Next, I boot up the two desktop computers that run our operation. One for customer service, one for processing online orders. They’re old and temperamental, but Valerie hasn’t had the budget to replace them since buying the business. We’ve been doing so well though. I bet she could in no time.
While the computers start up, I sort through yesterday’s mail, separating bills from advertisements from the occasional personal letter addressed to Valerie. The mindless task soothes me, ordering the chaos into neat, labeled piles. Then I fill and start the coffeepot for myself. Since I hadn’t been able to at home.
I log into the business end of our website on the first computer, navigating to our order system. Three new orders came in overnight. A rush print job for wedding programs, a set of business cards for a local real estate agent, and fifty copies of a community theater playbill. I print the invoices and clip them to their respective folders.
The coffee machine beeps, and I pour myself a small cup, savoring the bitter warmth. Eli always complains about my coffee. Too strong, too weak, too hot, too cold. Just another excuse to act the way he does. Usually, Valerieshows up with fancy coffee in the mornings, but since I was here first and needed some, I decided to go ahead and make some.
I line up sheets of “Do Not Bend” stickers on the counter, placing them next to stacks of mailing labels I’d printed yesterday for the local cafés and boutiques that use our services. The organization calms me. Everything has its place here. Including me.
The back door chime rings, and I look up to see Valerie stepping inside. Her long, normally straight, blonde hair is windblown from the morning breeze. She’s wearing her usual, jeans and a graphic t-shirt, this one advertising some indie band I’ve never heard of and a thin sweater. It stays pretty cool in here all year round. She balances two cups from the coffee shop down the street in her hands.
“Sorry I’m late,” she says, despite the wall clock showing 9:30. Which is opening time, anyway.
I smile. “You’re not late.”
“I brought reinforcements.” She sets one of the cups beside my half-empty mug of coffee. “You look like you could use the good stuff. I thought I was going to be late anyway, so I grabbed your favorite and asked for an extra shot of espresso this time.”
I don’t ask how she can tell. Valerie has an uncanny ability to read my moods, to see past the mask I carefully construct each morning. She doesn’t push, doesn’t pry, but she notices.
“Thanks.” I take a sip of the fancy latte, appreciating the creamy sweetness. She really does remember exactly how I like it. “How was your night?”
She shrugs, hanging her sweater on the hook behind the counter. “Boring. Fell asleep watching that documentary series I told you about. The one with the cults?”
“Did you finish it?” I ask.
“Nope. Conked out halfway through episode three.” She pulls her hair back into a long ponytail. “Oh, Mia’s visiting family today. She won’t be in.”
I nod, feeling a small pang of disappointment. “I’ll miss her shenanigans today.” Mia is the third in our trio.
“She texted at like 5 AM. Something about her brother needing help moving back into town.” Valerie moves behind the register, counting the till with practiced efficiency. “How far did you get in that book I lent you?”
The question catches me off guard. I’d nearly forgotten about the romantasy Valerie had pressed into my hands last week, insisting I’d love it. I did start it, but I haven’t been able to finish it yet.
“About halfway,” I say, not wanting to disappoint her. “It’s good.”
Valerie’s arches an eyebrow, then continues. “Well, when you get to the part where Kalden dies, prepare yourself. I sobbed for like an hour.”
My eyebrows shoot up. “Spoilers, Valerie!” I raise my voice a little, laughing at her. “Kalden dies? But he’s your favorite character!”
“I know!” She leans against the counter, eyes bright with enthusiasm. “That’s what makes it so good. The author doesn’t pull punches. It feels real, you know? Not like those books where you know the main characters have plot armor.”
“Damn, now I’m scared to keep reading.” I’m not lying this time. I’ve grown attached to Kalden, the reluctant hero with a troubled past.
“You have to. It’s worth the emotional trauma, I promise.” She tosses me a knowing look. “Besides, you’re the queen of dark romance. I figured you could handle a little fictional heartbreak.”
I laugh, the sound surprising me with its authenticity. “Fair point. Dark romance is different, though. Even when it’s tragic, there’s usually some kind of... I don’t know, redemption? Healing?”
“And fantasy can’t have that?” She challenges, eyebrows raised.
“You just told me your favorite character dies!”
“Keep reading,” she says with a mysterious smile. “That’s all I’m saying.”
The door chime interrupts us as our first customer of the day arrives, a harried-looking businessman needing copies of a contract. I slip into work mode, processing his order while Valerie helps another customer who enters shortly after.
The morning passes in a comfortable rhythm of customers, phone calls, and processing orders. Around noon, during a lull, Valerie and I eat lunch together at the small table in the back room.
“New book coming out today?” she asks through a mouthful of sandwich.
