Brandy nodded. “Well, I’m excited. Not only is my bestie home for the holidays, but now I get to spend even more time with him at work!”
“Your organizational skills are on point,” I said, motioning toward the desk.
“You should see the cabinets in the back.”
“Oh, I already snooped through them,” I told her. “I’m impressed.”
Brandy slid her coat over her arms and headed into the back to hang it up, and I followed. “What the heck does he keep the heat on in here? It’s freezing,” I muttered, catching the fur-lined hood on a hook and rubbing my hands together.
“We turn it down every night before leaving,” she said, unwinding a red-and-green scarf from around her neck. In a voice meant to imitate my father, she went on. “Saves on the utility bill.”
“Seems like it would cost more to heat the place back up every morning than to just keep it at a consistent temperature,” I hypothesized while repeatedly tapping the button on the thermostat. “So fill me in on the day’s schedule and what time the rest of the staff comes in.”
As she talked, I went to the coffeemaker, pretty sure it was the same one he’d been using since I was in high school, and lifted the stained carafe off the burner.
Seeing my grimace, Brandy paused midsentence to giggle. “I bring mine from home,” she confessed, gesturing with her thumb toward the counter out front.
Through the archway, I could see her travel mug sitting on the top.
“Well, I can see why,” I said, sliding the pot back onto the hot plate. “There’s making good use of what you have,” I said reasonably, then pointed to the thing masquerading as a coffeemaker, “and then there isthat.”
Her white teeth flashed when she threw her head back. “Want me to go across the street to Babs and get you a latte?”
“Oh my God,she makes lattes now?” I asked.
“This might be a small town, but times are changing.”
“Tell that to my father.”
Brandy laughed. “The tourism has picked up a lot over the last few years, and they love their lattes. They go especially well with her eggnog cream puffs.”
I groaned, thinking of the seasonal pastry that had once been my favorite. Sometimes I still craved them, even after ten years. If you didn’t get there early enough in the day, then you didn’t get one because they sold out every morning. Sometimes before noon.Something I learned the hard way.Shaking away that thought, I kept my focus on the present.
“Next thing you’re going to tell me is that I can even get it with oat milk.”
“You’re such a city boy,” she teased.
“I’d rather be a city boy than bloated.”
“One oat milk latte coming up,” Brandy said, grabbing her coat once more.
“With a pump of mocha?” I hoped.
“How about peppermintandmocha?”
“Babs has gone bougie!” I declared.
“I’m going to tell her you said that,” she hollered from the front.
“I’m gonna tell her myself!”
Brandy appeared with a file folder. “Here’s the list of patients for the day. It’s a full day.”
I flipped it open and scanned the list. “Five?” I asked, lifting the paper to look for more. “Is that all?”
“We might have peppermint mochas with oat milk now, but this is still a small town,” she explained.
“I see double, sometimes triple, this a day in Boston. Easily.”
