“Fantastic.” I smile wickedly at him. “Let’s eat.”
Chapter 5
“Coffee Girl, can you make me a cinnamon macchiato, two-and-a-half shots of espresso—no, wait, make that three-and-a-quarter shots—almond milk with a splash of oat milk and some stevia?” My order flies out of my mouth the moment I enter Moon Beans, the only coffee shop I could find on my weary amble down the main strip.
I had no idea how long a night it was going to be.
After the closet fight, a terse meal, and an argument over who got to use the bathroom first, I thought Hector and I had given each other permission to rest. That idea flew out the sliding glass door the moment the snoring started.
Hector sleeping sounds like a mother demon is having a baby inside his mouth, and then that baby is respawning while simultaneously killing the mother in a loud, violent battle to the death.
That’s putting it mildly.
No matter how I covered my head with the pillows, I couldn’t stop the grating sound from penetrating my earholes. Sleep was futile while listening to that, so I had plenty of time to lie awake and think about everything I’m missing back in the city—including my favorite coffee shops.
“We only do lattes, Americanos, and cappuccinos.” A Black woman about my age with a natural Afro and dangly snowflake earrings looks up at me from the large paperback book she’s reading. She’s got bright-blue decorative nails with snowman decals that catch the light of the overhead fluorescents. “Also, my name is Noelle, notCoffee Girl. In case you were wondering.”
“Okay,Noelle.” I take a deep, cleansing breath to reset. “Please tell me there is a Starbucks around here somewhere that can make me what I want.”
She laughs, deeper than expected. “Closest Starbucks is two towns over.”
“Perfect, and that’s how far?”
“Probably a two-hour walk.” She shrugs, doing the mental math. “That’s if you walk fast.”
I grunt loud enough to make her jump. I’m gay; obviously I walk fast!
But that’s beside the point right now as I attempt to shake away the trek over here. Snowflakes stick in my unwashed hair. The heat is on full blast, so I pull off my scarf before my body goes into temperature shock. I flop down on one of the barstools, fatigued. Without caffeine, getting here was a Herculean feat.
The road down the hill from Grandma and Gramps’s house barely has a shoulder and is poorly salted. It takes about twenty minutes before civilization even appears on the horizon.
I’m so used to the ease and convenience of an elevator ride and a waiting Town Car. Now, I fear I’m going to need to invest in a pair of sensible walking boots, which goes against everything I stand for in the name of fashion.
“You’re Matthew Prince, right? Lorna and Doug’s grandson?” Noelle asks with a tone that suggests she already knows the answer.
“What gave me away?” I ask. My now-ruined Louboutin boots? My three-hundred-dollar haircut? My Alexander McQueen puffer jacket that probably cost more than her entire inventory? I stick out like a sore thumb in this town.
She just shrugs like she wants to say something more but decides not to. With finesse and ease, she brews me an almond-milk latte with one pump vanilla and some cinnamon sprinkled over the top. It’s a solid compromise. I blow on it so I don’t burn my tongue.
I sit there, the lone customer in this strange establishment with chalkboard menus done up in faded, space-themed jewel tones. The seating area is an assortment of shiny chairs in varying degrees of distress. The walls are covered in celestial tapestries that clash but still don’t feel out of place. It’s a bit of a tried-and-true bohemian dream in this endless nightmare.
God, what I wouldn’t give for a good nightmare right now. Walking a red carpet in my underwear? Bring it on. Even fitful sleep would be better than no sleep. No sleep maximizes my anxious tendencies, and I’m already a ball of fritzing nerves.
“Okay. I’d regret it if I didn’t, so I just have to say…” Noelle hesitates for a half second and then launches it all at me, clearly not catching myI can’t handle anything more this morningaura. “I love your mom’s books. I mean, like, Ilovethem! The world building in A Game of Dark Dissension is some of the best I’ve ever seen. And the romance, ooooh. Don’t even get me started on the inter-kingdom romance. Swoon city, baby. Beligley forever. I’ve read each of them three times.” There’s far too much excitement in her voice for this early in the day.
I flinch. I hate when someone brings up Mom’s work. They always see me as a tether back to her. Actors itching for auditions for the musical adaptation they’re making. Fellow writers looking for someone to give feedback on their manuscripts. It’s exhausting. I can barely get Mom to domea favor, let alone some nobody.
“Didn’t love her novellas though. Seemed more like cash grabs than actual stories.” I shoot her a skeptical yet amused glance. I didn’t expect that hot take. “What? I’m just being honest. I didn’t need a backstory for Malum, the bloodthirsty, head-collecting king who died by dragon in the third book.”
Maybe I misjudged her. “Yeah, I skimmed the novellas when she sent me the drafts. She’s clutching to that series for dear life, draining it for all it’s worth, afraid if she strays her readers will leave her or something.” My sleep deprivation causes a second lapse of discretion, which catches Noelle’s rapt attention. Afraid I’ve said too much already, and not wanting to anger Mom any more than I already have, I change the subject. “Speaking of my mother, do you happen to have Wi-Fi here?”
She slides over a small, stand-alone sign on a metal stick with the log-in information. “Wi-Fi’s for paying customers only.” Her wholesome smile is as sparkly as her earrings. She nudges the tip jar forward with her elbow for added effect. Against my ingrained nature, I like her already.
I reach into my wallet, hand her a ten-dollar bill, and tell her to keep the change. I should be a bit more frugal with my spending now that I’m broke with a capital B, but my parents can’t keep me off the leash forever. Once they see my grand transformation from rakish party boy to saintly small-town guy, they’re going to call me right back.
At least that’s what I tell myself so I don’t curl up in a ball on the dirty floor of this establishment right now.
I slide into the booth over in the corner and lean my phone up against the napkin dispenser. Mom answers with a flourish. Her sharp angles are made more prominent by a full face of professionally done makeup.
