A little girl skipped to the counter. “Milo, you lost this apple.”
“Finders keepers, Dottie,” he said over his shoulder, finalizing my drink. “You can have it, if you want. And don’t forget the raisins for your grandma.”
“Thankies!” She grinned, bit into the fruit, grabbed a snack bag, and ran off to an elderly couple occupying the nearby sofa.
“Won’t you get in trouble for giving stuff away?” I asked and took the white-lidded baby-blue coffee cup he held out to me.
“Not when it goes to good people, no.” His gaze was full of playful mischief as it drifted up to my face. “Enjoy. And see you tomorrow.” He tapped the sign by the counter that said “Java nice day!”
I opened my mouth to say I wouldn’t be back, but that would be a lie considering how close this place was to my new office.
“Yes. Thank you.” I lifted the cup to my lips and—oh dear gods of the land and sea—a divine mix of strong coffee and salty chocolate burst onto my tongue. I swallowed on my way to the exit, and a moan escaped me.
Milo giggled behind me.
Fuck. He’d heard me. Good thing I never blush.
Author's notes:
I’m sorry. It’s not a one-shot. The next chapter will drop in two days. Also, the story is based in my hometown, Wendigo Falls, because I love it here and I’m going all Stephen King, placing everything in Maine. Sue me.
Milo
“Sorry to leave you alone to open again, but I’ll be back before the lunchtime rush hour.” I gave Sophia an apologetic smile and pocketed my phone. I had shown her the urgent message I’d received from the director of the nursing home where my last surviving family member lived.
“No problem. Tell Ethel I said hi and that I’ll come over for the bracelet-making workshop tomorrow night. She promised me we’ll be swapping fandom quotes to use.” Sophia pulled her green hair into a tight bun and fixed her apron. “I’ll let you know if the hot, hairy guy comes by again.”
“Who? Oh.” I grinned. “The grumpy fella. Yeah. He’s something else.” A dreamy note tinged my voice. I had nointerest in dating now, but an easy-on-the-eyes dude was a nice addition to the morning rush.
“He was totally into you.” She waggled her eyebrows.
I rolled my eyes. “Into whoever would serve his coffee.”
“Nope. He didn’t look at me the way he did at you. So I had a very important call when it was his turn to order.” She shimmied her shoulders in a sassy, triumphant move.
I couldn’t contain my theatrical gasp. “I knew that was fake. You’re such a shit stirrer.”
“Nah, you can do that all by your lonesome, Mr. I’ll-bump-into- the-hot-new-dude-in-town-and-spill-my-fruit.”
“Shut up.”
She finger-waved at me. I left the coffee shop, shaking my head.
During the colder months, I’d take the bus to visit Ethel, but the summer weather warranted a bike ride. It would be faster, and I could use the fresh air to clear my thoughts in the morning.
After my parents had passed away when I was thirteen, I’d ended up at my great-aunt’s house while she’d dealt with paperwork and custody. I hadn’t had to beg dear Anabelle to let me stay with her—she’d welcomed me with open arms and I’d lived with her and her wife, Ethel, until they’d both decided to move into a care home together five years ago. They’d been happy there amongst friends and endless entertainment until Anabelle had got a rare pneumonia last year that was deadly to snake shifters like her.
Since Anabelle’s funeral, I tried to visit Ethel several times a week, more often in the summer when I had a break from my classes at college. But sometimes work at the cafe took up all my energy.
The twenty-minute ride got me to the expanse of neatly trimmed greenery at the main entrance to the colonial building that housed Happy Life Senior Home.
I parked my bike, ran up the stairs, and registered at the front desk, where a young woman handed me my pass on a lanyard. “Could you let Mrs. Patton know that I’m here? She wanted to discuss something.” The director of the place was a nice person, but I was still wary of what news she might have for me.
On my way to Ethel’s suite, I said hi to the residents passing by who recognized me by now. I pushed the door open and grinned.
Ethel was painting some small clay sculptures she’d made in her pottery class. While her peers had been busy creating mugs and jewelry holders, Ethel had sculpted…vulvas.
Her bright orange hair was in a high bun, catching the sunlight from the window. Last year she’d asked me to dye her hair the same color she’d worn back in the day—strawberry blonde. Something had gone wrong with the dye, or I’d fucked up, and it had turned orange. Ethel loved that color even more, and we’d been refreshing it to the same ridiculously happy shade ever since.
