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I thought I’d been fitting in quite well here at Magpie’s until this man had come in. Earlier, when the Mermaids, only ten strong this morning, had stopped by, I’d worked alongside Rose to fill their orders with no problems at all, her confidence shoring up my own.
I’d been thrilled to see Gracie and Juniper, the mom and baby I’d met yesterday, return with the group. As I made Gracie’s vanilla latte, I’d learned that she worked part-time as a stylist at Wild Hairs, a salon on the south side of the square. And when she told me that her husband, Ben, was in the middle of a three-week shift on an oil rig off the Mobile coast, I’d immediately recognized the loneliness in her eyes. So when she extended an open invitation to join her and Juniper on a Mermaids excursion when I had the time, I’d only had to think about it for a second or two. How strenuous could it be?
After only a day in this small southern town, it seemed like I was already fitting in. For someone so used to being the odd one out, it was an amazing feeling. Magical, even. I’d been on cloud nine since the Mermaids left, but this man, with his matcha chai lavender concoction, had brought me crashing back down to earth.
“Just give me a second,” I said to him as panic bubbled up. Did matcha come in a powder? A syrup? I threw a look at the menu board. Matcha wasn’t even an option.
“Titus.” Rose, who’d been wiping down tables, stepped behind the counter and scooted in close to me. The man’s name came off her lips like an admonishment. “Ava is new here. Have some compassion.”
“I have compassion,” he countered merrily. “I didn’t ask for an iced latte with half oat milk and half almond milk, with sugar-free vanilla syrup and raw sugar, now, did I? I recognized that might be a complicated drink for a newcomer. Welcome, by the way.”
Rose shook her head at him and said to me, “I got this, sugar pie.”
It seemed Rose called nearly everyone sugar pie, and not one single customer seemed to mind the endearment. I didn’t mind, either. It felt like she was sharing her innate sweetness, which somehow seemed like a gift.
She grabbed a small hot cup, took two steps to the drip brewer on the counter behind us, a high-volume commercial machine that wasn’t so very different from the old-school model sitting on Maggie’s countertop at her house. Just bigger and fancier.
The silver strands in her black hair glimmered under the lights as she stuck the cup under the coffee spout and pushed down its black lever.
She filled the cup nearly to the brim with black coffee. Then she popped on a lid and sleeve and pushed the drink across the counter. “Here you go, Titus Pomeroy.”
He laughed softly. “This will have to do, but I will take a moment to remind you that the matcha drink is an order I’ve requested at least three times a week since I moved here a year ago, always to be denied. I don’t think I ask too much. This is a coffeehouse, after all. And you’re a talented barista.”
“You can always move back to Atlanta,” she said in a syrupy tone, “and resume your patronage at the fancy boutique coffee shop you used to frequent before you decided to grace us with your presence by retiring to our humble town where you support our simple shop.”
“And deny myself the pleasure of your delightful customer service? I couldn’t possibly.”
There wasn’t a trace of hostility in the undercurrent of their voices—only cheer. They enjoyed this back-and-forth, and I knew without asking that this was a frequently repeated conversation between them.
“That’ll be two dollars for the coffee,” she said sweetly, wiping her hands on her waist apron. “Pay the woman.”
Nosugar piefor Titus, I noticed, despite their playful banter.
Arching a bushy eyebrow, he handed me two singles. As the cash drawer popped open, I said, “Thank you. Have a nice day.”
“You too, Ava.” He smiled—that big, friendly smile—and dropped another single into the tip jar. “One day, Rose, I’ll get that matcha out of you.” He lifted the cup in the air in a cheers motion.
“Don’t hold your breath,” she tossed back as she grabbed a rag and wiped down the already clean countertop.
He laughed and headed out the door.
As soon as he was gone, I turned to Rose, smiling. “He liiiikes you.”
She flapped the rag at me. “Hush your mouth. That’s nonsense. He is handsome, I admit, but I could never date him, even if he asked.”
“Why’s that?”
“Matcha, chai,andlavender? That’s too pretentious for my blood. Coffee says a lot about a man, Ava. He probably folds his underwear and irons his jeans. I can’t do persnickety.”
“I’m actually surprised Magpie’s doesn’t have matcha or lavender. They’re common flavors.”
Sadness flashed across her eyes. “Despite encouragement from many, Maggie’s reluctant to make changes to the menu. It’s basically the same as it was thirty years ago. The whole place is the same, really, except for updates to machines that have broken. And the magpie tree. You’ve never seen me so happy as the day our ancient credit card machine called it quits. The new one is much more efficient.”
I glanced around. “Why is Maggie reluctant?”
“It was her mama who came up with the menu and designed the space. It’s… homage, I suppose,” she said, but there was concern lurking in her eyes, her voice. She tossed the rag on the counter. “I’ll be right back. I’m going to pop into the restroom, then get more cups from storage.”
Had Maggie’s mom passed away? Yesterday after Dez’s melancholy when talking about his honeymoon and Maggie’s concern about his wedding ring, I’d suspected something tragic had happened, but I hadn’t wanted to assume. I still didn’t, but I didn’t know how to ask outright.
