I sent nothing else, hoping the song will hit home for him in this game of musical insults and promises.
Pushing the door open I’m assaulted by the heavenly aroma of fresh ground beans.
“Jess, what kind of magic beans did you make for me today?”
The owner of Buckles and Brews became a fast friend when we met at the summer farmer’s markets a couple years ago.
Despite our twenty year age difference we bonded over our different brews.
“I’m so glad you came in today. I made a fresh batch of the hazelnut mocha.” She sticks the bag out over the counter and wafts the aroma over to me with her hand.
“Ugh. So perfect. I want the biggest possible size you can give me. And I want extra sweet cream today.”
“Tough night?”
“You're telling me the gossip committee isn’t up on the happenings of my bar last night?” I raise a brow in disbelief, because there’s just no way.
“No. They absolutely are. I was just going to let you tell me the truth. Because I highly doubt your husband punched another man and then got kicked out of your bar.” She hands me my cup of gold and I take a tentative sip.
“Mmm. So perfect. I don’t know how you do it.”
“You’re avoiding telling me the truth, doll.”
I bring the coffee cup back up to my lips, mumbling over the lid. “Because I don’t want to.”
“Uh oh. Do we need to go into my office?”
“No. It’s true. All of it’s true. Whatever you’re hearing. So I think we need margaritas.” I drape myself dramatically over her counter and she rubs my shoulder in solidarity.
Her and her ex-husband went up like a magnificent fire in this town when he cheated on her. In the town square. In broad daylight, drunk as a skunk.
“Uh-oh. It’s tequila bad?”
I stand to face her. “Double shot of tequila bad.”
“How about Monday night when you’re closed?”
“Please? You’re a literal angel.”
Just then the door opens and the wind blows in that particular scent I spent all night missing. Goddamn it. Why can’t I catch a break?
“Morning, Calvin.” She greets him with a smile.
“Hey, Jess.” He wrings his worn ball cap in his hands. “Hey, Jules.”
“Ooh would you look at that. I’ve got to go grab some beans out of the roaster.” Jess shuffles back into the kitchen leaving me with my husband, alone.
“How’s your hand feeling?”
“It’s not too bad. Murray tossed a steak on it before he left me on the kitchen floor.” He gives me a tight smile.
“How very cowboy of you both.” I snicker.
“Do you think…could we, um, can we talk for a minute?” This shy version of Cal isn’t one I’ve ever seen. It’s unnerving how nervous he is.
“Sure.” I start toward a table.
“Maybe we could go for a walk instead?” He nods at the table housing half the gossip committee.
