Page 6 of Change of Plans

“How long does it take to clean up something like this?” I asked, surprised that my voice didn’t crack with dread in the middle of the question.

“Who knows?” David groaned. “Several days? Probably weeks.”

“We can all work from home until I can arrange some sort of temporary workspace,” Christopher said from the front corner of the room.

A whole bunch of emotions hit me at once. A temporary workspace could be anywhere. It might not be within walking distance of my apartment, which meant Common Grounds might not be on my way to work.

I wasn’t having any of that.

“What can I do right now?” I asked no one and everyone.

Chuck stomped back in from the front. “You’re right in the middle of the Jameson Industries job, aren’t you?” he asked.

“I am,” I said. “They have the blueprints, but I need to make some changes to account for the new materials they’ve decided to go with. They want the calculations by the end of the week so they can start the job before the end of the month.”

“Then you need to get on it,” Chuck said. “You have everything you need on your laptop, right?”

“Yeah,” I said, using my free hand to touch the satchel slung over my shoulder, like it had somehow flown away while I’d been staring around in horror.

“Then I suggest you find somewhere dry and quiet to work so we can stay on top of things,” Chuck went on. “You, too, Pam. You can connect to the network remotely, right?”

I stared at my coffee cup again as Chuck proceeded to give us all working orders for the day. Every damn time. One little change to the routine and this was what happened.

It was a good thing the offending coffee was tasty. And it gave me an idea, too.

Within fifteen minutes, I’d finished the coffee, gathered up everything I could from the office that wasn’t ruined, and left to retrace my steps back to Common Grounds.

It came as no surprise at all that the usual jittery feeling I had whenever I walked into Diccon’s café was ten times worse as I pulled open the door outside of my regular visiting hours. The morning rush was over, and while the place wasn’t completely abandoned, it felt weird to walk in without seeing a line and to be able to hear the local indie rock station playing instead of the noise of morning customers in need of their java fix.

Of course, because I was the only one walking in, Diccon, who was in his usual place behind the counter, wiping the area down and humming along with the radio, spotted me as soon as the door shut behind me.

He immediately burst into a sunshine-perfect smile. “Well, look who it is.”

My body had a hard time deciding whether to turn and run or to sail across the room to him like an iron filing drawn to a magnet.

I cleared my throat and said, “Um, is it okay if I work in here today?”

Diccon’s expression twitched through emotions that I couldn’t identify. “Yeah,” he said, then gestured around the front part of the café. “There’s plenty of places to sit. I’d avoid the back room, since Sam and Gilbert are still setting up for open mic night.”

Why was it so hard for me to just talk to the guy? He was all smiles and goodwill. I should have explained the sprinkler disaster to him, explained why I was taking up his space again.

“Thanks,” I said with a tight nod instead, then veered off to the side and slid into a booth next to one of the windows.

Diccon went back to work tidying up behind the counter, which meant he wasn’t focused on me anymore. I let my shoulders drop in relief, then took my laptop out of my satchel and opened it to get oriented for the day.

It was easier to get into the groove of work than I thought it’d be. Probably because as soon as I connected to the work network, I had a dozen emails that needed answering right away. Ironically, there was an email from Christopher that had been sent maybe fifteen minutes before I’d stepped into the office explaining the sprinkler problem and how everyone should work from home.

The rest of my emails were standard fare. I started off by emailing my clients, letting them know what had happened and how they could get in touch with me if they needed to. The thing that needed my attention most immediately was the Jameson Industries project. How ironic that I was now sitting in the building next door to the lot where the plans I’d been working on for the last two months were about to be brought to fruition?

Without trying, I grinned in satisfaction for a job well done at my computer when I caught Diccon approaching me out of the corner of my eye. Immediately, I cleared my throat and put on a suitably professional expression.

“Aaw, I’m gonna miss that smile,” Diccon said as he came over and leaned against the bench on the other side of the table from me.

“Sorry,” I said, then tried to smile again.

I failed miserably.

Diccon laughed. “No, not that smile. The real one you had on just a second ago.”