“And that I just have to combine flavors that are unique to that same person?”
“I do!” Zelda was excited. I could feel the happy Magic filling the air, and before I could get the next word out, she squealed, “Does my coffee in way, shape, or form taste like a Twinkie?”
“It might,” I chuckled, pouring the second shot of espresso into the mug. Pushing the button for another round of bean grinding, I teased, “And… what else?” Before she could answer, I added, “Remember, every ingredient has to mean something to you.”
“You didn’t?”
“I didn’t what?”
“You aren’t?”
“I’m not what?
“Martha Mary Margaret Dellencourt, did you somehow find the recipe for the hot sauce I had to have to dip my anchovy–chocolate chunk cookies in when I was pregnant with Henry Charles and Audrey Hildegard?”
“Well…” I drew out the word as I put the fourth shot of the best, and strongest, espresso I could get my hands on –a specific, extremely rare, and highly coveted blend of beans from Brazil, Sumatra, and Ethiopia. It would take me years to pay back all the favors, but it was worth it. This was for Zelda. “…sorta.”
“Sorta?”
Because I was impatient and really wanted to get the special concoction in front of her, I used just a bit of the Magic of the Ancient Dragons running through my veins to finish the drink. Lifting the mug as if it were a prized possession, in line with the Arc of the Covenant, I slowly turned and winked at Zelda.
Loving that she was literally vibrating with excitement, I took the four steps needed to reach the bar and set the mug on the pink, embossed napkin bearing the name of my shop. Carefully sliding it across the highly polished wood, I announced, “I present to you, the Wanked Shift, a proprietary mix of exquisite coffee beans from all over the world, Tahitian Vanilla, Devon English Double Cream…”
“The Twinkies from the Nookie Hut!” She cheered.
“…Amoretti raspberry syrup…
“The jelly donuts from when I was pregnant!”
“…a dash of Ghirardelli mocha syrup…”
“The cookie cravings!” She gasped, quickly adding, “You didn’t.”
Bursting out laughing at the look of complete and utter disbelief –and a little horror –on her face, I almost followed her train of thought, but not even I would go that far, regardless of what my sisters thought. “No!” I laughed. “I did not put anchovy or mustard in the Wanked Shift. You know how much I love my coffee. I could not disrespect my baby beans that way.”
“I think she loves coffee more than us,” Arthur grumbled, as he stretched out his long, gray fur–covered back legs behind him. Rolling onto his side, he curled up his long body and began licking his manly bits, which was his way of making sure I understood that he was miffed.
“No, she loves Texas Sheet Cake made with Momma June’s recipe more than us,” Chewy corrected, before yawning so wide I swear I could see all the way to the inside of his toes.
“So, we’re second and coffee’s third,” Otis sighed, rolling his one-hundred-and-forty-five-pound, seven-foot-tall when he stood on his hind legs, shaggy, dark gray furred body over so that his butt was aimed my way. “Guess it could be worse.”
(No, as I am sure you can imagine if you have ever owned a dog, getting the butt end of Otis was not a good sign. He had flatulence that had been described as deadly by more people than I could count or remember. He was making a point – like his brothers – and I had to set the record straight before the biggest yet youngest of my boys let one rip.
Rushing over to Doggo Corner…
(Doggo Corner was an eight-foot-by-eight-foot space with a four foot wall and ‘doors’ on the two outside walls, I’d had the Handy Man, Ben Beaverton –(Yes, he’s a Beaver Shifter and one hell of a contractor, let me tell you.) –build in the corner closest to the counter and drive thru window where I spent most of my time.)
As I was saying, I hurried over to Doggo Corner, opened the door, and entered as quickly as my chubby behind could move. Down on my knees, I gave all three of my boys snuggles and kisses while cooing, “Y’all are always number one, and don’t you ever forget it.”
When I was sure all was well, and they were happily gnawing on soup bones from Jess, the Butcher, a five-foot-two, strawberry blond, Bison Shifter who happened to be a vegetarian who loved her chosen profession for reasons I’d never asked, I got to my feet and exited Doggo Corner. Stopping when Zelda held up her hand, I furrowed my brow and was just about to ask, “What’s up?” when she snapped, pointed her index finger in my direction, and zapped me with a tingling jolt of Magic, sans the snappy Spell that usually came with it.
“I don’t get a rhyme? Not even a single potty word? Is it because I used Magic to make your coffee? About that...”
“Nope. Sorry about that little jolt. I was listening to Mac in my brain.”
“Oh, shit.”
“Yeah, so I’mma need another Wanked Shift, and the lid to my fancy, schmancy, bejeweled travel mug here. Gotta get home.”
