Three Years Ago
Isitinthesecond row.
I’m not immediate family, but I knew Paul on a deeper level than anyone else. More than his mother, more than his brother or sister. I knew Paul emotionally, physically, intimately. I, Austin Westcott, knew that Paul was a carer, a man that would break his back to help anyone that needed it. A man that looked rough on the outside but was the most gentle soul anyone would ever meet.
But he's gone now.
Taken in the blink of an eye by a patch of black ice and a car careening out of control.
“Hey, Austin.” The deep voice catches my attention and I look up to see Remington standing in the aisle next to the row I’m sitting in. “Can I sit with you?”
Remington is— was— Paul’s best friend. Remington knew the dynamics of our relationship beyond living together. Beyond being engaged and set to marry in the Spring. I nodded and half-stood so Remington could get by and sit next tome. He leaves a couple inches of space between us. As much as I need the physical comfort, I’m thankful that he’s keeping a distance.
“It’s a beautiful turnout,” Remington whispers like he doesn’t know what to say. And what do you say to the fiancé, and Little, of the man that lay in the open casket? Even I don’t know what to say. I just nod instead and look down to pick at my cuticles. It’s a habit I have yet to break. It would always infuriate Paul and he’d sit me down to fix my hands and nails frequently.
A hand comes into my vision, wrapping long, strong fingers over mine and making me stop. I look over, tears already welling in my eyes, to see Remington give me the smallest of smiles.
“It’s going to be okay.” Remington whispers the words. He pulls my head down to his shoulder, his hand moving from my hands to squeeze my knee comfortingly. “You’re going to be okay, Austin.”
Chapter One
“Ineedtwoturkeysand a Reuben!” I look up briefly to see if my words have fallen on deaf ears again. The display case is getting dreadfully empty and it looks terrible. We aren't supposed to let it get this empty, but people don’t want to work here. I can’t blame them, though. They have lives and friends. Stuff to do and people to see outside of the job. I have nothing. Not since Paul passed.
I'm being dramatic.
It's also maybe because I’m in a terrible mood. Today is the three year anniversary of Paul’s death and I’m trying not to think about it. Throwing myself into making this place as spotless and well-run as I can is my go-to answer when I’m missing Paul. I am the manager after all. No one likes the manager when they're in a mood.
I take a deep breath and look back at the guys, trying to keep my voice even. “I’m sorry. Can you two please refill the case for me? We have about twenty minutes until the lunch rush and I don’t want to be caught empty.”
“Got it, boss.” Tyler —or Taylor?— says. He was the most recent hire and seems to be buddy-buddy with Amir. They graduated high school at the start of the summer and took a gap semester, doing this as a way to save up some money. I will have to think about hiring someone or two someones soon.
I move to the office to grab one of the inventory checklists. It’s a small, cramped space that allows for a desk, a swivel chair, and the safe. There are cabinets above, filled with stacks of different papers. It’s not the most organized, but I know where everything is.
The coffee shop is a decent size for the city. The back room, where my office sits, holds the cooking area that includes two freezers and a tall oven, and the storage closet are all smushed together. The ‘Deli’ side of the coffee shop is small, only offering croissants during breakfast and grab-and-go sandwiches until they run out for lunch. The coffee is what takes up the majority of the space. It’s a semi-circle counter with shelves filled of different goodies. The espresso machine is state-of-the-art and makes hot or cold coffee drinks. There is a whole stand of different flavors and chocolates to add to sweeten the pot. I love a good latte, but my guilty pleasure is a white chocolate hot chocolate with caramel drizzle.
I sigh, thinking of the way Paul would always kick off the Fall season by bringing one home to me.
I need to focus on the day. I don't have time to think about him. My old Daddy. I have a store to manage, customers to keep happy. Three employees to make sure they’re ready for the hour lunch rush.
Walking back out to the main floor, I check that Tyler— definitely Tyler— and Amir are making the sandwiches I asked. Jason is on the coffee side, with a line of three people. I headover there to see if he needs help. He’s a great worker, loves doing the coffees. He’s working on his latte art skills, even though ninety percent of our drinks are to-go and have lids.
“Hey Jason, are you doing okay over here?” I set the clipboard down on the counter, out of the way, and look at the list he has scribbled beside the register. It looks like each of them have already been checked out and are just waiting for their drinks.
“I think I’m good on these drinks, but I did notice that some of the tables were a little dirty. I haven’t had a chance to clear them and make sure everything is stocked yet.”
“I’ll do it,” I say with a smile. Jason is one that works hard but also isn't scared to ask for a helping hand. Even as the manager, I didn’t mind having Jason ask me to do something. “Have you been able to do inventory on this side yet?”
“Uh, I got half way.” Jason wipes the steam wand off and positions the milk to get ready. “I’ll get to the—”
“No, don’t worry about it. I can finish the rest of it after work today. I’m going to be here doing some paperwork anyway. Just keep up the good work.”
I move back around the counter and toward the tables. There is a small opening with one of those swinging doors on the side facing the seating area. It's a convenient short cut for the employees. I nod to the customers waiting for their drinks. One of them I recognize as a regular.
There are a couple other customers sitting at the tables. The rest aren’t too bad, but I take a towel from the bucket that sits in a sanitizer bucket out of reach of the customers. I wipe down the first table, pick up an empty cup from another, and then pass a mom with her younger son before wiping a sticky mess off the third table and one of the seats.
I look up from the task at hand to see the little boy watching me. He smiles and waves, his other hand holding tight to the stuffed koala bear. It’s a cute stuffie, no bigger than the kid’s head. I wiggle my fingers back at him with a small smile.
“Hey, Austin! I think we’re out of shredded lettuce!” Amir calls out across the small space.
