Page 8 of Love You A Latte

She’d probably love it, so long as I promised to still spend quality time with her too. Regardless of how my best friend may or may not feel about a relationship that may or may not happen, I wasn’t going to be falling back asleep. So I rolled out of bed and decided to get a head start on the morning.

While I bake some of the pastries myself, most are from the local bakery down the road. I do easy stuff that doesn’t take too much time or effort: banana bread, quiche, the occasional blueberry muffin. Alex, the baker, makes whatever he feels like for me and it always sells. Cookies, pastries, muffins, desserts, even donuts sometimes. He’s talented and prompt with his deliveries, overall an excellent business owner to partner with.

Today he dropped off an armload of macarons in a rainbow of colors along with cream cheese muffins and lavender lemon scones.

I tried one of each. They’re all delicious.

I think I’m stress eating. Or maybe excitement eating.

The front window keeps pulling my attention, and every time the door opens I hope it’ll be Addison walking in. It hasn’t been yet, and I know it likely won’t be for some time. I remember when Everly tried to talk to her at nine a.m. when she was visiting last December. She told me Addison wasn’t even out of bed yet, and cranky as hell to boot.

I expect the soonest I’ll see her is late morning, if at all.

The brunch crowd distracts me for a bit, but time crawls by. Derek, the owner of the only grocery store in town, stalks past across the street, stopping to mean-mug the coffee shop for a solid minute before continuing on his way. He’s wanted to know where I source my specialty coffee beans for years; at this point I’m simply refusing to tell him out of spite.

If he was a nice guy I might consider it, but he’s not, so I won’t. He can continue to try to upsell me with his crappy coffee beans and good luck to him. Jaime, one of the two teenagers I hired a few months ago when Derek threatened to report me for closing during operating business hours, snags my attention, needing help with the cash register. It’s another distraction, one more thing to help this morning slog by.

My frown quickly disappears when a familiar dog on a familiar leash pokes his giant wet nose into the glass door.

Addison is here, and if the pastel yellow leather bag is anything to go by, she brought her laptop with her, as I hoped she would. She takes off her bright pink shades as she steps in and offers me a tentative smile. It’s better than the fake one from the other day, so I meet it with a grin of my own.

Then, I realize with horror, I don’t know what her coffee order is, and that feels like a crime. She tugs Moose up to the counter with her and I nudge Jaime out of the way.

“What can I get you, sweets?” I ask.

Her cheeks tint a lovely shade of pink.

“I’ll take an iced latte, please,” she says, and I quirk an eyebrow. There’s no way that’s her full order. She pinches her lips between her teeth as her eyes skim the menu on the wall behind me, then turn to the pastry box. I decide to help her out.

“What kind of milk?”

“Oh, um, oat would be great, if you have it.”

“Sure, any flavored syrup?” I hold in my smirk. I knew she wanted more.

“Maybe,” she draws out the word as though she really can’t decide, and that intrigues me. Perhaps she doesn’t have one go-to order.

“Can’t decide?” I ask.

“I like cinnamon, but that doesn’t feel right today. Maybe hazelnut? Or vanilla,” she trails off, scanning the line of syrup bottles behind me.

“You open to a surprise?” I ask.

Her baby blues snag my gaze as they swing back to me, lighting up with excitement.

“Sure! I love surprises. Just not peppermint,” she says.

“In the middle of summer?” I scoff. “I’m not a heathen, Addison.”

She grins and requests a rainbow of macarons to go with her latte. I tell her I’ll bring everything to her when it’s ready and she heads over to a table to set up. Jaime snags a water bowl for Moose while I whip up an iced coconut latte for her.

When I carry over a colorful plate of macarons and her coffee, I notice she’s frowning at her phone. Her eyebrows are pinched and she’s bouncing her leg under the table.

“Hey,” I say, setting everything down next to her. “Everything okay?”

“Oh, yeah!” she says, flipping her phone down on the table and directing another fake smile my way.

“Don’t do that,” I scold, my voice coming out more harsh than I intended.

---