “Good morning to you, too, Emmett. The usual?”
“Don’t I always have the usual? Did you forget already? What’s so hard about a black coffee and a banana nut muffin? And don’t slip me any of that bran malarkey. I can tell the difference, you know.” He pulled out two dollar bills and a handful of change. He laid the bills on the counter and counted out sixty-eight cents and then tossed two quarters in the tip jar.
“Of course not. One of the other customers is reading the paper. As soon as he’s finished, you can do your crossword.”
He glowered at her. “And what am I supposed to do in the meantime? What kind of establishment gives out one paper?”
“Try being patient. Would you like me to go buy you another paper?” She pointed to the yellow paper box outside her shop.
“Harrumph. Now, that would be a waste of money, wouldn’t it?” He hobbled over to one of the armchairs near the fireplace and eased his body onto the cushion. Dropping his hat on the side table, he laid his cane on the floor and glared at Nick.
Agnes opened the small fridge under the espresso machine for the milk. “Why do you put up with that codger’s attitude?”
“He’s lonely and all bark but no bite. If griping at me makes him happy, I can turn the other cheek. Today’s a rough day for him.” Josie warmed a banana nut muffin and slipped a blueberry one into a small paper bag. She carried both to Emmett, who sat tapping his pen against the arm of the chair.
“Here’s your muffin. And a little something for later.” She handed him the white bag.
He eyed the bag. “What is it?”
“A blueberry muffin.”
His shoulders slumped. “Elsie’s favorite.”
She crouched beside him and patted his hand. “Rough day, huh?”
“Forty-eight years.” He traced the plain gold band embedded in his finger while gazing into the fire. “She was my everything. I miss her.”
She squeezed his hand, feeling his pain. “I know.”
He pressed his lips against her knuckles. “Thanks for the extra muffin.”
“Anything for you, Emmett.” Josie patted his cheek.
The phone rang, but Agnes snagged it. She covered the phone with her hand. “Josie, Billy Lynn’s on the phone asking about his doughnut order?”
Josie left Emmett and hurried to the counter. “Doughnut order?”
The words were no sooner out of her mouth when she spotted the pink sticky note reminding her about the six dozen doughnuts requested by the fire department. That was the baking thing she was forgetting. She sighed and resisted the urge to bang her head against the pastry case. If she hadn’t overslept, the doughnuts would be ready and waiting by now.
She reached for the phone. “Hey, Billy. This is Josie. I’m running behind today. When’s the latest I can get them to you?”
“Would noon be pushing it?”
Eyeing the clock, she did a mental calculation. “No, I can handle that. Again, I’m sorry.”
“Bring me a cup of that Almond Toffee Crunch coffee and I’ll forgive you, Dollface.”
“I’ll bring you a whole pot.”
“Josie!” The alarm in Agnes’s voice sent ice through Josie’s veins.
Hannah!
“Billy, I gotta go.” She sprinted through the swinging kitchen door. The kitchen was empty. “Agnes? Hannah? Where are you?”
“The storeroom. Hurry your fanny in here.”
Josie hurried past her office to the storeroom near the back door. Her nose wrinkled against a musty, sulfur smell. Gross.
She rounded the corner to find Agnes and Hannah staring at the ceiling. She followed their gazes. Her stomach plummeted to her toes. She groaned and slumped against the doorjamb. “Oh, no! Oh, please no. Not now. Not this.” Josie squeezed her eyes shut, counted to ten in Italian—uno, due, tre, quattro, cinque, sei, sette, otto, nove, dieci—and then opened her eyes, praying what she saw had been a mistake. Or a trick of the eyes.
No such luck.
A