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Charlie layered the milk over the espresso and scooped the foam. “I haven’t thought about it. Maybe bring in some of your partners next time, and we can discuss.”
He tipped his head in thanks when she handed him his drink and waved as he sashayed out of the store.
Mack slo-mo twisted towards Charlie with her mouth opened. “Did I just see that right? Did he have a catstrapped to him like a baby?”
“Witha bonnet.” Charlie rinsed the milk pitcher and snatched a rag off the rack. “I’m seriously debating if that cat is the most loved animal on the planet or if I should call the authorities.”
“I thought Browniegate was a good story, but this is a close second contender.”
“I never told you about the guy who was jerking off in the drive-thru at the shop I worked at in high school.”
Mack lifted the mug to her mouth. “What? No. Seriously?”
“There was a small part… small… that felt a little bad for him. I’m pretty sure he didn’t realize we had cameras.” Charlie crumpled a piece of abandoned wax paper in the display case and tossed it in the trash. “I put on latex gloves to hand him his drink.”
“People are the worst.” Mack clasped her fingers together and stretched her arms towards the ceiling, and her belly button peeked out.
Charlie flushed like she had just read an entry in Mack’s diary, and for the second time in less than thirty minutes, she scolded her nerve endings that were staging a coup inside her body. She swiped the sanitizing bottle off the hanger, searching for phantom things to clean.
The haunting sounds of a Mumford & Sons song floated in theair and mixed with the lingering scent of a fresh latte. Charlie whistled as she wiped down the prep station. Usually, the silent shop would vomit thought bubbles like an old Batman cartoon, but instead of “pow!” and “zam!” it was “bills!”, “foreclosure!”, and her favorite, “what the hell am I gonna do?” But today, the muted brainwaves were a gift.
Mack moved to the bookshelf, her long, delicate fingers traipsing across the books and games. “You have Battleship?”
“Yep. I loved that game growing up.” Charlie gave up trying to find things to clean and surrendered the sanitizing bottle back on the hook. “Used to play it with my aunt all the time.”
“My dad and I played super intense games when my mom worked.” Mack’s thumb tapped the box. “He’s so competitive. Did not care for a second that I was a kid and never let me win. But I held my own.”
What would’ve it been like to play Battleship or Candyland with her dad instead of taking off his tattered shoes when he passed out on the couch? Instead of sitting on the floor next to him and aimlessly flipping through TV channels because his breathing was so erratic and loud that she was sure if she went to her room, he’d stop breathing altogether.
Mack sucked in the side of her cheek. “Wanna play?”
Charlie’s chest lifted. “Really? Don’t you need to work on your writing?”
“Nah. I need a break.” Mack tugged out the box.
And all friendly banter ceased.
Mack was her enemy. The only thing interfering with getting high off the nectar of victory. Charlie rubbed her palms together and contemplated her choice. It was risky, for sure. But she lined up each ship on the first and last letters, making a square around the perimeter. For thirty minutes, they eyeballed each other like godfathers in a sit-down.
Charlie opened her mouth to guess B7 when the sky outside turned ashen, and her pulse slammed against her chest. “Whoa. Did it just get super dark.”
It wasn’t a question.
The metal chair shrieked against the hardwood floor, and she dashed to the window.
“It’s just my soul leaving my body.” Mack chuckled and joined her at the window, swaying to look beyond the trees. “Damn. It really did. I should probably take off.”
“I’m totally cool with it if you want to stay.”
Please stay.
Rain was a constant in Seattle. The pattering against roofs was a cozy, white noise embrace. But storms, especially unexpected ones, were a totally different beast.
“You sure?” Mack’s eyebrows folded. “I know you have a business to run.”
Charlie dipped her head with an exaggerated gaze at the empty shop. “Really?”
A thunder bullwhip cracked against the sky, and Charlie flinched.
