I wished I could say my barista skills were going as well as my scone eating was, but that would be a lie. Honestly, I was a mess. My hands were already dry and cracked from washing them so often, and now they were permanently coffee stained. My hair was an absolute mess—frizzy and dry—and I didn’t think there was anyone in Colebury who could fix it.
As I cleaned the counter at the end of my shift, I cursed the jackass crunchy granola guy who didn’t think I was qualified enough for a marketing position at his kayak company. I’d been sitting right over there ... I looked toward the corner of the Bean where the leather chairs sat.
That’s where I’d been that day a few weeks ago, gripping my almost empty low-fat latte as I had a brief interview with Ricky the Kayak Guru, who said he’d think about my résumé. Then he deserted me, leaving me alone with a set of mismatched chairs and my thoughts.
Why did I even bother? Maybe my parents were right. Maybe I’d never amount to much without their backing me up. When I’d set up the interview, I’d thought a kayak company in Montpelier would be my ticket out of the well I’d figuratively thrown myself down.
To escape my own negative thoughts, I’d wandered over to say hi to my favorite barista, Kirk. Nothing would cheer me up like hearing about his upcoming journey to Costa Rica where he planned to experience the world. Instead, I whined about how I desperately needed to get out of the Kwikshop and find a beefier job to pay the bills. I’d thought the combination of the marketing gig with the kayak company plus a few shifts at the grocery store would set me up nicely.
Kirk stopped short behind the gigantic espresso machine, looking at me wide eyed as he blurted out the solution. “With tips, a barista job would be perfect for you.”
To be honest, Kirk made this gig look easy, and we’d become fast friends during my morning visits to the Bean for a hit of caffeine, despite us being total opposites. I was fancy like a vanilla bean crème latte, and Kirk was simple like a plain cup of joe.
My mid-morning pop-ins usually came at a slower time at the Bean, so we would usually chat over my first few sips of coffee or bites of what I considered a well-deserved treat, although it was mostly me chatting and Kirk nodding. In those days, I still got up wicked early to fit in some exercise. My mom would never accept anything less from me, except she didn’t accept me at all lately.
Kirk didn’t even wait for me to answer that day—instead, he’d walked over to Zara and told her he’d found his replacement. The training that followed was sort of easy, mostly because Kirk did all the heavy lifting. Now, here I was, exhausted, dirty, and daydreaming about Ben Rooney and why I hadn’t run into him before, which was probably because he was successful these days and didn’t hang with people like me anymore.
“See you tomorrow afternoon,” Zara said, knocking me out of my self-pity when she called out to me.
I was untying my apron, a cute blue-and-pink seersucker-patterned number. It was way too fancy for the Bean, but it was a little gift to myself when I got the job. I ordered it from Nordstrom’s, and yes, I was likely the first barista at the Busy Bean to wear an apron from an upscale department store.
Nodding absently to Zara, I wondered if Ben came in every afternoon, and maybe that’s why I’d never seen him in here. Mid-morning had been my regular time to come in, after my workout at home—you know, because I couldn’t afford a membership at a gym, even if there was a decent one—and on my way to work at the local grocery store.
Oh, the irony. Back in the day, I’d been too lazy to make my own coffee at home, and now I made lattes and Americanos for all of New England. Not all, but close enough.
Zara said something more, but I missed it.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t hear that, Zar.”
“Roddy’s making blueberry-lemon scones. Come a little early so you can try them for me.”
“Definitely.” I made a mental note to do some extra crunches before coming into work and indulging in buttery baked goods. You can take the girl out of the Upper West Side, but you can’t take the UWS out of the girl.
As she leaned her hip against the counter, I glanced at Zara’s perfect curves and wondered when she did crunches.
“Anyway,” she said, “Gigi is still away, so we need to add something until we get more of her Arnie Palmer cupcakes back in. Oh, For Heaven’s Cakes can’t keep up. It’s the most popular bakery around, and I hear Gigi wants to get into shipping nationwide with Goldbelly. Can you believe it? Someone from our little sleepy town working with Goldbelly? It’s some big-time New York food-shipping thingie.”
I knew what it was, but Zara didn’t give me a chance to answer.
“Speaking of which,” she said, “about here and all that, I hope it’s going okay for you. We get slammed early morning and late afternoon, but each shift has the midday reprieve. Don’t think I’m going national any time soon. I like my snoozy coffee shop.” Her glossy hair bounced as she spoke, her eyes bright and her smile wide, reaching her eyes.
I wished I could channel that type of perpetual positive energy. It was probably because she was in love, and I wasn’t. Zara kept wanting to introduce me to this Gigi, but she was apparently in love too. Did everyone have to be so happy and great? While I was at it, did she really think this level of busyness was “slammed?”
“It’s fine,” I told her. “Thank you for all of this. I hope I’m keeping up. Roddy’s been a godsend when it comes to the grinder. I’m getting the hang of it and hope I’m not disappointing you.”
Grateful is exactly what I was. Being caught up in a scandal was one thing, but being cast out by my family, left to fend for myself after a lifetime of luxury, was something entirely different. Shouldn’t my parents love me no matter what? So what if I made a mistake? It shouldn’t mean that I had to give up designer shoes and my trust fund.
“This gig sure beats working the register at the Kwikshop, with everyone harping about reusable bags and ‘where is this,’ and ‘where is that?’” I said, using air quotes while mocking my former customers.
Zara chuckled. “Hey, small talk and simplicity is important to most people around here. They’ve spent a lifetime trying to preserve the beauty of the area and promote its resources, while still keeping it small and cozy.”
I swallowed my pride and a lump of regret slid down my throat as I mentally berated myself for speaking before thinking. My life was like a bad episode ofSex and the Citywhere Charlotte was forced into small-town life, bagging canned goods at the corner grocery store, but they never wrote story lines like that because they knew they would be awful.
“Yes, I know. It’s growing on me, you know? All this nature and natural beauty,” I said, only half lying.
Vermont was a pretty nice place, and I was becoming a better person, which reminded me of Ben’s reusable mug. He’d always been a stickler for the environment, even in prep school. Of course, I’d teased him for it but he took it in stride, trying to explain the importance to me.
“In fact,” I told her, “that’s why I’m here. In Vermont. I had a friend in high school who bragged about the area. It felt like somewhere I could find peace, and allow my mind some freedom.”
