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In an effort to make BeanBag a friendly place to work, I found a bunch of unique mugs from garage sales and secondhand stores for the employees to use. They range from cute to borderline inappropriate and the benefit is two-fold since it makes the place feel homier, while also creating less garbage.
My finger drags back up the groove.
I thought spending yesterday with Elouise, laughing about my ridiculous experience, might get Axel out of my system. Help me to forget. But that hasn’t happened. Not at all. Because here I am, still thinking about him.
It didn’t help that I woke up squirming in my bed, flashes of Axel’s oversized body looming over mine, filling my dreams.
I don’t remember all of the finer details, but I remember feeling the outline of the monster snake hidden inside of his boxers.
A harsh breath rushes out of me, and I straighten.
I can’t think about this right now. The shop is empty at the moment – it’s that weird time in early afternoon where all the morning folks are gone and the after work people haven’t shown up – but it won’t be empty for long. So, I need to use these next few minutes wisely.
It only takes me a few steps to reach the door for the back office. I hardly ever sit in here, since it’s so small and I have an office at home I use for computer work. It’s really just become a glorified storeroom with a blank spot on the desk big enough for one person to eat lunch. Or have a mental breakdown.
With a loud scraping sound, I pull out the single chair, drop into it, and close my eyes.
I always tell Elouise that she should meditate more. Find her happy place. All that jazz. And it’s true. She totally should. But I’ve fallen off the starship a bit with my own Zen and I could definitely use some today.
Taking a moment to center myself, I breathe.
Inhale – 1, 2, 3, 4.
Hold…
I ignore how much my lungs protest at the slow breathing –really need to work on this– and try to wash away the stress resting on my shoulders.
Exhale – 1, 2, 3, 4…
Everyone’s “happy place” is different but for me it’s a field of wildflowers – as far as the eye can see, with a stream cutting through the center and a single sturdy shade tree a few feet away from the water’s edge.
The sun is always shining, the clouds are always white and puffy, and I never feel anything but contentment when I settle myself beneath the tree, my back against the firm trunk, inhaling the scents of nature and fresh air.
My lungs fill with another deep breath and I let myself sink into the ground beneath me. Let the warmth of the sun heat my skin. Let the feel of his hands slide up my sides-
My eyes fly open.
That wasn’t supposed to happen.
That’s a different sort of happy place.
I almost snicker at my own thoughts, but then I hear the rainstick – alerting me I’m no longer alone.
“Be right there!” I call out, fanning my face, hoping the flush I feel is as imaginary as my field but betting that it isn’t.
The rainstick is still tinkling out its sound when I push myself up to stand.
It’s funny how certain things can endear themselves to you. Such as that damn rainstick over the door, flipping over every time someone opens the door, sending a pile of coffee beans cascading down the hollowed-out piece of wood.
This location is actually the very first BeanBag Coffee, built 40 years ago, with an expansion done when I was 10, about 6 years before I became an employee. But the rainstick was an original feature and when the owners decided to franchise, they kept that as part of the agreement so every location has to have one.
The noise annoyed me when I first started working here, but now I find it calming. An audible hug.
“Take your time, Mads!”
Recognizing the voice, I’m smiling before I step out of the office.
“Hey, Dean. Fancy seeing you here.”
