“Uh huh,” I said, lifting my latte glass up to breathe in the smell of coffee. “Cinnamon,” I said, remembering a game Iggy and I had played as kids, where he tested me on what was in things. Apparently, I had a sensitive palate. “Star anise. Caramel. Vanilla. Nutmeg, and… hmm. Cardamom?”
“Cardamom,” Iggy confirmed. “No one ever gets it and sometimes I think about taking it out of the blend, but I think it really rounds out the flavor profile.”
“Look at you, talking about flavor profiles like an expert,” I said, a surge of pride welling up in my chest.
“I wouldn’t call myself an expert,” Iggy said, the tips of his ears turning pink under the few strands of hair covering them.
“I would. Own it. You’ve done so well for yourself, I’m so proud of you.”
“What about you?” Iggy asked. “I didn’t ask yesterday.”
“I’m in IT. I’d tell you about it, but there’s a real risk you’d fall asleep,” I said, finally sipping my coffee.
Iggy was right about the flavor profile. I’d been worried it’d be too sweet, but it wasn’t—there was just barely enough caramel to taste, and I could really make out the toasted notes.
“Holy shit,” I murmured, taking another too-big sip and burning my tongue in the process, wincing as it flowed down my throat. “Wow.”
“Would’ve been better if I made it,” Iggy muttered, but he was smiling behind his cup, eyes sparkling like they always did when he was having fun.
I’d missed that. I’d missed all of him.
“I bet,” I agreed.
“Tell me about the job anyway,” Iggy said. “I’m meant to be resting, if I fall asleep it’s a good thing.”
I laughed, but if Iggy wanted me to talk to him, it seemed like the least I could do.
“I handle physical installation, training, and maintenance for networking systems, primarily in medium-sized enterprises,” I said, painfully aware of how dry that sounded. “Well, I say Ihandlethe physical installation, but I have lackeys for that. I’m not the one fishing the wires through the ceiling, I’m the one sighing in the corner until someone else gets it right.”
“Wow,” Iggy said. “You’re right, that sounds… soul-crushing.”
“It’s a living. I get to see the world. Well. The west coast and Midwest parts of the world, anyway. I’m always on the road, I don’t even have an apartment of my own. I’ve got a job lined up in LA after the wedding. And it’s good money, and the places they set me up in are nicer than anything I could afford unless I sold my soul to Google or Apple or something.”
“Yeah, but…” Iggy stared down into his coffee. “I dunno. I guess you’ve always been used to it, kinda, but I dunno. I couldn’t… not have a home.”
“Home’s where the wifi connects automatically,” I shrugged. “Takes ten seconds to set that up.”
Besides, Iggy was right. I’d grown up with three different homes, and the only one that’d been in the same place the whole time was Grandma’s house, here in Otter Bay. Now it was gone, too.
Where would I even call home?
“What happened to opening a bakery?” Iggy asked.
“Life,” I shrugged. “Needed a stable job, couldn’t afford to take the risk. Haven’t baked in… eight or nine years. Haven’t had the time or space.”
Iggy’s face fell, and he peered down into his coffee.
I sipped mine again, savoring the warming comfort of it. I could see why so many people were sitting over cups of coffee in here.
“This place is nice, though. Never expected you to be running a coffee shop.”
“Coffee shops always felt safe to me,” Iggy said. “I always kind of imagined…”
“Imagined…?” I prompted when Iggy trailed off.
“Nothing. It’s stupid.” Iggy smiled wryly, holding the rim of his coffee up to his lip.
“Ignatius Beaumont, you’ve never said a stupid thing in your life,” I said. “You don’t have to tell me, but I won’t think it’s stupid.”
