Page 78 of The F*ck-It List

Their face softens, smile going a little wobbly. “I may have been missing you a little.”

“I’ve missed you too,” I sob, and we hug again.

I was a little worried about Connor and Cas meeting as Connor has a habit of blurting the first thing that comes to his head and Cas has a habit of getting defensive at the first sign of criticism. I needn’t have concerned myself; they eyed each other for a full fifteen seconds and Connor told Cas he liked their tattoos and Cas smirked. They’ve been fast friends since. The four of us are a little cramped behind the counter, so Nina offers to clean and straighten up all the tables while we work, a completely unnecessary task but I appreciate her help anyway.

I know August had taken the day off to help me, and my eyes keep flicking to the glass front of the café to watch his front door. I want to see him here with Cas, I want to feel the inevitable glow at having them in the same room and enjoying each other’s company. But August doesn’t come.

“Where is Pringles?” Cas asks, carefully transferring the Passionfruit cake with white chocolate ganache I’d made onto the cake stand at the front of the counter.”

“Do not call him that,” I snap pointing an accusing finger at my best friend.

They smirk evilly until Connor scrunches his face up and looks between us. “Pringles?”

Cas sucks in their cheeks like it will conceal their outrageous grin and my eyes go wide. “Nothing,” I snap. “Could you make sure the chiller is stocked with soda cans please?”

Still clearly confused, Connor nods and heads out to the back where I store the cans, none the wiser about his uncle’s giant ding-dong. I throw my tea towel as Cas’s head and they cackle, Nina giggles too, and my cheeks burn.

At eight o’clock, I unlock the doors and after only a couple of minutes, the locals start flooding in. Some take coffee to go, but most find seats and quickly the food I’d spent all of yesterday and most of the morning preparing starts diminishing. As part of the grand opening, I’m offering free cupcakes and give each of the locals a loyalty card granting them a free drink after buying ten.

I’m also offering savoury bites to show off some of the lunch options available, presenting them as amuse-bouches to entice people to come back for the real deal later in the day.

“Here, try this.” I hold the platter of canape style offerings under Joanie’s nose, and she jerks her head back with a frown at the sudden movement.

“What are they?”

“Amuse-bouche,” I say.

Joanie takes a mini quiche and pops it into her mouth, eyes closing her head going back. “Fuck that’s good. My bush is amused.”

I snort. “It’s bouche,” I correct her. “French for mouth?”

“Oh, I know,” she says with a nod. “It was just so good I had a tinyorgasm.”

“Fucking hell,” Connor mumbles next to me. “I hope the two of you can scrape enough together for the many years of therapy I’m going to need.”

“I’m your mother, it’s my job to give you something to talk about in therapy, not to pay for it. Maybe if you spent some more time applying yourself and not vandalising small businesses, you’d be able to get a job to pay for it yourself.” Joanie gives him an overly bright smile to which he only rolls his eyes and takes a tray of already dirty plates out the back to load into the dishwasher.

Joanie turns back to me and swoops her own eyes up to the ceiling like we’re sharing in our exasperation at her errant son. I so want to tell her Connor had nothing to do with the unfortunate incident, that he’s been an absolute angel, and he deserves someone other than me to tell him how well he’s doing. But I promised my young protégée I wouldn’t blab, so I give Joanie a smile and pass her the to-go cappuccino she’d ordered. She leaves with a wave, and I look around the swarming café again.

I have bunting draped from the ceiling, a banner hung behind the counter and the café is buzzing. It’s perfect. Except August still isn’t here.

When there’s no one at the counter, I turn my back quickly, pulling my phone from my apron pocket and sending a quick text to ask if he’s okay. I was surprised he wasn’t there to help set up but now he’s not showed nearly an hour into service, I’m starting to get worried. I pocket my phone again when the bell above the door chimes and I turn to give my full attention to my next customer.

An uneasy quiet blankets the space of the café. Where everyone had been bright and chirping one second, in the next, they seem to haveabandoned their conversations, most eyes falling to the newcomer. I don’t recognise her, so I’m not sure if she’s local. Maybe everyone is waiting with bated breath to see how the first tourist of the day finds the newest business in Port Doone. She looks around the café, taking in all the faces now gawking at her like they’ve never seen a stranger before and gives an uncomfortable roll of her shoulders.

I don’t know what’s got into everyone, so I make up for their weirdness by plastering on a bright smile. “Hi,” I chirp. “Welcome. How can I help you?”

“Hi,” she says with a soft and relieved smile. “Could I get a couple of coffees please?”

“Sure, you know what you want?” I look up at her as she comes to the counter. She’s pretty, tall and willowy, long brown hair with honey gold highlights I’d bet she paid a lot of money for hanging down to her waist, and almond shaped eyes lined with impeccable winged eyeliner.

“Can I have a tall double shot latte with almond milk, two pumps of vanilla syrup and one of caramel?” I try to hide my smirk. No one in the village has given such a complex order yet and although disguising the flavour of the best coffee I found after extensively testing many different suppliers should be a crime—right along with dog earring book pages—I’m excited to make something different.

“Of course,” I say with a small chuckle.

“And a black americano please,” she says with a happy little bounce.

“Sure thing.” I get to making the drinks while she looks intently at the offerings under the glass lids to the cake stands arranged on the counter.