Page 7 of That Thing You Brew
But it was when he raised his thick eyebrows quizzically over those deep, soulful espresso eyes that made me weak in the knees. Higher in the center of his face, his eyebrows transformed his expression to part movie star, part puppy. A heart-melting combination of Flynn Ryder’s smolder and the eagerness of Rexie, my grandparents’ husky, when he was anticipating a treat.
I probably shouldn’t compare Xavier to a puppy, but it was what it was.
And when he spoke with his gentle and kind Canadian lilt, my brain melted like the coffee ice cream in his to-go cup. How a boy from Seattle sounded Canadian, I had no clue. Was it because of his mom or all the time he spent playing with Canadian players? I didn’t care. It was adorable.
Jason had told me recently that when I made Xavier’s coffee, he scored a goal in the game one hundred percent of the time. When Tasha made it, only seventy-two percent. Gabby, fifty-three percent. And it dropped off from there. Surely if Jason told me this information, Xavier had to know, and after missing three games, I flattered myself by thinking he needed me.
So I’d driven to work. I couldn’t let him down. Especially not this close to the trade deadline. It wasn’t totally selfless; I needed to see him regularly for my sanity’s sake and because making his coffee was the only way I was contributing positively to anything in this world.
Only today, the story had broken about the new owners. Probably because the signage had been changed. In a small town like ours, news traveled fast. Xavier wasn’t just a player for the Edge, he was a part of our community. He’d lived here for three years playing for the Volts first and volunteering at local youth camps and events. There were always fans here on game days, but they were usually cool.
Nothing like today’s crowd.
Besides, it wasn’t like I was needed—or wanted—anywhere else. Thanks to my lack of a social media personality and unwillingness to be on camera for anything other than my music, I’d failed to get a spot in any of the local holiday performances. My classes didn’t start up until the second week of January, and they were all online. I’d saved all the easier courses for last so I could do them on my own time and focus on auditions and getting into a grad program.
While I busied myself gathering the ingredients for Xavier’s custom coffee, Adri fired off questions to him.
“I’ve spoken to the new owner, Jannell Rivera. She says they’ll be transitioning to the Coffee Loft brand coffee. With the base ingredient of your personalized coffee changed, do you think that will impact your scoring?”
“Well, I don’t know, Adri. I would hope not.”
“You’ve shared in interviews that you’re not a fan of changes during the season because you don’t want to invite bad luck. You’re a superstitious guy, Xavier. You said so yourself to your team’s sideline reporter. And you’ve been adamant during your time here in Colorado that you make, and I quote, ‘no big changes during the season’ because it could bring bad luck. Correct me if I’m wrong, but your goal scoring percentage is nearly one hundred percent when you stop in here for your toffee coffee on game days.” Behind her, Jason grunted. Our sideline reporter was his sister, Bailey.
“It’s all in good fun,” Xavier replied amicably with his winning smile, which could charm Scrooge McDuck out of his money. But I’d heard him speak enough to catch a nervous note to his assurance. When one has a speaking problem, one tends to pay more attention to the vocal patterns of others.
And I’d been paying attention to Xavier for a long time.
What he didn’t know—and what I wasn’t about to tell Adri—was that I’d emailed the Bevells asking for their supplier and had ordered enough of the same coffee to last him two more seasons—the term of his contract. After that, well, we’d see where we both were.
I’d hoped to be part of one of those European symphonies he’d mentioned by then, but reality was I’d still be here at the Coffee Loft. If I couldn’t get a chair in a local or somewhat local orchestra—this last audition had been in Parker, just under an hour away—how would I ever build my résumé?
Certainly not with my short gig at the medieval-themed dinner show. I’d been let go due to their preshow “going in a different direction.” Or the Renaissance Faire I worked a few weekends each summer. I loved that job. I didn’t have to say a word, just sit there and play background music while the magician and bawdy singing groups took their breaks. I was especially grateful to the Bevells and Riveras for allowing me to play at the coffee shop. It was thanks to Tasha that I was working here. She’d vouched for me when I couldn’t speak during my interview and even asked if I could practice my harp-playing during slow times.
Okay, time to put this thing together.
Coffee ice cream, butterscotch chips, light roast, whipped cream, sea salt caramel drizzle, toffee crunch bites.
I could make Xavier’s drink in my sleep.
I secured the lid and hastily scribbled a message on the side of the cup while I walked back to Xavier, who was trying to reassure everyone his game was not threatened by the change of ownership.
He took the coffee from me, twisting it to read the message. A smile lit up his face, and I felt the blush in my cheeks burn hotter than a steaming pot of Joe.Top shelf, right side.The Edge were playing the New Orleans Crescents tonight, and their starting goalie had a blind spot.
How did I know? I followed a popular hockey guy on YouTube. He was a former goalie and spotlighted all the AHL and NHL goalies. Xavier probably already knew about him, but I felt it was helpful. And so far, well, everyone knew his stats now.
Xavier covered my message with his hand and tipped his cup to the fans behind Adri. “Thanks for coming today. We know you love our team, and we appreciate your support. And thank you, Penny”—he turned to me—“for inventing the magic coffee that accelerated my career.”
Oh my.My cheeks were on fire, and the stifling air had reached choking levels. I needed oxygen, STAT. I gave a quick double thumbs-up, smiled, and made a beeline to safety through the kitchen door.
The door swung shut behind me, and I sank to the floor beside it to try to get my heart rate down.Breathe in… Release … Breathe in … Release…
The door squeaked open, and Tasha squatted down next to me.
I lifted my head. “Too much.”
She nodded. “I got you.” I followed her gaze up and to the door. “I told Xavier to leave. Gabby texted her mom to encourage Adri to wrap it up. We should be clear of the crowd in a few minutes.”
“Thanks.” Our aunt was a weeknight news anchor at the same local station where Adri covered sports.
