Page 9

So yeah, melodramatic voicemails from my sister aren’t anything new, but they’ve tripled in the days since I ended things with Todd. My phone history makes it look like I have a stalker, not a sister.

I should’ve known that Todd, being the todd-ler that he is, would throw a tantrum the moment I ended things. Informing our families that I broke up with him “out of nowhere.”

Groaning, I grab my phone from my nightstand again, this time noticing my background is still a photo of me and Todd. We’re standing in front of an abstract painting that Todd purchased from Heath’s gallery. I study the picture, noticing Todd’s hand on my waist is limp, like he doesn’t want to be touching me. He’s also not looking at the camera, but off in the distance somewhere. A feeling of sadness washes over me… Todd and I had some good years together, where he really loved me.

Or was it all in my head?

I tap on my photos and select a recent one of me and Brooks. He’s standing behind me in line at the movie theater, giving me moose ears with his large hands. He’s grinning the way he always does, his smile so big it takes over his entire face. He’s all brightness and joy and laughter. I smile just looking at the picture.

Since I was old enough to notice boys, I’ve always gone for the dark and broody ones. The serious guys who appreciate the arts… the ones that write you poems… the ones with deep souls. Which is all fine and good until they don’t get their way and they take all that emotion out on you.

I roll out of bed to get ready for the day, and my phone rings again. I glance at the screen to see my mother is calling this time. I want to speak with her even less than I do Mildred. She’ll simply tell me to suck it up and forgive Todd, like she always does. In her mind, he and Mildred’s fiancé, Preston, are the ultimate billionaire bachelors.

Why can’t my family be as supportive and understanding as Brooks is? He’s the one person who’s always in my corner, always on my side. He’s been the most supportive person in my life since college… which is probably why Todd always hated him.

Deciding to put it all out of my mind, I turn on a Nat King Cole Christmas album on my Bluetooth speaker and throw on a little makeup since my friends will be here in an hour for coffee. I’m eager to see them and fill them in on the drama that is my life.

An hour later, I barely get the door open before Hope and Layla barrel into me with aggressive hugs. It took me a bit to get used to Midwesterners and how open and honest they are. Even their hugs are ungraceful… but I wouldn’t change them. I love how real they are.

Layla pulls back first and looks me up and down, her dark brown eyes surveying me like she’s looking for clues. Hope soon joins in the search for… I’m honestly not sure. They glance at each other with a quizzical expression.

“What are you looking for?” I ask, crossing my arms self consciously.

“Are you okay?” Hope responds a little too quickly. Her blonde curls bobbing as she shakes her head, and her green eyes shifting back and forth between me and Layla.

Layla smiles, her eyes filled with sympathy. “We’re just worried about you. Your text about meeting for coffee sounded urgent.”

My eyebrows draw together slightly, because I’m pretty sure my text said, hey girls, wanna come over for coffee tomorrow morning? I even added a heart emoji.

“Did you guys talk to Brooks?”

A knowing look passes between the two of them. It’s all very conspiratorial. Finally, they both answer no. I sigh and decide to let it go because I really need a cup of coffee.

“Hmm, okay. Let’s get caffeinated already.” I walk in the direction of the kitchen.

They follow closely behind me through the foyer and into the spacious kitchen. I purchased this gorgeous Victorian home this summer. It had always been my dream to live in an old home with lots of character. I simply had to wait for the one I wanted to come available. My parents thought I was crazy since it needed a ton of work and modernization, but my contractor made her beautiful in no time leaving just enough of the original features, such as rounded doorways and hardwood floors, so as to not remove all the character of the home. He even built me a new display case for my antique spoon collection. The outside of the house is spectacular as well, painted in various shades of brown and pink. It’s like a real-life gingerbread house.

But the crowning glory of the entire house? A long, antique bar that rests along one of my kitchen walls. I use it as my coffee bar. Not only is it a gorgeous piece of furniture, but it’s big enough to house my commercial-sized espresso machine.

I love coffee.

Everyone says they love coffee… but coffee is an art form. True coffee lovers pour their heart and soul into it.

Taking three large, white mugs from a shelf under the bar and a few long-handled spoons, I turn toward the girls and ask them what they’d like.

“Americano for me, please,” Layla says, keeping her order simple as usual.

“Will we ever get to use your fancy spoon collection? They’re too pretty not to be used.” Hope eyes the plain, silver spoons on the coffee bar.

“Absolutely not! My antique spoons are my babies.”

“You’re such an old lady sometimes,” Hope says with a sigh.

I laugh. “What’s your order?”

She perks up. “What’s today’s special?”

She knows me too well. I adore playing barista for my friends. “I’ve been experimenting with an apple pie spice latte recipe … It's pretty good.”