Page 75 of It Couldn't Be You
“I think so, too,” I said as the door closed behind him.
The other person who we kept seeing in February was our beloved Canada Man. He was flying down so frequently that Rose had asked Katie one afternoon at work, “How is that man paying for all these flights?”
“He’s using his miles.” Katie shrugged innocently.
“He’s racking up miles, that’s for sure.” Rose winked, and I snickered in agreement.
I had noticed how Rose wasn’t simply throwing a heavy workload onto Katie like a careless or busy boss might, but instead Rose was intentionally giving Katie more responsibilities, teaching her how to handle new roles for running the business. She was mentoring Katie, but could it be more? As Rose went over paperwork with Katie line by line and talked over the minute accounting details, it had to be more.
It wasn’t just me who was noticing. During one of Terrence’s recent visits, he was sitting with us in her family’s kitchen as we poured tortilla chips into a big plastic turquoise bowl and Katie threw fresh tomatoes, cilantro, serrano’s, onions, and garlic into a blender, the spicy aroma filling the room. She was telling us about one of the in-depth discussions she’d recently had with Rose about finances of the shop.
Terrence asked, “Did she talk with you about the future plans?”
“A little. We focused more on the necessities of keeping afloat currently.Ihave some future ideas, though,” she said as she tasted the salsa and then added in a few more shakes of seasonings and then pressed blend again.
Terrence looked thoughtful. “I think you should talk about the future with her. Ask her the specifics. I know you want to share your ideas, but you should see what she’s planning first.”
“Yeah,” I said. “I’ve noticed how she’s kind of training you. I’m wondering if she’s getting you ready to go out into the world. Like teaching you all she knows before she goes?”
Terrence was about to respond, but Katie blew past all of that and started talking about community engagement while she poured the salsa into a serving dish.
One morning in late February, Gabe was sitting at the coffee bar sipping one of his daily foamy, fresh mochas. I was talking with him while simultaneously trying to stretch my shoulder blades.
“Are you okay there, Em?” He cocked his head to the side as I laced my hands behind my back.
“I’m okay. It’s just my back is really bugging me.” I winced a little. I had reached out to other magazines and platforms and had a couple of new freelance writing gigs, which had me hunched over my laptop more often. But honestly, I felt a thrill with every sore muscle in my neck and gratitude with every shoulder blade crack.
“Here, turn around,” he said after eyeing my little stretch session for a minute.
I turned around and backed up against the bar between us, and I felt him lean over, which probably broke some sort of barista rules, and place his big, warm hands on my sore shoulders.
The backrub was probably meant to helprelaxmy muscles, but all of me clicked on down to every single hair on my arms standing to attention. He started to rub his thumbs in warm little circles behind my shoulder blades, and I closed my eyes.
He asked, “How’s that?”
I choked out, “That’s good.”
“You are really tight,” he said, moving his thumbs onto the sides of my neck, rubbing them down and across my shoulders.
It felt good—really good. Every touch with Gabriel just had to be perfect and delicious, even at an awkward angle across a bar. His fingers dipped under the top my shirt, and I could feel his rough fingertips directly on my upper back. My abdomen felt hot and syrupy.
He asked, “Is this okay?”
I opened my mouth to ask him to come back behind the bar when I heard a voice crash into our moment. “Oh, is Emma’s back acting up again?”
Katie was by our sides. We jumped apart like we’d been caught making out on the bar, which, honestly,I wish.
Before either of us could reply, she was bouncing up and down, “Guess what! Guess what!”
“What?” I leaned on my elbows against the bar, curious. Shaking off the goosebumps and butterflies from mere moments ago.
“You are bouncing like a three-year-old,” Gabe observed. “What’s up?”
“Canada Man just told me he’s getting a short-term rental here in Sweet River. He’ll have a place of his own. He can move some of the things he needs for work into his new place, and he can stay for longer than a few days at a time. He can actually do life here.”
“Wait, wait. Is he moving here?” Gabe asked. “Planning on moving here?”
“No, well,semi-moving here. Is that a thing?” Katie furrowed her brows in question.
