I laugh out loud.
"What?" Emily demands.
"Bash says he got Mom and Dad a gift you can claim if you get desperate."
"That traitor! First, he’s winning cookie competitions and now he’s stealing my gift-giving thunder!" She huffs, but I can see the amusement in her eyes. "Though I might take him up on it if we don't find anything soon. I need caffeine if we're going to continue this hunt."
We step back onto the street, and Emily points to a rustic storefront across the way with a cheerful yellow sign that reads "Perk Up, Buttercup!"
"Coffee break?" she suggests hopefully.
"Lead the way."
The moment we push open the door, warmth and the rich aroma of fresh coffee envelop us. The café is nothing like the sleek chain stores that populate most shopping districts. It's cozy and eclectic, with mismatched furniture, local artwork covering every inch of wall space, and shelves filled with handmade goods from regional artisans. The place buzzes with conversation, mostly locals by the sound of it.
"This is adorable," I murmur, unwinding my scarf.
"Right?" Emily's already making a beeline for a display of pottery near the counter. "Oh my god, Charlie, look at these mugs!"
I join her, admiring the collection of hand-thrown ceramic mugs, each one unique with earthy glazes in blues and greens. "These are beautiful."
"Mom would love these," Emily says, picking up a pair. "They're her colors, and you know how she is about her morning tea ritual."
"And there's that wooden box behind them," I point out. "It looks like... oh, it's a tea chest. That's perfect."
Emily's eyes light up. "Wait, this is genius. The tea chest for Mom, and—" she moves to another shelf, "—these whiskey stones for Dad. He's always complaining about ice diluting his scotch."
I nod, impressed. "See? I knew we'd find something perfect. And they're from local artists, which gives it that thoughtful touch."
"You're a shopping savant," she declares, gathering her finds and heading to the counter.
While she pays, I wander around, examining the artwork. Most pieces feature Colorado landscapes—mountains and forests captured in every season. One painting catches my eye: a small watercolor of a snowboarder in mid-air against a pristine backdrop. The artist has somehow captured the exhilaration of the moment in just a few brushstrokes. It reminds me of Bash.
My phone buzzes again.
Your dad just handed me my ass at chess.
Bash
I type back.
He doesn't like to lose, that's for sure.
A new text pops up.
I see where you get your competitive side from now.
He's taking me to his man cave to select the perfect cigar for tonight!!!
Should I be scared?
Bash
I snort-laugh, drawing Emily's attention. Poor Bash. Dad's notorious cigar ritual involves a 20-minute lecture on tobacco cultivation and proper cutting techniques. It's his way of welcoming men into his inner circle.
Consider yourself officially dad-approved.
"Earth to Charlie," Emily sings, holding up her purchases and two steaming mugs. "Your coffee awaits, but you're too busy sexting to notice."
