Page 2 of Just My Puck
My fingers may be stiff from the cold, but the rich, nutty scent drifting through the air is enough to make my mouth water. That’s all the persuasion I need. With zero hesitation, I follow my nose toward a street called Warlington Lane.
The moment I step onto the charming pedestrian street, it feels like I’ve been transported from the bustling city to a small-town winter postcard—brick storefronts lined with twinkling lights, the hum of holiday shoppers, and a street performer’s saxophone playing somewhere in the distance. But I’m a coffee lover above all else, so Rise & Grind is getting all my attention.
A bell jingles softly as I push open the door, a welcome rush of warmth wrapping around me. The scent of freshly ground beans and something sweet—maybe caramel?—fills the cozy space. The coffee shop is small but inviting, decked out in beige and white with a few festive touches. Garlands are draped over a wide counter that nearly spans the entire room, fairy lights woven between the evergreen branches.
To the right, a Christmas tree stands near two small tables, its ornaments reflecting the soft glow of the overhead lights. But what really catches my eye? A small table by the entrance, stacked with black and red merchandise—a stark departure from the otherwise neutral aesthetic. A sports team, I’m guessing, though which one is a mystery to me.
“Good morning,” a girl with strawberry blonde hair calls out. She smiles brightly, hands braced on the counter.
“Hi.” I step toward her and glance at the modest but tasty display of pastries.
“We have cinnamon rolls, red velvet muffins, and peppermint bark scones for a touch of holiday spirit today.”
“It all looks fantastic.”
A girl with shoulder-length blonde hair arrives from the backroom, wearing a Rise & Grind apron and balancing another tray of baked goods that smell of warm butter and caramelized sugar.
“And a warm batch of cookies,” the blonde woman adds, placing the tray on the counter. “Good morning.” She gives me a little wave before grabbing a pair of tongs and sliding the cookies into the display window.
“Smells like heaven. I can never resist a fresh batch of cookies,” I say with a chuckle, although I really should, given how tight these pants are fitting already. “I’ll take one, and a large latte macchiato with a drop of caramel. If that’s possible?” I add, remembering it’s not Starbucks.
“Of course.” The girl who welcomed me nods before turning around to make my coffee.
“For here or to go?” the other girl asks, grabbing a cookie with the pair of tongs.
“To go, please.”
“There you are.” She places it in a kraft bag before setting it on the counter and taking my payment. “Here’s your receipt. Andthisis a scratch card for a chance to win two hockey tickets for tonight’s Raptors game. We only have a few cards left, and so far, nobody has won the grand prize.”
I wince. “Oh, thanks, but luck isn’t my strong suit. I just got fired from my brand-new job today. I shouldn’t be spending money on coffee and cookies in the first place, to be honest.”
“Doesn’t hurt to try,” the blonde girl says with a warm smile. “Here, take my lucky quarter.” She tears off a quarter taped to the side of the register.
I hesitate, then take the coin, rolling it between my fingers before pressing the edge to the card. As I scratch, silver flakes dust my palm, and then—wait. My brows furrow.
“It says I won.”
“You did!” they both squeal,their excitement catching me off guard.
“That’s fantastic!” the other girl chimes in as she sets my coffee on the counter. “My dad’s going to be thrilled—he’s the head coach.”
I chew my lip. “Right. And you said this is for . . .?”
“Hockey, of course,” she exclaims. “The famous New York Raptors. Games are always a blast, and these are ice seats.”
“Always fun,” the blonde adds with a knowing nod.
She hands me the tickets, and I glance down at them, half expecting them to burst into flames in my palm. “Huh. Well, thanks. I never win anything, so this is a nice change of pace.”
Shaking my head with a soft laugh, I tuck the tickets into my coat pocket just as the door jingles and a new customer steps inside. Time to go, before the universe realizes it made a mistake.
Grabbing my drink and cookie, I flash them a quick smile. “Have a nice day.”
“You too. Enjoy the game!”
As I exit Rise & Grind, another shop catches my eye, right across from it. Books—lots of them—and a pretty storefront with the name No Shelf Control.
Crossing the small street, I pause to look at the holiday display window, and something in my chest tightens. Comfort and sadness weave together, a bittersweet ache. I press a hand against the cold glass and trace my gaze over the books stacked in the window. In a different life—one where luck wasn’t allergic to me—maybe my name would be printed on one of them. That was the dream, but publishing is a game of luck, and I always lose that game.
