It’s a Brewtiful Day (The Coffee Loft Series: Fall Collection)

Chapter One

“It’s a brewtiful day, Sage. Welcome back.” Was it wrong that the staff all knew my name? Probably a sure sign of where my extra money went. At least they were all A+ employees.

I gave the barista with a pleasant smile a slight nod. “Good morning, Molly.”

“Same as usual?” She had her fingers poised over the screen.

Every day for the past three months, or at least every working day for the past three months, I’ve made it my mission to stroll into the newly established Coffee Loft as casually as possible and order my favourite hot beverage – a maple twist macchiato.

“Yes, please, and in my usual cup.” I pointed to the recessed wall where different-sized mugs were displayed in a seven-by-seven configuration. “I’m in no hurry this morning.”

“Sure thing. Lofty size coming right up.” She punched the order in and looked up at me. “Anything else?”

“Well…” I stared at the menu board before glancing toward the display case full of yummy pastries and waist-padding delights. “As much as I want to, I’ll just stick to the coffee.” Even if they all looked delicious .

What I wouldn’t give to have a wicked metabolism to go along with my healthy appetite.

“Have a seat, and we’ll bring it out as soon as it’s finished.” Molly turned and grabbed my usual lofty-sized mug—the same colour mauve as Monica and Rachel’s apartment with the show’s name across the front.

Shifting the stack of books I carried into my other arm, I crossed the quaint space and made my way to the rich velvet-covered wingback chair nestled into the corner. When I came in, if it was empty, it was a sign that I needed to sit down and read at least a few chapters of the latest romance novel piled on my short stack of reads. Plus, the music was quieter in this corner, and I had a better view.

Of the scenery.

And of him.

Tucking my perfectly barrel-rolled waves of honey blonde hair behind my ear, I tipped my head down while glancing at the highly choreographed dance behind the counter. Baristas bent and ducked, moving fluidly between each other, all set to the rhythm of hisses and gurgles and of metal spoons stirring against metal containers.

It was neat to watch, but it wasn’t the whole reason I liked this vantage point. Guess he wasn’t working today.

Setting my stack of five books down on the tiny knee-height table, I chastised myself for not having brought my canvas bag; the one with the words Booked on a Feeling . It would’ve made it easier to exchange books from the take-one-leave-one stops along my way to work.

Whoever decided it was a good idea to set up a Little Free Library near the fire station was a genius. As part of my daily habit, I checked it out every day, bringing the old and wasted books with me to work. There I’d turn the books with torn and stained covers, and full of ripped pages, into a beautiful flower or a book tree.

I never just took the books, I was always exchanging them with older, yet not as popular titles from the bookstore two doors down where I worked – Pages my pants had done a great job already.

“I understand.” His shoulders slumped. “See you later?”

“Tomorrow for sure.”

His shoulders pushed back at the suggestion and it made his chin jut out a teensy bit. “I’ll have your drink ready for you. What time?”

I inhaled, and a small smile tickled the edges of my lips. Was he as excited to see me again as I was him?

There’s no way that was possible. He was just being an incredibly sweet barista. It had to be part of the training.

Releasing my breath and trying to act as casually as possible, I pushed up onto my feet, standing slightly shorter than him. “About the same time?”

“Are you asking me or telling me?”

I tipped my head down and rolled my bottom lip between my teeth as my heart hammered out a fast-paced beat. “I’ll be here at nine-thirty.”

“Perfect. I look forward to it.”

“As do I.”

I unwrapped my hand and passed him the cloth. I gathered the books and stepped off to the side, turning quickly.

Elliot was quick. He already had my mug in his hands and had rewashed the tiny table. He waved and smiled. “Tomorrow. Nine-thirty.”

“I’ll be here.”

“Bring a plastic bag for your books.”

I laughed, tipping my head back slightly as my hair fell off my shoulders and draped across my back. “Indeed.”

His mouth opened, shut, and opened once again. “Hope your hand will be okay.”

“The least of my worries.”

“Have a brewtiful day.”

With a spring in my step, I left the Coffee Loft behind and breathed in the fresh autumn air. Finally, things were looking up.

* * *

In the humidity-controlled Pages it was the tourists who didn’t. Because our strip of stores wasn’t on the main drag, most missed it, unless they walked around and happened to spot it.

She tucked her wallet into her purse. “Heading to the BC interior from Lloydminster. Going to check out Lake Louise on our way.”

“It’s lovely this time of year, and now that school is back in session, it shouldn’t be crazy busy like it is in the spring or summer.”

I made it a habit of never visiting Banff and the area during the summer; it was wildly packed with tourists. I pushed the bag toward her.

“Don’t forget to stop by and caffeinate at Coffee Loft. They have the best maple twist macchiato. Although their Pumpkin Spice is nice too.” Suddenly, I had a pang for that sweet caffeine and sugar rush. I didn’t even get a taste of my maple twist. The books, the table, and the floor had all the fun. “You should check them out.”

“I absolutely will.” She grabbed the bag and strolled over to the door.

Most quaint little shops had bells over their door to let the workers know when a customer entered. I felt it took away from the charm and solitude of the place and campaigned pretty hard to Harvey, the owner, to remove it, especially since our checkout desk was at the door. I didn’t have to twist his rubber arm too hard, and he relented, agreeing.

We’d also moved two comfy chairs into the middle of the store so customers could peruse the book at their leisure, and we reduced the volume of the music to make the place more appealing. It worked. Customers—locals and tourists—enjoyed spending time between the pages inside our store, and many times we needed to remind them when the store was closing. But that worked to our advantage since they usually went home with whatever book they’d been deeply ensconced in.

I rearranged the book-page paper flowers on pipe cleaner stems in a vase, putting the larger ones on top. At first, Harvey had not been onboard, but when I added them to the database and started selling them, suddenly he was full steam ahead. They were easy to make, customers loved them, and they were a great way to upcycle the worn and damaged books from both the customers and the Little Free Library. A triple win.

As I was pulling the pipe cleaners off the shelf and adding the good glue to my collection, another customer walked in and with a heavy thump, set a box of books on the counter, narrowly missing the bag of craft supplies.

“You take used books, correct?”

I nodded, pushing my shoulders back. “I don’t know what you’re Tolkien about.”

His eyebrows pushed into a deep frown. Guess he wasn’t that type of a customer.

“Yes, we do, but only as a donation. We don’t buy the books, but we do offer you a one-to-one discount for future purchases for any that we keep.”

“Nah, I don’t want any discounts. I don’t need more. Trying to clear out the shelves.” He opened the box, and I peered inside.

They all looked like trade paperbacks, aside from the one hardback without its dustjacket. “It’ll take me an hour or so to go through all these and see what we’ll keep.”

“Just throw out whatever you don’t need. I don’t want it back.” He spun on his heels and was out the door before I could protest.

“You have Gatsby kidding me,” I said with a light chuckle before a heavy sigh blew out.

This was an ongoing problem. People dropped off their old books and ran. Half of the books were stained and beyond being turned into anything worthwhile, and those that were in decent shape were either super out-dated or we had copies of them already. There weren’t many used bookstores or thrift shops left in the country that needed copies of any of the Harry Potter series. There was only so much I could do with them; book trees and flowers, or making them into a hidden storage by cutting out a one-inch-deep square inside the pages.

One by one I pulled out the used books, instantly sorting them into damaged, acceptable, and like-new condition. Sadly, the damaged pile was already dwarfing the acceptable condition stack.

The door opened again and my heart fluttered.

Elliot.

Not in a million years would I have expected him, of all the gorgeous men in Jasper to walk through that door right now. His shy smile caught me off guard and my brain started to fizzle and sputter.

“Hello,” I said as calmly as possible, although there was nothing about the man that kept me calm. Just being in his presence raised my temperature and my pulse to embarrassingly high levels.

“Hey.” He walked over and set a takeaway cup on the counter. “This is for you. Your maple twist macchiato from earlier that I dropped on the floor.”

“You mean the one I let go of.”

He shrugged, but the corners of his mouth tipped upward. “Yeah, something like that. ”

“Thank you. This is a sweet surprise, and I was just starting to crash from the lack of caffeine.”

“That’s a sure sign of addiction, you know.”

I leaked out a small smile. “Then I’m a huge addict.”

“It’s customers like you that keep us in business.” He winked, and I nearly folded like a deck of cards.

For good measure and to wet my rapidly drying mouth, I took a sip. It was the perfect temperature, and the taste was magnificent with just the right amount of maple. I set it on the counter behind me, lest I somehow knock it over again.

“Thank you, Elliot. I appreciate you bringing me a fresh cup of coffee.” Wow, it was a rare treat to have anyone bring me something out of the blue; it was even rarer that the gift was coming from a sweetheart of a guy.

“You’re most welcome. It was the least I could do.”

“The least you could’ve done was nothing, so this is a giant step up.” A faint rush of heat flooded across my chest and neck, threatening to make me look like a thermometer.

Gently, he reached out and touched my fingers, and as he did, an electric jolt thrummed from my fingertips straight to my heart. “How’s the hand?”

I lifted it for his inspection. “All good. A little red, but nothing to worry about. The coffee wasn’t that hot. ”

“Is that why you like it at a lower temperature?”

Of course, he was smirking, but that wasn’t my reason. “I am clumsy, but I like it lower because I prefer to enjoy it right away, not hours later.”

“That makes total sense and something I’d never considered before. We should have that as an option – an ‘enjoy me right now’ temperature.” He glanced around the store, head bobbing as he scanned. “You know, I’ve never been in here before.”

“Like never?” I found that hard to believe.

“Nope.” He popped the p sound. “I’m not much of a reader. Brand new books are too expensive.”

My hand flew to my chest. “Oh, my beating heart, for real?”

He faced me and shrugged. “Plus, we were always forced to read in school, and I hated the books they chose. I wanted something fun, exciting, not a book where you needed to analyse every syllable and wonder why the author chose to use the word cerulean as opposed to sea blue or some nonsense.”

“Yeah, forced reading does take the fun out of it. But there’s lots in here that are good books. Fascinating reads.”

“Have you read them?”

I had to laugh. “No. I’ve read maybe one percent of them. I tend to be picky about what I read.”

“Right.” He nodded. “You’re always reading the romance books.”

“There’s nothing wrong with that.” Twice in one day, I felt the need to defend the genre. It was a crazy feeling.

He tossed his hands up. “It’s okay. I’m not criticizing you.” Stepping closer, he leaned on the counter and a stray curl fell across his forehead. “My sister reads them and loves them. Says they’re a great way to weed out the losers.”

I had to laugh, although that part was true. The men in romance books were usually amazing; beautiful yet perfectly flawed. Not like flawed-flawed and evil. I’d dealt with enough of those in real life to know I never needed to be with that type again.

“Are they the most sought-after books here?” The curiosity was ripe in his tone.

I pursed my lips together. “No, not really. There are some voracious romance readers in town, but I would say our bestsellers tend to be those written by local authors, either fiction or non-fiction. They’re huge hits with tourists as they want something unique. However, like the customer earlier, they also want a page-turning read to get them to their next destination.”

“Yeah. They’re like that with the coffees too.”

“For road trips, coffee is an absolute necessity.”

He shifted on his feet. “And a good playlist.”

“With singable songs.”

“Duets, preferably. ”

“Really? Never thought about duets.” The only duet I could think of off the top of my head was Islands in the Stream but as I gave a solid once over Elliot, he didn’t seem the country western type.

“A must. Have you ever gone to karaoke?”

“Never. A singing voice I do not have.” I took another sip of my coffee and then resumed my book sorting. Embarrassing myself publicly, and on purpose, wasn’t a type of fun I enjoyed.

“Too bad. I love karaoke.” He lifted one of the books off the damaged pile. “How old is this relic?” He flipped through the warped and yellowed pages.

“If I had to judge by the cover, which you should never do,” I said with a wink. “I’d guess…” I gave the cover a solid assessment, looking at the typography and the images. “Maybe 1955?”

Elliot flipped to the copyright page and ran his finger down the length. “Wow. Great guess. You’re off by a year, but still.”

“I know books probably like you know coffee.”

“Speaking of which, I need to get back. Nina sent me on a quick errand. We ran out of almond milk, so I needed to dash to the store. I was only going to drop your coffee off and be on my way, I didn’t think it would turn out to be the high—” He shut his mouth with a quick snap. Whatever he was thinking though flashed across his face and he needed to fan his shirt .

I couldn’t help but watch the ripples shimmer down his shirt and as I gazed up over his neck, and over his reddening ears, the brown curls were dancing in the breeze. Blinking, I tore my gaze away and refocused on the pile of books.

“Well, I need to get going.”

“Alright.” The word was weak and wispy, very much like my breathing.

“See you tomorrow? Nine thirty, I believe?”

“Yes.”

“Perfect. I look forward to it.” He tapped my finger, once, twice, and turned. A moment later, he was gone.