I can’t help but laugh softly because she’s so full of joy and energy, and a small flare of mortification follows. I’m not here to be charmed. Then again, I can’t imagine anyone coming here and not feeling better when they leave if she’s the one to greet them.
“Happy to be here. I’ve been looking forward to it.”
Her eyes widen and her smile grows even larger, somehow. “Amazing. Okay, well first, let’s get you some coffee and food, and then you can tell me everything.”
I swallow past the dread immediately hitting my bloodstream. She doesn’t mean that, and I don’t have to tell her anything I don’t want to. Plus if I’m going to reallylivehere, I shouldn’t be such a cagey weirdo. I can’t imagine dumping all my dirty laundry at their feet and seeming like someone they want to know. I’m just not used to someone expressing interest before they even know my name.
Maybe that’s the small-town effect?
I’m going to need to figure out how to navigate this. What I want is small-town life but the anonymity of the city.
“I need something with espresso, but if you have a favorite drink, I’m open to suggestions. My gas station coffee yesterday had me longing for something with a little more oomph.” I am babbling a bit, but I’ll take that over shaking hands and an impending tension headache any day.
“Okay, well, I have a snickerdoodle latte people loved so much that I’ve kept it on the menu even though we’re way past Christmas, or I have our local flavor, but it’s pretty unique.”
She sees my raised eyebrows and grins. “It’s ourJV latte. We lovingly call our little town JV because it’s the initials, but we also sometimes feel like we’re the JV team and Silverton is the varsity town. Anyway—people are really into that metaphor even though it doesn’t make sense. So. We use juniper berries to make a syrup. It’s sweet and peppery and aromatic. I like to tell people if they know they like juniper flavororthey like to try things a touch different, it’s a great option. But if you like a tried-and-true, we’ve got all the classic flavors, too.”
I’m intrigued. But I also need to be able to drink the entire thing and because of that, I say, “I love that it’s so local. But I think for today, I’m going to take you up on the snickerdoodle.”
“Perfect. Give me just a few minutes.”
I find a table next to one of the windows facing the park. Despite the chill in the air, people are out, walking dogs and heading to work and living their lives. I chose this place because the population issmall. Like less than a thousand people, from what I read, though even here there seems to be sprawl that probably doesn’t count in that number. But I also chose it because I’ve never lived in a small town and there’s something about it that feels so wholesome and safe and lovely.
Here's hoping.
I’ll forever be grateful to my friend and former boss for mentioning it, and eventually, I’ll track down our mutual friend who moved here last year and did the very thing I’m hoping to do—start a new life.
Might take some getting used to the whole small-town vibe if they expect me to share a bunch of details, but so far, I like the warmth of this place already. I can step inside, enjoy the heat, and then leave it. My visit to CornerCoffee Shop is a near-perfect metaphor for how I want to function. I want to come and go as I please. I don’t want to owe anyone anything, and I want the space to figure out what else I want once I have the first boxes ticked off.
“Here we go.” The barista sets down a tall pottery mug glazed in the same lovely vivid green of the door. “All the mugs are made by one of our local artists.”
The first sip is heaven and my eyes shut so I can block out other inputs and enjoy the basic pleasure of the moment. I’ve promised myself I’ll work on noticing and partaking of simple joys. This delicious, flavorful sip is truly delicious, especially with the watery poor excuse for coffee I’ve had while traveling.
Eventually, I’ll get back to being someone who knows how to enjoy these experiences without trying.
Right?
“I also got you a croissant as a little welcome.” As I open my eyes, she slides the plate onto the table, then takes a seat across from me.
I immediately reach out and pull the golden-brown croissant toward me, my stomach clutching with hunger. I haven’t been eating well and this looks like a dream. I wish I could say I think about refusing it, or that I realize this offer of kindness might come with strings.
“So, tell me everything!”
My heart sinks. I don’t actually know how to just… do that. I hate it, but my reflex answer streaking through my mind is, “Maybe I’m too broken to do this.” There’s this unspoken mode I’ve been in that tells me I need to just keep moving, keep working, keep going, and all will be well. But that doesn’t work here, and I honestly haven’t thought about what that means or how to handle this exact scenario. I’ve only hoped to avoid it, and now here I am on day two, having to dig out of a hole I stumbled into.
“Oh, um…” I shove one end of the croissant in my mouth and start chewing like the action will somehow distract from my inability to at least tell her my name.
“Hey, I’m sorry if I’m nosy. I love meeting new people, but I know sometimes you just want to come have a coffee and do your own thing.” Her expression is more measured now, and she glances to her left.
She exchanges a look with the man I spoke to when I came in. I’m scrambling internally to figure out how to rewind the last thirty seconds and make myself un-awkward.
That’s a thing, right?
“This is delicious.” It’s not much, but I hope it’s better than nothing, then realize there’s one more essential here. “I’m Sam.”
She smiles and it seems genuinely joyous.
“Oh, good! Those are also locally sourced. And I’m May. Also, let me introduce you to my brother.” She stands and walks over to the only other person not tucked away behind headphones staring at a screen. “This is Declan. He’s one of the doctors in town. Super nice guy. Oh my gosh, I forgot to ask, do you already have a place to stay lined up?”
