Chapter 7 #2
I walk a few blocks to The Brew House to pick up a couple of cinnamon buns. Maybe the sweetness will lull Nix into a sense of calm. It’s unlikely, but worth a try.
“What can I get you?”
“Two of the bitter-sweet cinnamon rolls.” They look absolutely decadent.
The kind of thing I probably wouldn’t condone eating, but desperate times call for cream cheese frosting.
“And a maple latte.” I don’t know what it is about Vermonters, but they put maple syrup in absolutely everything.
No matter what store I’m in, there’s always maple syrup.
Candy, chocolate, cookies, and pretty much any item imaginable.
I’m used to it being a holiday specialty for the fall.
Apparently, it’s a year-round thing up here.
I’m hoping that means Nix will be excited to get his maple fill for the afternoon.
Though, what if he doesn’t like maple? Like me, he grew up with the imitation stuff on pancakes. “Hey, do you know Nix? The guy who owns the bookstore?”
“Oh, Nix. He’s a great guy. I miss his Aunt May something fierce. She really was a staple of this town.”
“You don’t happen to know what kind of coffee he drinks, do you? I’m trying to bring him a treat, but I’m not sure if the maple latte is the right pick.”
The guy eyes me for way too long. Clearly, I’ve made some sort of grave error. The question is whether this guy plans to tell me about it or simply glare at me until I figure it out.
“If it’s for Nix, I’d get the Firehouse cold brew. That’s what he usually gets in the afternoon.”
“Perfect, then I’ll take that instead of the latte.”
“Anything for yourself.”
“I’ll pass.” The cinnamon bun is already more than enough sugar for me.
A few minutes later, I’m walking in the front door of Tannenbaum Books, holding one highly caffeinated beverage and two sweet treats. Hopefully, that’s enough to bring Nix over to my side.
“So? How’d it go? Did the guy know what the problem was?” Nix pounces on me the minute I walk in.
“I got you a cold brew.” I force the drink in his general direction.
Maybe that’ll distract him long enough for me to pull him into the back room.
Away from customers. Something tells me he doesn’t want them to hear all about his issues.
Even after a few days, I know the small-town rumor mill is like nothing I’ve ever seen before.
These people work faster than teenagers, and that’s saying something.
“That’s…really sweet of you. How did you know my favorite?”
“Just lucky, I guess.” I send a silent apology to the barista who helped me. Please don’t let him rat me out when I’ve finally done something useful.
“Okay, tell me what the plumber said.”
I steer Nix toward a back bookcase, far enough away from any prying ears.
“It’s not good. Basically, the pipes gave out.”
He gasps and covers his mouth. “How is that even possible?”
“They’re old.” I shrug. I’m sure there’s some scientific explanation, but nothing my one college biology class is going to help me with. “A bunch of them are going to need to be replaced.”
He cringes. Yeah, I get that. As much as I hated giving up my house, I’m not sad to be away from those kinds of responsibilities for a while. No matter what I did, there was always something else. Fix the dishwasher; the sink gets clogged. Get a new washer; the dryer breaks. It’s an endless cycle.
“All the details are on this sheet, but you should know that they said you won’t be able to live there for at least a week.”
“Oh, my God.” Nix goes a shade of white that would impress a ghost.
“Hey.” I grab his elbow to steady him. “It’s fine.”
“Fine? I have a house that’s going to cost a small fortune to fix, and nowhere to stay while the work’s being done. I’ll have to call around and see if Just One Bed B it’s just…I open my mouth to make the correction when Nix cuts me off.
“Okay. If you’re sure, I don’t want to be an inconvenience.”
As if Nix could ever be anything but a joy to be around. “If anything, I’m the one causing the issue.” I start the mental list of things I need to do to prepare for him to become my roommate tonight. Pick up the stuff strewn around from my suitcase. Hang up an extra towel. Change the bedsheets.
“I’ll stop by my house and get a few things and then come back tonight.”
“Perfect.”
It is perfect. So why does my stomach feel like someone twisted it up like a pretzel?