Page 29 of At The Coffee Shop of Curiosities
All of a sudden, being here felt wrong. Dad had never lied to me before. Embellished, yes. Evaded, yes. Lied, no. Why did it feel like a betrayal to check up on him? It didn’t make sense. Especially sincehetold me to ask Javier if I had doubts.
I dragged the toe of my tennis shoe across the bricks in the sidewalk and made yet another decision I hoped I wouldn’t regret. “Carmella’s birthday is coming up soon. I was thinking of getting her earrings.”
I glanced Estrelle’s way. She met my gaze, held it for an uncomfortable moment, before I looked away.
“Soon?” He laughed. “Her birthday is in two months. Oh, I do love how you plan ahead. I have just the pair of earrings in mind. When I unboxed them, I thought of Carmella right away. Silver filigree in a half-moon design. They were screaming her name. Come, come. Let me—” He stopped abruptly and spun around, his gaze on the sky. “Alistair!”
The cockatiel had come out of nowhere, swooping low in front of us before landing on a high oak branch. It let out a string of warbled chirps, like it was telling Javier off.
“Alistair, perch,” Javier called, whistling as he held out his arm. The bird didn’t budge.
“Is there anything I can do?” I asked.
“If you can figure out how Alistair is escaping not only his cage but also the confines of the house or the shop, I’d be obliged.He’s become a regular Houdini. This is his sixth breakout in the last month!” He whistled again, more sharply this time.
Alistair stuck his beak under his wing and started preening.
“Bloody hell. Don’t make me climb that tree, Alistair. I’ve barely recovered from the last time.”
“You climbed a tree?” I couldn’t picture it. He wasn’t exactly a slim man and didn’t seem the athletic type. But now that I took a good look at him, he did look trimmer, his rounded stomach a bit flatter.
“Desperate times, Maggie. Fortunately for me, it was past dark and most of the town had already turned in. It was not my most graceful moment.”
Alistair let out more chirps, then suddenly took flight, heading down the block.
Javier pushed his Magpie’s order into my hands. “Hold on to that for me, will you? I have to catch him before Redmond sees him and accuses me of being an unfit pet parent. You won’t tell him of this, will you?”
“My lips are sealed.”
“Thanks, Maggie.” He took off, sprinting down the block, knees high, his chest leading the way, his tie flapping in the wind. “Alistair!”
I glanced across the street, toward the yoga class. It turned out that Javier didn’t have to worry about me blabbing to Redmond, because he was standing on the edge of the green, watching the chase with his own eyes.
I turned to Stitchery’s window to see if Estrelle had been watching as well, but the shop was dark and she was nowhere to be seen.
CHAPTER 8AVA
“I’d like a small iced matcha latte, add a double shot of espresso, add chai, add lavender syrup. Please.”
An older gentleman—I guessed him to be in his early sixties—stood on the other side of the counter. He had kind dark eyes, bushy eyebrows, and waist-length graying dreadlocks. He flashed a wide, friendly smile as he finished his order. A smile that slowly faltered as my hand froze in mid-air as it reached for a cold cup.
“Is there a problem?” he asked.
I said, “Can you repeat that, please?”
“I’d like a small iced matcha latte.” He paused. “Add a double shot of espresso.” He paused again. “Add chai and add lavender syrup.”
It had been a busy morning of learning machines and recipes and procedures and a new vocabulary. Words likeextractionandportafiltersandknock boxesandpucksandpurgingamong many others.
Then there had been the names of the customers. So many names. Everyone in town seemed to know of my arrival, my two new jobs, and that it had been a ghostly letter that brought me here. I’d always heard about how news spreads quickly in small towns but never realized exactly how lightning fast it traveled.
It was something of a relief, though, to have the letter out in the open rather than have to share it myself, one person at a time. I imagined it felt a little like jumping into the deep end of a cold pool instead of wading in carefully. Not that I’d know. I’d been taught to be a wader. A slow, extremely cautious wader.
Suddenly, I was angry about that. About the slow, cautiouslife I’d been forced to lead. Navigating the difficulties of my disorder had been challenging enough without also having to deal with my mother’s over-the-top smothering. I should’ve been allowed to test my limits, find my boundaries. I shouldn’t have had to live a life of fear.Infear. Life was about balance. And the scales of mine had been tipped the wrong way.
“Ma’am?” the man said. “Did you get that?”
I blinked, his voice pulling me out of my thoughts. “Matcha, espresso, chai, lavender. Got it.”
