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Chapter Five
That same strange rainbrewed up and remained in the clouds above for the next several days.
Wayne cut across Main Street, hustling beneath an umbrella, then ducked into The Grind, just as a lightning bolt stripped through the air and entered the water just beyond the docks.
“It’s violent out there,” Michael called from the back.
“You got that right.”
“Do you think there’s a storm coming? Was there anything announced in the forecast?” Michael asked and then appeared with a large platter of croissants and grinned broader.
Wayne shook the rain off of him. “Not that I know of, and thanks for baking those this morning,” he said.
“No worries, man. Mom and Dad were awake already this morning, ripping into each other. Megan got back from the mainland and she had this ridiculous tattoo on her arm and I guess it created some kind of horrible fight.” Michael wagged his eyebrows, and then added, “I guess they still don’t know that I have three tattoos.”
“Maybe they don’t care?” Wayne suggested.
“Sure. I guess as the black sheep in the family, I’m allowed a few tattoos,” Michael said. “In any case, Mom’s so thrilled that I have this gig. She can’t get over it. She keeps asking me if I can work my way up, become some kind of partner with you. I told her she’s getting ahead of herself.”
“You know Cindy. She’s always thinking five steps ahead,” Wayne said.
“I just wish she would stop and enjoy the flowers for a sec.”
“Haven’t you heard? We don’t have any flowers around here. It’s almost winter, my man.”
Together, Wayne and Michael hustled into the bright morning, setting up chairs, wiping down countertops, brewing drip coffee. As Wayne worked, he thought again of Elise’s text message the previous night.
ELISE: Meet up soon? I’d love another of those Rum Runners before the air turns to icicles.
“When are you going to ask her out again?” Michael said as he started up the computer.
Wayne cast him a dark look. “What are you talking about?”
“Come on. You’re all off-kilter today. I keep having to run behind you to fix your mistakes,” Michael said.
Wayne groaned and slipped his fingers through his hair. “Give it a rest, Michael.”
“Seriously. If there’s anything I’ve learned out on the road...”
“I get it. You’re some kind of savant, now that you’ve been there, done that with every single thing,” Wayne said sarcastically.
“You’ll thank me for my advice someday when you’re happy and healthy and in love with Eli—”
At that moment, a group of customers burst into The Grind. They removed their gloves and rustled their palms together and hollered, “Good morning, Wayne!”
“And look! Michael works here now, too?” one of the older ladies said, delivering a gleeful smile.
Michael flashed an arrogant grin back toward Wayne as he said, “That’s right. I’m plotting to take the whole thing out from under him.”
The ladies burst into excited giggles. Wayne turned his eyes toward the window and watched as the rain splattered down ominously; another flash of lighting bolted across the sky.
Just tell her you want to get a Rum Runner with her.
“Hey! Wayne.” Michael snapped his fingers in front of Wayne’s face. “We have a big triple-order of pumpkin spice lattes to take care of. Can you help me out, or do you want to keep daydreaming?”
The morning went on much in the same way. Wayne found himself lost in thought while Michael hustled around, smearing butter across bagels, adding jolts of vanilla to lattes, whistling all the time while he worked. Wayne was reminded of a time when he had helped Michael with a school project; the kid had gotten so invested in the task that he’d stayed up till two in the morning—some five hours past his bedtime to perfect it.
Around one-thirty, Wayne and Michael enjoyed another lull in guests. Wayne placed a bagel into the toaster, and Michael checked his phone.
