DAVID
A yawn ambushes me as I slam the truck door. I stretch, blinking up towards the sky, surprised by how warm the early morning sun is on my upturned face. Sweat gathers at my temples and the base of my neck. Complaints about the weather have dominated small talk around Brookside, but I'm not bothered by the unseasonable heat. Not when my livelihood depends on good sun, clear skies, and enough rain to keep the soil hydrated. If things keep going the way they have, this oddly warm weather will culminate in a fantastic harvest for Carmichael Farms. Of course, if things take a sudden turn for the frigid, we could all be screwed, but I'm not giving that thought any room to grow. Gotta feed the mind good thoughts to cultivate good results.
Mom has a pot of coffee brewed in the kitchen—in my kitchen, the one she let herself right on into without worrying about whether I'm cool with it or not—but she put it on the burner just before four this morning. Even though Mom would jump at the chance to make a new pot, I don't want to encourage her unfettered access to my house. Plus, I'm a big fan of the fair-trade stuff here at Homegrown—the best coffee shop and bakery in at least a hundred-mile radius. Candy, the owner, chief barista, baker, and all-around angel from heaven, uses jam she makes from my fruit for most of the pastries and never misses a moment to welcome me when I walk through the door.
The chimes jingle as I push through the entrance, and the warm scent of coffee twines with the lushness that can only be fresh-baked brownies. My mouth starts watering before the door finishes swinging closed behind me.
"Well look who it is," says Candy from her place behind the counter, and the people in line in front of me do just that, heads turning my way like I'm some kind of miracle they don't want to miss.
My jaw drops as I recognize Michelle standing directly in front of me. This is getting weirder and weirder. Shock is sure to be written all over my face as plainly as it's written on hers. Brookside is a small town and I don't meet many new people over the course of a week. How is it that I've never seen her before now? We stare at each other for a few confused moments as Candy buzzes behind the counter.
A crooked smile quirks the corner of Michelle's lips. "Who's doing the stalking now?"
"No way," I say. "This is my favorite coffee shop. I basically live here. Right, Candy?"
"What's that, hun?"
"I live here."
"Do you? Since when?" Candy gives me a mischievous look as she bags up a pastry for the man ahead of Michelle.
"See?" asks Michelle. "Busted. This time you're the one stalking me."
I grin. "This time? So you admit that you were stalking me the other times." I nod decisively as Michelle's cheeks grow pink. "I'm glad we got that cleared up."
"That is not what I meant."
"But that's what you said."
Michelle laughs, her posture softening. "Yeah, but I didn't mean it like that." She wraps an arm around Claire who tears her eyes off the pastries behind the glass and looks up at me.
Her eyes light up. "Hey! You're my kitty daddy."
That innocent little nickname scrapes at my heart, but I smile through it and hope she doesn't notice how hearing the word daddy in her tiny voice affects me. "That's me," I say, shoving my hands in my pockets.
"How's Mouse?"
"Ferocious." I give Claire my most serious look.
"I knew it. She's a survivor. Like us. Right, Mom?" She looks up at Michelle with the conviction of a child repeating something she's been told more than once.
"That's right." Michelle shifts, wrapping an arm around her daughter and pulling her close just as the man in front of her gets his order and steps out of the way.
"Small black House Blend?" Candy leans her elbows on the counter, smiling at Michelle who nods.
"As usual." Her voice is quiet, low and intimate.
"Oh, Momma. Look at that." Claire points to an apple turnover in the pastry case. "It looks so yummy. Can I have it, please?" Her voice holds more guilt than a child that age should even understand.
Michelle's shoulders slump as she lets out a long sigh, staring hard at the prices on the menu. "Okay, Bear," she says with a weak smile before turning to Candy. "We'll skip the coffee today, okay? Just that apple turnover." She nods towards the pastry case and then digs in her purse for her wallet.
I'm tempted to offer to buy Michelle's coffee, but don't want to offend her with the gesture. Random handouts from strangers have a way of poking tender egos. As always, Candy comes to the rescue. She snaps the lid on the small coffee she had already poured and slides it across the counter before reaching into the pastry case, pulling out the turnover, and wrapping it up in a napkin.
"Tell you what, this turnover is a little old. Why don't you do me a favor and eat it before I have to throw it out? Just pay me for the coffee and we'll call it even." She glances at Michelle who starts to stammer in protest. "Really though," Candy continues. "I made it fresh with preserves from his apples." She gestures towards me with the pastry. "So it'd be a shame to waste it. Besides, you'd be doing me a favor if she could have it. David gets persnickety when I throw away his stuff."
Michelle sucks in her lips and nods her approval as Claire squeals in excitement when Candy hands her the treat. Michelle counts out the cost of the coffee in change and thanks Candy profusely.
"Do you have anywhere to be?" I ask Michelle as I step up to the counter, aiming for nonchalance and approachability. "Could I talk you into sharing a table with me?" The grin that breaks across my face does so on its own, brought to life by Michelle's clear blue eyes locked on mine.
"I wish I could, but I have to head to work." She holds up the coffee. "Which is why I had to splurge on some high-quality caffeine. I've got a long day ahead of me."
Her hair is pulled back into a ponytail with loose tendrils brushing her cheeks. The black leggings, loose T-shirt, and sneakers tell me she's not heading in to a serving job or retail, and the fact that today is Saturday rules out anything business related.
"Fitness instructor?" I ask, taking a wild stab at her profession based off of how well those leggings hug her legs.
Michelle shrugs. "Kind of."
"Kind of? How are you kind of a fitness instructor?"
"My mommy is a dance teacher." Claire swallows a mouthful of pastry. "She used to be a ballerina." Pride lights the little girl's eyes.
"Really?" I arch an eyebrow. "A ballerina?"
"Yeah, but that was a lifetime ago." She puts a hand on Claire's shoulder. Her eyes meet mine just as the sun emerges from behind a cloud, bathing the coffee shop in light. Dust motes dance in the air behind her and I savor the moment. It's beautiful. She's beautiful.
"But I do have to go." She checks the clock on the wall and shakes her head. "I drill it into my students that if they're on time, they're late. I'd be a terrible example if I broke my own rule, wouldn't I?"
I hold up a hand as she heads to the door, her eyes still trained on mine. "Stalk you later?" I ask, dropping her a wink.
She giggles—a sweet, warm thing that makes me want to smile. "Stalk you later," she replies as the door closes between us.
When I turn around, Candy is at the counter with a large House Blend in her hands and an incredulous look on her face. "Well hello chemistry."
"Does she come here a lot?" I lean on the counter with one elbow while on the other side of the storefront windows Michelle helps Claire into the backseat of an old Dodge Neon.
"Not often, but if she shows up, it's on a Saturday. Always pays in change and I can't tell you how many times she's given up her own coffee to buy her little girl something." Candy shakes her head. "She doesn't like it when I try to give her stuff, but that doesn't stop me from trying. I swear the only reason she let me do it today was because you were here to witness the whole thing."
"God, I hate to hear that." I straighten and reach into my back pocket for my wallet.
"You should have asked for her number." Candy takes my credit card and slides the coffee towards me.
I laugh. "Something tells me I'll run into her again."
The card goes back into my wallet and the wallet goes into my back pocket while my head is going a mile a minute about Michelle. Candy's right. The chemistry between is could start a wildfire in a drought, no doubt about that. And she's gorgeous, which only adds fuel to fire. But after years of insanity, everything settled into place for me over the last couple months. I'm happy with the way things are. Truly, honestly, way-the-fuck happy.
After Becky, I promised myself I'd never bring someone into my life who didn't have their shit together, and if Michelle's scraping for change to buy coffee, then it sounds like she falls on the wrong side of that line. Logic tells me that we're a non-starter, but for the first time in a long time, I don't want to listen to logic.
I swing open the door, take one step outside, and pause. "Hey Candy?"
"Ask me anything, gorgeous."
"Do me a favor. From now on, whenever they come in, make sure the little girl gets something sweet to eat. Just make up some excuse and then charge it to me."
Candy nods, planting her elbows on the counter and letting her eyes rake over me. "You're one of the good ones, you know that?"
I shrug off the compliment. "I just can't stand the thought of a little girl having to go without good things in her life," I say as I step outside and let the door swing shut behind me.