Chapter 8
Caleb
“Earth to Caleb.” Henry waves his hand in front of my face, a confused frown on his face. “What’s going on? I mean, it’s not as if you overflow with words and enthusiasm on the daily, but usually, you manage to at least greet Jensen.”
My eyes jump to him. He’s worried.
Not because I’m messing up his coffee. I’ve got that down to a T, no matter how distracted I might be. Every movement, from prepping the espresso to frothing milk, is ingrained in my mind. I can do that on autopilot, even when my thoughts are miles away.
“Sorry,” I answer gruffly and put his to-go cup down in front of him.
“What’s going on?” he asks, and leans his elbows on the counter. The café is empty aside from him and Jensen. As it is almost every morning, when he pops in to get his wake-up coffee and to catch up with me while I’m preparing for the day.
I could barely sleep. Whenever I drifted off, I heard Lauren’s voice in my head again.
I’m leaving at the end of next week.
It’s laughable, really. I have no claim on her. Hell, I’m not even sure if she likes me. I think she might. But maybe if it’s wishful thinking. Now, all of a sudden, it doesn’t matter anymore.
People leave. I knew that. So why do I still have an aching pain in my chest?
I reach under my counter, taking a treat for Jensen out of a bag.
His ears immediately perk up. He turns around himself, tail wagging and announcing his excitement with a swift ‘Awooho’.
I round the counter, and Henry drops the leash.
Jensen immediately darts my way, jumping at me with a force that makes me stumble backwards and almost fall on my butt.
I make him do a few tricks before throwing the treat his way, then crouch down for a proper ‘hello,’ which includes getting my face licked with his beef-breath tongue.
It buys me some time to think of an excuse, because I’m not giving Henry the satisfaction of admitting that Lauren has me all up in my head. No way in hell.
“There’s this young woman in town,” I finally say, after Jensen has stopped trying to lick my face. “She seems familiar, but it’s not coming to me.”
When I glance up, I see him furrowing his brows. “I think I know who you mean. Brown hair, black-rimmed glasses and a red coat?” I nod. It’s reassuring to hear that he noticed her too.
“Yeah. With the last time strangers turned up here, I’m apprehensive.” I run my hands through Jensen’s fur one more time before I get up.
“She came in here three days ago, looked at me funny and then bolted outside as if she’d seen a ghost. But she’s been coming here every day since then, sitting in the corner by the plants, and only ordering from Shawna.
” I scratch my neck. She’s usually here when it’s too busy to keep an eye on her, but I can sense her watching me. “Something feels off.”
“Do you want me to ask around? Surely someone from Wayward Hollow can tell us more about her?”
“No.” I shake my head and draw my shoulders up, hoping for the muscles in my back to relax. “I’m sure it’s nothing.”
“If you say so.” He shrugs but continues to eye me with a worried frown. “Tell me if you change your mind. If she’s stalking you, we should loop in Erik.”
“Henry, don’t make a mountain out of a molehill. I’m sure it’s nothing.”
He frowns, clearly not believing me. Even Jensen seems like he’s had enough and is ready to call me out on my bullshit.
“Sure. I won’t.” He reaches for his coffee and takes a sip. “For now.”
“Do you already know what you’re doing for the Christmas market?
” Henry is back just before I close up, sitting in his usual spot.
He’s got dark bags under his eyes, and his complexion rivals the milk in his coffee.
That probably means he had to deal with horses today, which he’s really not a fan of, to say it mildly.
I give him a blank stare.
“Like every year, I will keep the café open for all the freezing folks who want to come in for a hot drink and to escape the nasty cold,” I reply dryly.
Henry shakes his head, pursing his lips. “You’re missing out on all the fun!”
“The fun of standing in the cold for hours and freezing my feet off? No thanks.”
He takes another sip of his coffee and purses his lips. “It’s one of the downsides, sure, but put on some thick wool socks and you’ll be fine.”
“I’d rather not.” I roll my eyes and reach for a cloth to wipe down the counter.
The dishwasher is running in the kitchen with a steady hum, everything else already shut down and cleaned. Once it has finished and I put everything away, I should be good to go home.
But suddenly my doorbell announces another person entering.
“We’re closed.” I say gruffly, but freeze when I realize it's Lauren who enters. She’s wearing a bright red coat, tailored to her waist before falling in an easy flare down to her knees, trimmed with soft white along the cuffs, hood, and hem.
Fuck. I want to be annoyed with her, pissed about her leaving, but that coat is too ridiculous to even think about that. It makes her look as if she’s Santa Claus’s daughter. I can’t even be mad. “Why are you dressed up as Little Red Riding Hood?”
“Hey!” Lauren scolds me with mock outrage. “It’s fashion.” She does a twirl, making the flared fabric flurry through the air. “And it’s cute! Perfect to get into a Christmas mood.”
That’s when I notice the box she’s holding in her hands and the mischievous twinkle in her eyes.
“What are you doing here?” I ask slowly.
She completely ignores me. “Oh, hi Jensen.” Lauren sets down the box, and then leans down to greet Henry’s dog, who is equally enthusiastic to see her.
“Henry, can you be a darling?” She blinks up at him with her big blue eyes and a grin that has the promise of shenanigans written all over it.
“That depends.” Henry narrows his eyes at her, clearly skeptical too.
She reaches into her pocket, pulls out her car keys and throws them at him. “I have a few boxes in my car. Could you help me carry them inside? You have such nice, long arms that are just so perfect for carrying boxes. I promise they’re not too heavy.”
Henry rolls his eyes, seeing right through her honey-sweet voice, but takes her keys. “I’m parked in front of the flower shop.” She shouts after him.
“What the hell is going on?” I ask her, crossing my arms in front of my chest.
Her eyes are darting around the room, a sly grin tugging at her lips, and she’s evading my eyes. She’s got something planned.
Something I’m at least going to pretend I disagree with.
“You know?” she says, straightening her shoulders and walking closer, slowly putting one foot in front of the other, arms behind her back and blinking up at me with innocent, wide eyes.
“I think you could do something to make the atmosphere here-” She waves her hand through the air. “More welcoming. Jolly, I might say.”
“The atmosphere here is great, thank you very much.” The door chimes as Henry comes back inside with two giant boxes stacked in his arms. It's a wonder he made it back in one piece. He can barely see past them.
“Well, I disagree. It’s Christmas time.” She grins as slaps her palm on the counter, then grimaces when it hurts and shakes her hand. “It’s time for holly, for pine garlands, fake snow on the windows, a mistletoe above your door.”
“Not a chance,” I say dryly, but her grin only widens.
“I think that is our cue to go,” Henry says with a chuckle. He puts on his coat, then calls Jensen over and picks his leash up from the ground. Before I can protest, he lifts his hand for a wave, motions for Jensen to walk ahead and lets the door fall closed behind him.
Suddenly it’s eerily silent in the café. You could hear a pin drop. For a moment we stare at each other.
Right. It’s the first time the two of us are alone since I dropped her off on Thanksgiving.
Do I mention it? Apologize? Or hope she forgot about it?
Okay, considering the blush spreading across her cheeks, I can tell the latter is not the case. Fuck. Did I mess this up?
“So? Are we doing it?” Lauren finally breaks the silence with a small grin and opens up the first box. “Maybe some holiday cheer will put you in a better mood too.” She ignores my deathly glare.
“Come on! Pretend I’m the Ghost of Christmas Past and I’m forcing you to enjoy the season. Here!” She throws something red and plushy my way. Instinctively, I catch it.
“You should totally wear that until Christmas. You know, instead of that beanie.” Crinkling my nose, I unfold the thing to reveal a Santa hat, bell in the pom-pom and everything. To her credit, at least it feels like a high-quality Santa hat, not a cheap discounter one.
“No way in hell.”
“Then I think the least you can do is help me put up this wreath on your door.” She holds up a fake pine arrangement that’s admittedly tastefully decorated with red and gold baubles and a red velvet bow.
As she puts it on the counter, I catch a glimpse of the box’s contents through a tiny gap.
God, it’s full of red, green, and gold in all kinds of textures.
“Lauren, I really don’t want to decorate my café for Christmas,” I say, scrunching my nose as I imagine my pride and heart decked out in tasteless Christmas-wonderland decor. She gets up, crossing her arms in front of her chest.
“Caleb, as a business owner, it’s not only about what you want.
” She tries to stay serious, but I see the corners of her mouth twitch.
“And since I’m probably your best customer at this point, I think I should have at least some say.
” She does spend a lot of time here and drinks a lot of coffee.
“And as the center of your demographic,” she pulls out a giant red bow, clearly proud of all the business jargon she’s throwing my way.
“I’m just saying, you could increase your revenue by a significant percentage if you got people into a Christmas mood.
Happy people drink and eat more. I’m sure there is a statistic somewhere to back me up. ”
“Sure there is,” I say, voice dripping with sarcasm, and I cock my eyebrow. But deep inside, I already know I’ve lost. I can’t even be mad at her, not when she grins at me in that way that makes my heart flutter.
“Want to bet on it?” she grins and pushes the wreath my way. “Do you have nails and a hammer?”
I look at her for a second, then another. My shoulders sink dejectedly, and I shake my head. Let’s be real, I never had a chance.
“You do realize that I’m going to lock you in here and not let you leave until you take all of that shit down again once Christmas is over?” I mumble and pull open a drawer that holds several tools. Screwdrivers, knickknacks needed to fix the coffee machines and a hammer.
“Fun,” she says, her whole face lighting up when I place it on the counter. “To make space for Valentine’s Day decorations, you mean?”
“No, absolutely not.” I say gruffly, knowing it falls on selectively deaf ears.
But when her sweet giggle fills the room as she turns her back to me, I realize I might just let her do whatever she wants. Even though every single time I see the decorations will make me miss having her around.