Total pages in book: 111
Estimated words: 105846 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 529(@200wpm)___ 423(@250wpm)___ 353(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 105846 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 529(@200wpm)___ 423(@250wpm)___ 353(@300wpm)
“You’ve got to be shitting me.”
My cheeks heat with a rush of rose-colored embarrassment.
He narrows his eyes. At me. “What can you make?”
“Um…hot tea? Cocoa?”
“Just give me black coffee. Or kill me if that’s easier, but for shit’s sake, please release me from this misery.”
“Look, I’m sorry! I told Josie not to leave me here alone, but she didn’t listen!”
He sighs, audibly tiring of the hysterical girl with no business barista-ing.
“Look, do you want a cookie or something? We’ve obviously gotten off on the wrong foot, and you can consider it a peace offering, so I’ll throw it in for free.”
“Just the coffee. I don’t like cookies.”
“Of course you don’t like cookies,” I mutter to myself. He probably doesn’t like rainbows and puppies either.
“What was that?”
“Nothing.” I ring up his order and keep a big-ass friendly smile intact on my lips. “That’ll be $1.85.”
I take the five-dollar bill from his outstretched hand, and as I start to cash him out, I become downright tickled over the next step in the coffee-buying process—his name.
Our interactions the other day were both too fast and too one-sided for me to learn it, and with the way he’s looking at me this morning, I’m not sure he would give it to me now if he didn’t have to. It shouldn’t matter, but I feel like a lone reed dancing in the wind out here in small-town Vermont, and nonsensical or not, I have a yearning, burning need to know.
“Thanks. And I just need your name for the cup.”
He glances around the shop with just his eyes. “Why do you need to write my name on my cup? I’m the only one in here.”
“Yeah, well, anyone could come in at any moment, and as you’ve seen, I’m still learning the ropes. I’d hate to get yours confused with someone else’s.”
“Oh yeah. It’d be tragic if my black coffee got mixed up with someone else’s black coffee.”
“Just give me your name!” I snap. “Josie told me to get every customer’s name, so I need a dang name, okay?”
“Norman Wallace,” he finally says, shocking me to the center of my core. He doesn’t look like a Norman at all, but I guess my mom doesn’t look like an Eleanor either—she’s way too ritzy.
“Oh. Okay. Norman.”
He sighs. “What? You have some kind of problem with the name Norman now?”
“No,” I force myself to say with a soft voice as I write Norman on his cup with a Sharpie. “I…just wasn’t expecting it.”
He barks out a humorless laugh. “Yeah, well, I wasn’t expecting to see you here this morning either.”
Okay, I’ve had enough of this guy’s crap. Seriously.
“Do you hate everyone, or is it just me?” I blurt out and don’t regret a single word. “I feel like it’d be really good for me to know for future reference.”
“I don’t know you enough to hate you.”
Wow. I was expecting some kind of apology or, I don’t know, outward chagrin for having treated me the way he has, and instead, I’ve been left with…whatever this is.
“How heartwarming,” I remark with a roll of my eyes and return to the coffeepot that’s almost full of something that looks suspiciously like coffee. Wow. Go me. I pour some in a cup and secure it with a lid before returning to the counter and handing it over to him.
Our fingers brush for the briefest of seconds, and a trill of energy runs through my previously twisted stomach.
Funny. I didn’t think that’s what touching pure evil would feel like.
“Have a nice life, Norman.”
The shake of his head is barely there but visible, nonetheless.
“Good luck, Norah.”
There they are, the first nice words he’s said to me since the moment we met, being used as goodbye.
8
Norah
“That’ll be $1.85,” I update the older, suit-wearing gentleman as I tap the keys of the cash register. He hands me two one-dollar bills, and I make quick work of his fifteen-cent change.
I don’t know where in the hell Josie is at this point, but this is customer number two who has slipped in the door while my MIA sister has left me to run her coffee shop all by my-freaking-self. Thankfully, his second order choice—the first being a cappuccino—is something I can handle—coffee with two sugars and a little cream.
“So, you’re new in town, huh?” he questions.
I nod. “I guess you could say that.”
“Well, as the mayor of this town, I hope everyone is treating you well.”
Everyone besides Josie and the meathead who kicked me out of his truck halfway to my sister’s house. Obviously, I don’t tell him that.
I force a smile to my lips. “Everyone’s been great. And it’s nice to meet you…uh…Mr. Mayor.”
“Oh please, we don’t need to be that formal, darling.” A hearty chuckle leaves his lips. “The name’s Norman Wallace, but you can call me Norman.”