The scent of fresh ground coffee beans wafts through my two-bedroom apartment that sits above the coffee shop I manage, and I stretch my arms above my head to help me wake up. The clock on my nightstand reads 5:45 AM, and I pull the covers off my body, not ready for the chill that leaves goosebumps in its wake. It’s the Monday afterThanksgiving, and the temperature is finally dropping here in Southern California. Mornings and nights are getting increasingly colder, but you have to dress for warmer weather during the day.
It’s a pain in the ass.
I take a peek into Autumn’s room to find her still asleep with her face smooshed into her pillow. I smile to myself and head to the bathroom before I move to my closet and find a baby blue chunky sweater to layer over a Beach Brew t-shirt. I pull on my boyfriend jeans and my signature feather earrings and call it good. Luckily, my long blonde hair doesn’t need too much work since I curled it two days ago. It still resembles something publicly appropriate, so I call it a win.
The last few weeks have been a whirlwind, to say the least. Jordan, my best friend, was kidnapped. It was a huge mess that also involved her father and boyfriend, who, unbeknownst to me, is an undercover cop. And although everyone is okay, I know she’s ready for some semblance of a normal life now that the whole ordeal is over. So, I’ve been knee-deep in interviews to replace said best friend at the coffee shop because she needs to focus on building her photography business and not working a job she should have quit a long time ago.
I’ve been lucky enough to find two hires who seem promising. One of them starts her training today, and I’m excited to show her the ropes.
“Morning, mommy.”
I turn to see my four-year-old rub the sleep out of her eyes. I hold back a laugh because her dark hair is reminiscent of a rat's nest in the back. It’s so ridiculous, it’s cute.
“Morning, baby girl. You sleep okay?”
“Yup. I’m hungry.”
I chuckle because the statement doesn’t surprise me. It’s the same… every morning.
“Well, lucky for you, I made you some cheesy scrambled eggs and toast.”
We spend the rest of the morning eating and getting ready for the day. Autumn has preschool at eight, and as soon as I’m done making her lunch, we put our shoes on and head out. The stairs to our apartment lead down to the sidewalk and sit right between Beach Brew and the empty retail space next door.
Well, it’s not empty anymore.
A few weeks back, the for-sale sign in the window disappeared, and the rumor mill started whirling at the prospect of what the space was going to be. No one really knows, but I’m hoping it’s a cute little boutique. The girls who own the one down the road aren’t very nice. And as much as I would love to support their small business, I can’t seem to step in there without them gossiping behind my back about my single-mother status. You’d think people would be more accepting these days, but I guess being a single mom who has raised her daughter alone since day one isn’t, quote on quote, “right”, according to some people.
That’s the only downside of living in a small town.
I try not to let it get to me, so I keep my head up and take it with a grain of salt.
As far as you and I are concerned, though, they can kiss my ass.
The window to the space has been covered from the inside, but this morning, a piece of the brown paper is sagging in a spot. I’ve heard people coming and going from the back entrance, but have yet to see who owns the space. I guess we’re like ships passing in the night.
“Hold up, Autumn.”
We stop, and I peek through the opening.
Huh.
It’s dark inside, but I can see a reception desk off to one side, a nice-looking sitting area, and six adjustable chairs with stations that line the walls.
A tattoo shop. That’s what it looks like anyway.
Not what I expected, but also not out of the realm of possibilities. We don’t have a tattoo shop here in Daybreak, and the locals all travel to neighboring cities to get their tattoo work done.
“What is it, mommy?”
I look down at Autumn, who is craning her neck to see what’s inside. “It’s a tattoo shop, baby girl.”
“What’s a tattoo shop?”
“You know the artwork some people have on their bodies? They have to get it done at a shop by artists who specialize in drawing on skin.”
“Oh.”
I smile down at her because I can see the wheels turning in her head. My daughter is smart, and I have a feeling she’s going to have more questions about this tattoo shop later.
