Page 75 of Famous for a Living

In the truck on the way into town with Mina and Zaiah?

No.

I did that all the time back home with friends—in the taxis and the Ubers we always concentrated on getting that last post in, responding to those messages, just scrolling. But with them? No.

They don’t get it. This is a town of people who set their phones out of sight during meals with company. This is a town where if you look at your phone in the middle of conversation they stop and wait until you look up to resume.

They’d do something worse than judge me if I finished this post on the way down. They’d pity me.

Poor Cat. Always glued to that phone.

I hear Mina’s footsteps nearly at the door and press Post.

Swiftly I slide the phone into the back pocket of my jeans and open the door with my other hand. Mina’s eyes are curious. “You . . . ready?”

“Yep,” I say brightly and stride toward the door as though she was the one slowing us down.

Chapter 12

The Flat White

“Oat milk flat white, one pump of simple syrup. Thank you.”

The hushed words come on an exhale as I stand before the forest-green barista counter and look over my shoulder, watching Mina with her arms and legs wrapped around three freed-up barstools, snapping like a tiny Chihuahua at people who come near.

She was so proud of herself for unearthing my caffeine recipe from years ago, I haven’t had the heart to tell her about my vegan lifestyle yet.

The Honeypot turns out to be exactly as lovely as I wondered it might be, and given trucks, vans, and even snowmobiles line the snow-covered street, I’m not alone.

There’s a sign on the door stating the hours, but beside it is a Post-it note with hand-scribbled words: If lights are on, come on in.

A hum comes from a massive, expensive-looking black espresso machine grinding beans on the counter. Several old leather couches and bistro seats line the narrow building, with exposed brick on both sides. For once in this town, something besides country music is playing over the speakers. I vow here and now to clean the mountain of snow off my car and make the trek downtown once a week, come what may.

Some things are worth risking sliding off a mountain in a convertible.

This is one of them.

The building smells of cologne, mud, and coffee beans. The earrings of several women across the room glint beneath the industrial-looking pendant lights. As do the freshly cleaned belt buckles adorning several men’s pants.

So.

This isn’t just the place to get coffee.

It’s the place to get a date.

“I’m the same way!” I hear Mina exclaim from a distance. “I remember exactly where I was the day I heard the gray wolves were delisted from the endangered species list. I cheered hearing how well it went reintroducing them into the wild. It’s something you just don’t forget . . .”

A man who couldn’t be a day under fifty opposite her nods fervently as he slides his cup, and arm, closer to her on the table. Kevin turns beet red as he watches.

Hang on.

I turn around to Zaiah. “People reintroduced wolves to this area?”

Zaiah, just finishing his own order behind me, sidles up to the waiting area at the end of the bar beside me. He grins. “They almost went extinct.”

“And that’s . . . bad.” I shake my head. “Honestly, do you all realize there are other things to do than try to get yourselves killed All. The. Time? It’s like all you guys want to do is freeze to death or drive on ice sheets or, oh dear”—I throw my hands up—“life’s getting too boring, let’s just throw some wolves into the mix and hope for an earthquake.”

I finish with a flourish and slap my hand on the counter harder than I intended. Cheeks warm, eyes bright. It was good to get out like this. Coffee shops, restaurants in general, are my element. I understand the rules of order here. I feel at ease with the unspoken etiquette.