Page 3 of Ardently Yours

I glance at myself in the small mirror near the kitchen sink on the wall. My wild, curly waves are pulled back in a low ponytail with a black baseball cap that has the Bennet Cafe logo on it. The black cap matches the black apron I have on over my work uniform, which is just a short-sleeved black top, black slacks, and black non-slip shoes.

I might look like I’m ready for the day. I feel like I’m ready to go back to bed. The digital clock next to the mirror flashes the time, which shows me that ready or not, it’s way too early for most people to be up.

But I am not most people, so here I am up before the sun, tired. I have no time to sleep or find a man. And I have a business to run…so instead of complaining, I pray, “Lord, this is the day that you have made, so I will rejoice and be glad in it. Amen!”

“I love Psalm 118:24; that’s one of my favorite verses,” Will says from his spot by the counter, still working on his rolls. I jump, forgetting he’s there for a second and not realizing that he heard me.

“Do you believe in God, Darcy?” I ask, ignoring the embarrassment threatening to make an appearance. Instead, I slide right into our back and forth bickering that seems to be the only way we know how to communicate.

“I’ve literally gone to church with you, Boss Lady. You know I believe in God.”

He’s telling the truth, obviously. I have literally invited him to Bible study, small groups led by Jane, and Sunday morning services at Selah Church as well. He’s been in regular attendance since coming to town in the fall. Since he was a newbie here, I invited him to church to be nice. I can be nice to him; I choose to dip into my gift of sarcasm because with him it’s so easy to do.

He leans into it, taking my bait every time. It’s natural for us, like we speak our own language or something. Which makes working with him much more interesting, since I used to spend mornings here alone, baking and prepping drinks for the cafe. I used to talk to myself then, well, I still talk to myself, but it’s nice to have someone else around that I can talk to if I want to.

“Right, right,” I say, glaring at him as I set my drink station up on the opposite side of the counter.

We face each other as I organize my drink mixes and spices. I also double-check my journal. I use it to track which drinks are performing best each week, to jot down recipes, and to keep notes about the cafe business.

It’s August, and late summer in Selah means new menu items. In Selah, some cold-weather favorites stay favorites all year round. I mark that on my list in my journal and keep the apple cider latte and the cinnamon swirl latte on the menu for summer. After that, I go through the cabinets and the fridge to check for ingredients I will need for today.

“Any requests for end of summer-themed drinks, Darcy?” I ask. I figure that now is a good time to chat with him before I start talking to myself again.

“Are you talking to me now, Boss Lady?” he asks, a sly, teasing smile dancing on his lips. He picks up the baking pan of apple cinnamon rolls, ready to put them in the oven.

“Yes, I am. Now, speak now or forever hold your peace, Darcy.”

He doesn’t speak right away, putting the pan in the oven, turning his back to me. Then, he walks back to the counter and comes over to my side. I look him up and down, knowing that he’s probably about to say something smart and that I’ll have to retort. I watch him as he thinks; his hand flexes and brushes against mine as he does so.

He’s so close to me, which is normal. We work together, so we spend a lot of time in the same room, in the same space, and being near each other. But I’m starting to notice the little things, like the closeness. Or maybe I’m imagining things. I take a step back and tap my journal with my pen, waiting for him to answer my question.

He studies me for a second before asking, “What about tulip tea?”

“That sounds very on-brand for summer,” I say, taking notes. “And tulips are my favorite flowers.”

“I know,” he says, tapping my journal, smirking. “You mentioned it about a month ago when we were hanging out with the crew.”

Seriously, how dare he call us the crew? He’s not officially in the crew yet. And wait, he remembers my favorite flower from a random chat we had ages ago?

I stop writing, looking over at him. “I can’t believe you remembered that,” I say, surprised.

He shrugs, looking shy for a second, averting his gaze. Then he asks, “How could I forget when you said it five times in one conversation?”

And just like that, the sweet moment is over. I narrow my eyes at him and clear my throat. “Anyway, you don’t get to join my friend group just like that. And for your information, I didn’t say it five times. But since you hang on my every word, it must have felt like I repeated myself. Oh, and tulip tea sounds like a winner to me. Not that I love giving you compliments or anything, but it’s a pretty good idea.”

Will smirks at me. “Thanks, Boss Lady. Now, when do I officially join the friend group?”

“When I say so, Darcy,” I say, glaring at him. But the glare is more like a smile, in our own language. Besides, I can’t let him see me sweat over the idea of him joining my friend group or remembering my favorite flower. I have to admit, though, that he is thoughtful, witty, and, frankly, annoying.

“I’ll be waiting by my phone day and night for you to let me know when I can be officially accepted,” he says, winking at me.

“Be nicer to me, Darcy. I was going to make us both iced apple cinnamon lattes to help get the day started, but if you want to be like that…”

“I’ll be your best friend if you make me a large, please.”

“And?” I ask, raising an eyebrow at him, basking in the glow of having the upper hand even for something so silly.

“And I’ll be nice to you by making a few extra rolls for you and me to enjoy with our lattes. Deal?”