Page 29 of The Pumpkin Spice Romance
DEJA BREW
By Bethany Maines
(Paranormal)
1
MADDIE
“Happy Pumpkin Spice Day!” bellowed Romeo as I entered the Deja Brew coffee shop.
“Happy Pumpkin Spice Day!” I yelled back, doing a little happy dance to shake off the rain.
Romeo laughed at my antics as he shoved the milk pot onto the spigot for a latte, filling the air with the familiar buzz of noise.
Pumpkin Spice Day is the best day of the year. My coffee shop, Deja Brew, created its own special spice blend, ushering in the start of Fall and all things cozy. Our Pumpkin Spice lattes were a warm hug in a glass.
I took off my jacket as I looked around with a sense of pride. Deja Brew specialized in craft-brewed coffee and custom juices made with the herbs and spices that I had growing in pots around the shop. The atmosphere was warm and muggy, and despite the rain outside, somehow sunny.
“Good morning, Maddie,” said Mrs. Landry, coming in behind me.
“Good morning, Mrs. Landry! Happy Pumpkin Spice Day!”
Mrs. Landry laughed. She was eighty and came into the coffee shop three times a week to work on her memoir and enjoy a cup of tea.
“Now, Miss Maddie Scott,” said Mrs. Landry, using my full name. She was originally from Georgia and still retained a few Southernisms despite having lived in the Northwest for over thirty years. “Do tell me what Pumpkin Spice things you’re doing for us non-coffee drinkers.”
“We’ve got pumpkin spice cookies, a pumpkin spice chai, and pumpkin spice smoothies.”
“Cookies! Sold! I’ll add them to my order.” She strode determinedly toward Romeo at the counter, and I grinned. Mrs. Landry was one of my favorite customers.
I had opened Deja Brew four years earlier with a small business loan, big dreams, and a whole lot of prayers. Not that I had a particular deity in mind. I believed in a lot of things, but gods weren’t one of them. Not that I’m anti-god. Gods can exist if they want to, but I don’t feel the need to give them gifts.
I headed back to my office and worked my way through emails and supply ordering, then went out to chat and tend to my herb garden. I had always had a green thumb, and my Bachelor’s degree in Botany had only increased my gardening obsession. And usually, the garden was the one place I couldn’t cause a disaster. My family joked that I was “Mad” Madeline Scott—a nickname I hated. It was hard being the resident chaosgremlin. I didn’t want to be. I wished I could be steady and routine-oriented, but things never worked out that way for me.
I worked for a bit. I kept having to brush my hair out of my face to avoid clipping it along with the plants, but I was used to that. I had once given myself a very asymmetrical set of bangs, but at least I had saved the jasmine plant I’d been working on.
I stopped to say hello to a few of the regulars. I felt fortunate to have so many people in the neighborhood who had embraced my little coffee shop. At thirty-two, it seemed ridiculous to finally feel like I had a place to belong, but that’s what Deja Brew was for me – a home.
I straightened up as the door opened, and I accidentally made eye contact with my newest regular. He was forty-ish, taciturn, and smoking hot. The little sprinkle of gray in the temples of his dark hair only made him yummier. He was usually dressed in some sort of business casual wear, but today, he wore a black t-shirt over jeans with the standard-issue weather-resistant Northwest jacket. He’d been coming in for a few weeks, and so far, he’d only ever ordered black coffee. He liked to sit by himself and sip it slowly while checking his phone. It was the way he seemed to really enjoy every taste of the coffee that got to me. I could find good-looking people all around, but finding an appropriately appreciative coffee drinker was difficult.
Romeo called out a few more orders as I headed back to the counter with my basket of clippings. Our custom juice blends were popular, and I was proud that I’d managed to slowly diminish the herbs we’d had to order.
I stopped between one step and the next, standing like an idiot in between tables. Mrs. Landry was going to get up to collect her cookies from the counter, and then she would trip. I couldn’t let that happen. Even minor falls could ruin an old person’s life. I hurried toward the counter.
“Mrs. Landry,” I called, “you stay there. I’ll get your cookies.”
“Thank you, Maddie!” called Mrs. Landry.
I grabbed for the cookie plate at the same time as Romeo put a drink on the counter, and as I turned to go back to Mrs. Landry, my basket of herbs hit the to-go cup, sending it skittering across the polished oak.
“Ack!” I flailed at the cup but only managed to hit it with the cookie plate, knocking the lid off and sending a tidal wave of pumpkin spice across the broad chest of my black coffee-drinking Mr. Yummy.
FELIX
I stared down at the girl, who I thought was called Maddie, as she tried to dry my chest with a wad of paper napkins. I had been coming to Deja Brew for two weeks. I kept coming back for the friendly atmosphere, the luxurious scents, and this barista’s adorable face and distractingly curvy figure. I loved all of it. What I did not love was smelling like I’d taken a bath in pumpkin spice.
She made little peeps of distress as she dabbed at me. I wasn’t even sure what she’d been trying to do. Keep the old lady in her seat, perhaps? But it had seemed like an odd detour and then an even more peculiar accident. Usually, she moved around the shop like an energetic sunbeam. This was out of character for her, and now I smelled like hipster Fall had exploded on me. But at least at this proximity, the scent of her overwhelmed the stench of the latte. She was all fresh plants and peaches. She was also getting closer to my pants.
