Page 6 of Caffeinated in Amesbury
“Another round of spiced lattes, coming up!” Cole’s voice rang out like a cheerful bell over the hubbub of Caffeinated Bliss.
“Careful,” I murmured from my fortress of books behind the counter, green eyes peering out with gentle admonishment. “You’ll start a festive foam riot.”
“Ah, but what is life without a little froth?” Cole quipped back, winking at a group of teenagers who chuckled and nudged each other in anticipation of their drinks.
I shook my head, a smile tugging at the corner of my mouth despite my feigned annoyance. The worn pages of a dog-eared Dickens novel lay open before me, the author’s eloquent prose a stark contrast to the lively scene playing out in front of me. My fingers traced the lines of text as if I could absorb the very essence of the words through touch alone.
“Brother,” Cole said, breaking into my reverie with a nudge of his elbow, “you can’t hide in the past forever. The present has peppermint mocha.”
“Peppermint mocha lacks the depth of nineteenth-century social commentary,” I countered, tone light but gaze still fixed on the comforting sea of words.
“Depth, schmepth,” Cole laughed, shaking his head. “You need to come up for air. There’s a whole world outside those pages. Sometimes I think you’d marry a book if you could.”
“Perhaps,” I replied, the ghost of a smirk dancing across my face, “but only if it had a particularly enchanting spine.”
Cole’s hazel eyes sparkled with mischief as he handed a steaming mug to an elderly woman who thanked him with a hearty laugh. “You know, one day I’m going to find you a real-life love story,” he declared, the challenge clear in his tone.
“Love stories are far more complex beyond the bindings of fiction, little brother,” I mused quietly to myself as Cole dashed off to greet a new wave of customers.
“True,” Cole shot back, having overheard him, “but they’re also warmer. And they hold your hand.”
“Books don’t leave or disappoint,” I retorted softly, thoughts drifting like the snowflakes outside the window.
“Neither do good brothers,” Cole replied, slinging an arm around my shoulder. “And neither will she when you finally let her in.”
My eyes flickered up from the page, meeting Cole’s knowing look. A silent conversation passed between us—one of shared history and unspoken understanding.
“Go on,” Cole nudged me toward a nearby table that sat empty, save for a single, waiting customer.
“Life’s not just about happy endings, you know,” I said, a hint of vulnerability beneath my stoic exterior.
“Maybe not,” Cole agreed, his grin infectious, “but getting there is half the fun. Now go make someone’s chapter brighter.”
With a resigned sigh that didn’t quite reach my eyes, I closed the book with care and stepped out from behind the counter. Each step towards the customer was a step away from my literary sanctuary.
The jingle of the bell above the door heralded her arrival like the opening notes to a familiar song—one that Cole and I could get used to. Blair, with her sunshine hair and effervescent laughter, was as much a fixture in Amesbury as Caffeinated Bliss itself. She breezed into the shop, her cheeks flushed from the cold, eyes sparkling with the reflection of Christmas lights that festooned the windows.
“Hey, troublemakers!” she called out, her voice carrying over the hum of conversation and the hiss of the espresso machine.
“Troublemakers? Speak for yourself, Miss ‘I Accidentally Dyed Mrs. Henderson’s Poodle Pink,’” Cole quipped from behind the counter, flashing his trademark grin.
“An artist’s vision is often misunderstood,” Blair retorted with mock solemnity, leaning on the polished wood of the counter. Her gaze flitted between us.
I gave her a small, knowing smile as he steamed milk, the froth rising like the tide of memories we all shared. Her buoyant nature was the perfect foil to his brother’s own reserved demeanor—a splash of color against his monochrome palette.
“Artistic vision or not, you owe me a rematch at darts. You had uncanny luck last time,” I said, tone light, but my competitive streak flickering beneath the surface.
“Anytime, Thomas.” Blair winked. “But remember, I play to win.”
Cole handed a latte to a customer, his movements fluid and animated, a dance he’d perfected over countless mornings. “She does,” he agreed, chuckling. “Last time, she left you looking like you’d swallowed a lemon.”
“Enough about darts,” Blair laughed, changing the subject. “How’s the holiday blend coming along?”
“Perfectly balanced, as all things should be,” I replied, catching her eye as I passed her a cup of the coveted holiday brew.
“Your mother would be proud,” Blair teased, taking a sip and sighing appreciatively. “Mmm, tastes like Christmas joy and victory.”
“Victory?” I raised an eyebrow, amused. “We’ll see about that.”
