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Garrett
Imake my way to Ansley’s café and bump into my mother and Leona.
“Garrett,” Mom calls.
I walk over and give her a hug.
“I heard you liked the piece of property Langford showed you yesterday,” she prompts.
“I did. It’s a nice spot,” I confirm.
She beams at me. “Well, we’d best be on our way. We’re taking a pottery class this afternoon. You go on in. Enjoy your coffee. I recommend the banana bread,” she says before the two walk off toward the parking lot.
I enter the café and see Ansley behind the counter, wiping down the espresso machine.
When she looks up and notices me, she frowns before planting a saccharin-sweet smile on her face.
“Hi. Welcome to Well-Bred. Can I get a coffee started for you?” she asks.
I make my way to the cash register, and without saying a word, I start to examine the chalkboard menu behind her. I can hear the impatient tapping of her foot on the tiles.
“I’ll take a medium Mexican Mocha with an extra shot of espresso,” I announce.
She rings up my order and takes my payment.
“Coming right up,” she says.
She turns and bangs around behind the counter at the espresso machine.
I take one of the business cards with her phone number on it from the holder on the counter and slide it into my pocket.
She turns back around with a triumphant expression on her face. “Here you go.” She places a steaming mug in front of me.
“Thanks,” I return.
I take a sip and immediately spit it out.
“I’m sorry. Is it too spicy for you?” she asks innocently.
“Damn, that set my throat on fire,” I choke out.
“Oops. I must have been a little heavy-handed with the cayenne pepper. I’m trying to get the hang of making that one. Janey is much better than I am. I’ll have her remake it for you.”
“You’re a mean, mean woman,” I say as she takes the mug and dumps it in the sink.
Ansley steps aside, and a short woman with red hair, pulled back into a black ball cap, takes over making my coffee.
I walk over to an old-timey turntable sitting on the counter beside a wooden box full of records.
“Records?” I ask, as I begin to thumb through the jackets.
She shrugs. “I like them. There’s just something about the pop and clicks of vinyl. I have a jukebox on order. They’re customizing it with the shop’s logo. I plan to fill it with old jazz records and classic rock ’n’ roll,” she says.
“Yeah, vinyl is my favorite medium too. I’m glad it’s making a comeback,” I admit. I turn to look at her and raise a curious eyebrow. “Wait, no country albums?”
She shakes her head as she drops her eyes and starts to wipe down the pristine countertop.
“Nope. I’m not really into country,” she snaps.
“Since when?” I ask.
“For a long time now. People change. Tastes change,” she replies without looking back up.
The barista turns from the espresso machine and hands me a mug with a lotus flower design in the foam.
“Here you go. I made it extra special. I hope you like it,” she says as I take the cup.
I blow over the rim and take a sip as she waits patiently.
“Mmm, that is extra special,” I tell her.
Her face beams as a wide, toothy smile spreads across her mouth, and her cheeks turn a bright red.
“We have other customers to serve.” Ansley’s annoyed voice interrupts the moment.
“Oh, yes, of course.” The little redhead rushes back over to the machine and starts banging out the next order.
Ansley’s eyes narrow on me as she tosses the towel into the sink behind the counter. She rests her elbows on the sleek pine and glares at me. “Do you mind?” she asks.
I lean into her space and lick my lips. “Mind what?”
