11
SADIE
The sky is tinted pink,and for a Texas summer in early June, the temperature sits in that brief space between cool and suffocating. My white tennis shoes have practically worn a ridge in the sidewalk from my house to downtown. Saturday morning strolls in Dusty Hollow are part of my routine—familiar enough that I don’t have to think about them anymore.
The bell above the coffee shop door jingles as I step inside. I glance around at the shiplap walls painted black with bright green plants dangling from galvanized metal planters hung sporadically throughout.
Lacey Wiggins bought this place two years ago. Before she tore out Sheetrock and hung new lighting, the coffee shop leaned fully into its western roots—lassos on walls, spurs tucked into corners. It took the town a little while to warm up to Lacey’s modern touch, but she knew better than to change everything. She kept most of the old menu, adding in things like avocado toast and pistachio lattes, and she kept the name: Buttercup Brew.
Stories that feel more like Dusty Hollow legend say the shop was named after a girl who used to sit in the corner booth every morning, a yellow ribbon in her hair and an old book she never seemed to finish.
They say she always ordered the same thing—black coffee, two sugars—and waited like she was expecting someone who kept running just a little late.
Then one summer, she stopped coming. No goodbye. No explanation. Just an empty booth and a drink that has stayed on the menu like a memory no one quite had the heart to change.
The owner at the time started calling it the Buttercup Brew, after the ribbon she always wore, and it stuck.
Some folks say she left town. Others say she finally followed the person she’d been waiting for. And a few believe she simply decided she deserved a love that didn’t keep her waiting.
But every now and then, someone swears that if you come in early enough, before the town fully wakes, there’s already a cup poured, cooling in the corner like she might still walk through the door—like maybe some kinds of love don’t disappear . . . they just take longer to find their way back.
I’ve always found fondness in the tale, even if it’s fiction.
“Sadie!” Lacey beams at me, her blonde bun falling to one side of her head, a sheen of sweat glistening on her forehead under the warm lights above the espresso machine. “I almost have Joe’s order ready.”
“Good morning, Lacey,” I say as I approach the counter. “Do you think I could?—”
My eyes snag on my name scrawled across a plastic cup along with . . .
Iced vanilla latte with a pump of caramel.
“What’s that, Sadie?” Lacey calls over her shoulder as she pulls another shot, the machine hissing and steaming.
“Never mind,” I murmur, picking up the cup and taking a sip of my completely predictable drink. Normally it tastes amazing. Today, it tastes . . . off. Bitter in a way it never is, or maybe it’s too sweet. I stir it with my straw.
“Is your latte okay?” Lacey asks. “You’re looking at it like it’s a dog who’s chewed up your favorite shoe.”
“Oh, it’s fine,” I say quickly. “And the only thing a dog has chewed up recently is my trim.”
“I saw those sweet puppies you posted about. Did they find homes?”
I nod. “All eight of them.”
“You’re a saint, Sadie.” Lacey laughs. “I could never have let eight puppies into my house.”
I shrug my shoulders. “I’m happy to help.”
“Here’s Joe’s coffee and scone.” Lacey hands me a sack and a coffee cup.
I juggle my coffee, Joe’s coffee, and the bag in my hands. “Thanks, Lacey.”
“No, thank you. You’re the best!”
As I walk out of the coffee shop, I scan the streets for Milo’s green truck—the dented bumper forcing a whisper of a smile before I can straighten it out as I spy his truck in front of the café. I backed it into a tree when we were seventeen. He was teaching me to drive stick shift. I wasn’t very good at it. Most guys would have cried or screamed if their girlfriend dented their truck. Not Milo. He laughed and called meLittle Fender Benderfor weeks. Then he never fixed it.Stillhasn’t fixed it.
I walk away from the memory toward Joe’s, which is a short three blocks away.
When I get there, I notice his sidewalk is swept and the weeds have been pulled from the flower beds. I open the front door without knocking. “Joe! It’s Sadie!”
