“Large chai latte for Sarah!” I call out, sliding the drink across the counter to a tired-looking young woman in scrubs. She flashes me a grateful smile before dashing out the door, no doubt on her way to the clinic down the street. She must be new in town because I’ve never seen her before.
As the morning wears on, the coffee shop is filled with the chatter of friends and the clinking of cups. I move from table to table, refilling mugs and exchanging pleasantries. This is what I love most about CC’s—the way it brings people together. I’m in my element. I love being part of the day-to-day of the coffee shop, providing a place where people feel welcome, and are more than just a customer. I like to think that’s what makes CC’s special—a home away from home.
Later, when Will’s on his break and I’m wiping down the counter, Mrs. Hendricks, another of our regulars, approaches.
“Good morning, Mrs. Hendricks. Your usual vanilla latte?”
She nods, although her smile doesn’t quite reach her eyes. “Yes, please, Cameron.”
As I prepare her drink, she fidgets with the buttons on her cardigan. I sense that something’s weighing on her mind and feel a tug of concern. “Is everything alright? You seem a bit down today.”
She sighs. “Oh, it’s nothing, dear. Just feeling a bit lonely, I suppose. Grandpa Ellis is busy working at the bookstore, and the house feels so empty without him.”
I place her latte on the counter and give a gentle smile. “I understand. It’s never easy being apart from the ones we love. How about I bring your drink over to a table?” I’m sure a bit of company will do her the world of good.
This time there’s warmth in her smile. “Thank you, Cameron. You always know exactly the right thing to say, and that sounds like a lovely idea.”
She takes a seat by the window instead of heading straight out as she usually does. As I drop off her latte, one of the book club ladies joins her, and Mrs. Hendrick’s face lights up.
As I watch the two of them, my thoughts drift to my own tough times. Greg and I have faced our share of challenges, but we’ve been lucky to have the support of our families and friends, and we’ve come through the worst of those times.
I glance at the clock, realizing it’s time to take a break. The morning rush has died down, so I take the opportunity to call Greg. It’s become a ritual—a random call sometime during the day, just to hear each other’s voices and share the little moments of our day. I’m not sure who looks forward to the call more—me or Greg, who works from home.
With a nod to Will, I step into the back room, pulling out my phone and dialing Greg’s number. He answers on the second ring.
“Hey, babe,” he says, and I can hear the smile in his voice. “How’s your day going?”
“Better now that I’m talking to you. The morning rush was crazy, but we managed. How about you? How’s work treating you?”
We discuss a client he’s working with and I ask him about the bathroom.
Greg laughs. “You’re obsessed.”
“I can’t stop thinking about our plans,” I confess, my voice dropping to a whisper. “Imagining our family, with a child running around the house, filling it with laughter.”
“I know,” Greg replies, his tone mirroring my own. “It’s all I can think about too. We’re so close, Cam. I can feel it.”
We talk for a while and when I hang up the phone, I’m smiling. It’s an awesome life we’re building together.
Chapter Two
Greg
I lean back inmy chair and let out a long sigh, staring at the papers strewn across my desk—client portfolios, investment reports, financial statements. Being a financial planner is rewarding, but days like this make me feel like I’m drowning in a sea of numbers. The phone starts ringing again and I groan.
“Greg Freeman,” I answer, trying to keep the weariness out of my voice.
It’s Mrs. Anderson, one of my first clients, calling to discuss her retirement accounts for the third time this week. I grab a pen and start jotting down the occasional note as she speaks, making affirming noises at the appropriate moments.
As I listen, my gaze wanders around my home office, taking in the half-painted walls. Cam and I bought this cottage last year, full of grand plans to transform it into our dream home. But between my long hours at work and Cam running the coffee shop, the renovations have been slow going. The unpainted drywall is a reminder of all the projects we still need tocomplete. The priorities are the absolutely ancient kitchen, and the bathroom that I’m doing up as a surprise for Cam.
I snap my focus back to the conversation. “Yes, Mrs. Anderson, I agree that’s a smart allocation for your 401k at this stage. Why don’t I run some projections and give you a call next week to discuss further?”
After a few more minutes, I finally manage to end the call and set the phone down with a shake of my head. At this rate, I’ll be lucky to get out of here to make the reservation—poor Cam will be waiting at Jake’s Tap, wondering where the hell I am.
My eyes land on the framed photo of Cam and I on our wedding day, arms wrapped around each other, both grinning ear to ear. I smile despite my exhaustion. I know Cam won’t mind waiting for me—he’s always patient and understanding, even when I’m consumed by work. He’s stood by me through thick and thin, including supporting me while I got the business off the ground.
I push back from my desk and stand up, stretching my stiff muscles as I look out the window. Our small yard is more bare dirt and weeds than grass, but we have big plans. A huge deck for summer barbeques, a vegetable garden, eventually a swing set and perhaps a trampoline. I want to create a home here with Cam, a real home, where we can relax and entertain and raise our family. We’ll get there, we’ll finish the renovations and turn this house into everything we’ve dreamed of.
