Hire local teens for staff
I lean back on the couch, reading over the list. There are a lot of things to do, but it’s practical and manageable.
A memory slips from my mind, copper curls, bright blue eyes, and a smile that makes me forget everything around me.
I meant to stop by this afternoon after work and before dinner. But I ran out of time, the day slipped through my fingers.
Tomorrow, I’ll go back. Not because I need coffee, well, I do, it is dangerous to those around me if I don’t have any. I’m going back because I want to talk to her without the rush of having a line of customers behind me. I want to know who she became after all these years.
I want to know her.
I close the notebook, placing it on the table before heading to my room. I switch on the lamp and lie back in my bed, staring at the ceiling.
I turn my head toward the window; a faint flicker catches my eye. The porch light, it buzzed twice, then steadied, a warm circle across the gravel driveway.
Something about it held me there. A small light in the dark. Not bright enough to demand attention, just steady enough that I noticed when it wavered.
It reminded me of summer when I was a kid. Warm nights, open fields, tiny glowing sparks drifting through the air. You never saw fireflies all at once. Just one here, another there. Impossible not to watch once you notice them.
Mesmerizing.
I push myself up, the old floorboards creaking under my weight. I change into a worn t-shirt, leave my boxers on, brush my teeth and crawl into bed. Reaching over I switch off the lamp.
Turning back toward the window, the porch light flickers again. Some lights don’t demand attention, they linger, quietly, reminding you they are there. I let that thought settle as I pull the covers up and close my eyes letting sleep take me, thinking about the theater, the town, my family, and a woman I never forgot.
Tomorrow feels like a beginning, and I am not rushing it.
5
Violet
“Life happens, coffee helps.”
Friday night dinner didn’t start when it should have. It started at 5:53 p.m. when Rose walked into the kitchen and stole something off the tray.
“Hot,” she says, blowing on her fingers.
Mom doesn’t turn around. “That was for the table.”
Dad is carving like he’s being graded on symmetry.
“You’re cutting it too thick,” Daphne says, teasing from the doorway, book in hand.
“It’s meat,” Dad replies.
Lily slides into her chair and tucks a foot under her leg. “If we’re critiquing, the potatoes look especially emotionally supportive tonight.”
Mom blinks. “What does that mean?”
“It means they feel safe,” Lily says, smirking.
Rose leans toward me as I grab a roll. “She’s watched another romance movie.”
“I always watch romance movies,” Lily adds.
