I attempt not to do a spit take. Eggs? What the …?
“By the way, Ragnar asked me to make this one for you, G. He asked me to bring it over too.”
“Back up.” Xander spins a finger as if he can rewind our conversation. “Who is Ragnar, and why are there eggs in my sister’s coffee?”
“His name is not really Ragnar,” I tell Xander. “He’s just some random guy who came into the shop earlier today—”
“She’s only telling half the story,” Kenna interrupts. “He’s a really HOT guy. Totally G’s type. The whole Viking package. And it’s not the first time they’ve met. She slammed into him when we were leaving The Onion the other night. And now they’re going to fall madly in love and make a tribe of terrifyingly good-looking Viking babies!”
Kenna grins, sighs, and clutches her chest as she collapses into her chair in an exaggerated Disney princess swoon.
I ball up a paper napkin and chuck it at her. She catches it and lobs it back at me, hitting me in the face.
“So, spill. What kind of coffee did you make for him?” I throw the napkin away.
“He didn’t order anything for himself,” Kenna says matter-of-factly. “He perused the entire menu and quizzed me about all the drinks, and then he asked me if I’d ever had Fika with eggs and we got to talking.”
“Fika?” Xander looks at me and I shrug.
“Fika is the Scandinavian term for a coffee, usually enjoyed with friends.” Kenna sighs. “I already knew that. But what I didn’t know, and honestly, this is a little embarrassing, professionally, was the proper method for brewing Fika.”
“Which is? Don’t just stop there,” Xander prompts, suddenly onboard with the whole story.
“The eggs!” Kenna practically jumps out of her seat when she blurts this out, like she’s just guessed the winning answer on a quiz show. I suspect she may have had a little too much coffee herself today. “You put a whole egg, shell and all, in with the coffee grounds. It’s alchemy. No bitterness whatsoever. A little extra work, but really unique and special. Don’t worry, the egg actually gets strained out before it’s served. I can’t wait to add it to the secret menu!”
“There’s a secret menu?” Xander looks stricken, as if we’ve been holding out all these years.
“Basically, it’s a list that only exists in Kenna’s head.” I snort. Not that it matters. Everyone over there is pretty accommodating when it comes to special requests.
“So, this mysterious Ragnar clone pops in, teaches you how to make this magical egg coffee, and then has you bring it over for Georgia?” Xander asks. “Now I’m swooning. It’s like something from a movie.”
“It’s pretty amazing, right? He said he wanted her to have it, with his compliments.”
“Hmm,” I say, taking another sip. Dammit, it is good. So good. But none of this makes sense. “Did he say anything else to you?” I ask. “Like, did he ask you any questions that seemed unusual?”
“You are so suspicious,” Xander accuses. “Isn’t it possible that the dude was just into you, G?”
“Maybe,” I say. “But he was asking a lot of questions about the shop when he was here. I got a weird vibe. What else did he ask you?” I grit my teeth and set the coffee down.
“He asked how business was, if we were busy. And if I liked working in the diner. And he asked about YOU.” Kenna recounts, “He wanted to know how long you’ve been the proprietor of Celestial Pets.”
“I think he’s scoping us out,” I say, feeling the pilot light of my temper about to get lit. I knew it. Someone like him would never simply flirt with someone like me. “He probably works for some big chain store that’s just waiting to swoop in and take over our space when we can’t pony up for the rent hike.”
Anger surges, filling the empty spaces left behind by all the other feelings that stretched me out earlier. By comparison, anger feels safer. More comfortable. It gives me something to do. A problem that I can solve.
“Calm down, G. Nobody’s kicking us out. We have a lease, remember?”
“Tell that to coffee guy. He’s breathing down our necks, just waiting for the chance to jump in and take over our spaces. He was probably spying on us the other night. He’s … he’s a bad egg!”
“Jeez. I really didn’t get that impression, G,” Kenna says. “He actually seemed pretty nice to me.”
“Well, you trust everyone!” I argue. “Haven’t you said that’s your whole problem with dating? You’re too nice and you just keep attracting assholes?”
“Thanks for the warning, G, but it wasn’t me he was into. For some reason, he seemed really anxious to get to know you. But we all know you don’t DO relationships, right?” Kenna prickles.
That’s the problem with best friends. They always have your number. Instantly, I feel a twinge of conscience for my harsh words. She didn’t deserve them.
“I’m sorry,” I mouth at Kenna.
