Yikes.Chill, lady. Dial it down a notch, I’m still waking up ...
“Morning!” she chirps. “What can I get for ya?”
“Coffee.” I smile. “Black.”
She scrunches up her nose judgmentally. “Kind of boring, don’t you think? How about something seasonal? With a splash of syrup?”
A small chalkboard near the register lists the daily specials in loopy handwriting:Pumpkin Spice Latte, Maple Pecan Cold Brew, Apple Cider Chai.
“Uh—no thanks.”
“For here, or to go?”
“To go?”
My stomach growls again, louder this time, as my eyes wander back to the glass case. A stack of cinnamon rolls drizzled with icing sits front and center, mocking my weak resolve. I’m debating whether I should cave when the barista reappears, sliding a steaming to-go cup across the counter.
“Here you go—one boring black coffee.” She winks, but it’s playful, not annoying. “Anything else?”
I hesitate, glancing again at the cinnamon rolls. Damn it. “I’ll take one of those too,” I say, pointing.
“Good choice.” She grabs one with a pair of tongs and slips it into a paper bag before handing it over. “Breakfast of champions.”
Indeed it is.
The first bite of the cinnamon roll is fucking glorious—soft, sweet, the right amount of frosting and spice. I wash it down with a sip of coffee, and for the first time since arriving at this retreat, I feel like maybe this whole “disconnect from the world” thing might not be the worst idea.
I take another long sip of coffee, savoring the bitterness as I lean back in my chair. The place is getting busier now, the low hum of chatter filling the café.
I should go.
I stand, trying to hold both my coffee in one hand and my cinnamon roll in another, pulling the door open with the tip of my boot, managing to do so. Hold it open with my shoulder. The bell above my head jingles, and the cool breeze hits my face as I begin stepping out onto the sidewalk.
Ahh. Not bad. Not bad at all ...
The sunshine is bright, almostblindingas it rises over the lake.
Distracted by the view, I remove the lid from my coffee cup to dunk the cinnamon roll inside, ready to sip my brew and lick frosting off the tips of my fingers when it happens.
Thud.
I walk straight into someone.
The impact sends steaming hot coffee sloshing over the rim of the cup, the liquid spilling across the front of my hoodie.
“Shit!” I hiss, the heat soaking through the fabric as I stumble back. I can feel it soak my skin.
“Oh God! I am so sorry!” a distressed voice exclaims, and I finally look up at the commotion I’ve caused.
A woman stands in front of me, wide-eyed with shock.
Her dark hair is pulled into a messy bun, and she’s wearing a fitted pink jacket over matching pink leggings. Coffee streaks down the sleeve of her jacket as she crouches to grab the yoga mat that fell out of her hands when I crashed into her. Her cheeks are flushed, and she looks everywhere but at me. I bend to help her because that’s what gentlemen do ...
“Shit—sorry,” I manage, though I’m still too flustered to string together anything coherent. Too tired. Still early. My coffee is officially a lost cause, dripping down the front of my gray sweatshirt and staining it.
“No, no, it’s my fault,” she protests, face inches from mine. “I wasn’t paying attention.”
“Neither was I,” I admit, glancing around for a trash can. The coffee cup is still in my hand, but it’s useless now, mostly empty and dripping like a leaky faucet. I stuff the remaining roll in my mouth and chew, buying myself time to think of something new to say.
