Violet
“This coffee is making me awesome.”
Monday mornings always start the same way.
Busy.
The kind of busy where the café fills with the smell of espresso and cinnamon buns before the sun has even properly climbed up over the buildings of Lavender Creek.
The grinder whirs behind the counter as I pack down another shot of espresso. The front door opens again, the little bell chiming above it, and a rush of cold spring air sneaks inside along with another customer.
“Morning, Violet!” Mrs. Calloway says as she steps up to the counter.
In the thirty years that Mrs. Calloway ran the elementary school library, she taught half the town how to love books.. Now she mostly spends her mornings in my café with a latte, a book, and a cinnamon roll.
“Good morning, Mrs. Calloway! The usual?” I ask as I reach for a cup.
She nods. “You know me too well.”
That’s the thing about living in a small town. Everyone has a usual.
The café hums with quiet conversations and clinking mugs. Sunlight spills through the big front windows, warming the dark wooden floors. The place smells like coffee, vanilla, and buttery scents drifting in from the kitchen.
Brie Sullivan pushes through the swinging doors from the back with a tray of blueberry muffins, steam still rising from them.
She looks exactly like someone who wakes up before the sun for a living.
Her dark hair is tied up in a messy bun, there is flour dusted across the front of her apron, and she has the satisfied expression of someone who has already accomplished something before most people have even poured their first cup of coffee.
“Fresh batch,” she says, sliding the tray onto the counter.
The smell alone could probably bring half the town through the door.
“You’re my favorite person,” Maddie declares dramatically from behind the espresso machine.
Maddie Carter is leaning against the counter like she hasn’t been awake since six this morning pulling shots for half the town. Her blond hair is in a loose braid over one shoulder, and she’s watching the muffins like they might disappear if she blinks.
“You said that to me yesterday,” Brie says, grinning.
“Yesterday you made cinnamon buns, today it’s blueberry muffins. My loyalty shifts accordingly,” Maddie says.
I laugh as I finish Mrs. Calloway’s latte and slide it across the counter.
“Careful,” I tell Brie. “If Maddie eats any more pastries, she’s going to fall asleep during the lunch rush; that sugar crash is going to catch up.”
“Worth it,” Maddie replies, grabbing a muffin anyway.
“Maddie, why don’t you take a little break? I have things under control, and I have to leave soon anyway for a meeting, so you’ll be by yourself for a bit.”
“Sweet, thanks, Vi,” she says, pouring herself a black coffee and heading for the kitchen.
The bell over the door chimes again, and two more customers come in.
Mondays are always busy. But my eyes keep drifting to the clock on the wall: 11:42am.
Everett and I are supposed to meet at the theater at noon.
Just thinking his name sends a strange flutter through my chest.
It’s ridiculous, really. I have known Everett Callahan most of my life. Lavender Creek isn’t big enough for people to remain strangers for long.
But knowing someone when you’re kids and knowing them as adults are two very different things. And lately, every time I see him, something feels different.
Something warm, something easy. Which is exactly why it makes me nervous.
I pour another coffee, trying to ignore the way my thoughts keep drifting back to him. The way he laughed with my sisters, the way he danced with me at the bar, like the rest of the room didn’t exist.
The way he looks at me is like he’s truly happy I am there. I shake the thought away and wipe down the counter. Trusting someone again isn’t something that happens overnight. Not after Ryan, but Everett makes it feel possible.
“Okay,” Maddie says, snapping me out of my thoughts. “You haven’t stopped looking at that clock all morning.”
Ignoring her, I look at the clock again. “I have a meeting; I don’t want to be late,” I say in a defensive teasing way.
Maddie raises an eyebrow. “At the theater?”
“Yes,” I reply.
Maddie smirks and I give her a look.
Brie just quietly slides more pastries into the display case like she is enjoying this way too much.
“Relax,” Maddie says. “We’ll survive without you for an hour, and make sure to come back with notes to fill us in.”
The door opens again, and another small rush of customers enter, which thankfully ends the interrogation.
But a few minutes later, Maddie nudges my arm.
“Go, I’ve got this,” she says.
“You sure?” I ask.
“Yes, it’s fine, make your coffees, grab some pastries, and go to your meeting. I’ll call if I need anything, promise,” Maddie says.
“Go,” Brie says. “If it stays busy, I’ll stick around to help, I don’t mind.”
I am so thankful for Brie and Maddie. They have been here with me since day one, and I couldn’t imagine having this café without their help.
I make our coffees, grab a few pastries, and reach for my coat and purse. “Don’t burn the place down,” I say behind me as I leave.
“No promises,” Maddie replies.
I shake my head and laugh, stepping outside.
The walk over to the theater only takes a few minutes, but it’s enough time for the cool spring air to clear my head.
Lavender Creek looks the same as it always has. Small storefronts. Flower boxes in the windows. People who wave when they pass you on the sidewalk.
And at the end of the street sits the old theater. Even from the outside it looks tired.
The paint on the marquee is faded. The windows need cleaning. The big double doors have scratches across the wood from years of use. But there is something about it that still feels special.
I push the door open.
Inside, the theater smells faintly like sawdust and old carpet.
Everett is standing near the front of the lobby, looking up at the ceiling like he is mentally rebuilding the entire place. His sleeves are rolled up, and there is dust on his jeans.
When he hears the door open, he turns and smiles.
It makes my stomach do something annoying and fluttery.
“Hey, is it noon already?” he asks.
“It is, actually it's 12:06pm, so I’m a little late,” I admit.
“I’ll forgive you this time, only because you brought coffee,” he says, teasing.
I raise the arm that is holding the pastries. “And snacks.”
We walk further into the theater. As we reach the little table and folding chairs, he pulls out my chair.
“Thanks,” I say, sitting. “You have made some progress here. Things are starting to happen.”
“Ya, the floors are going to be redone, the seating in the theaters as well. Thankfully, the screens are still in good condition. I don’t need to replace those.”
His voice shifts when he talks about this place. He’s excited, more alive.
“You really love this place,” I say.
He shrugs a little like he’s trying not to make a big deal out of it.
“Yeah,” he says quietly. “I do, I just hope I do the theater and town justice. Maybe I took on too much.”
“I think you’re being too hard on yourself,” I tell him. “You have a vision and the ideas you have, the work you’ve already done, it’s great. You just have to have the confidence in yourself that I have in you.”
“I can be hard on myself, you’re right. I need to trust my gut and keep pushing through.
” He glances around again. “Some things I want to keep, though.” He gestures toward the old ticket booth.
“That stays, and the original marquee. I want it to feel modern, but still like the old theater everyone remembers.”
I nod. “I like that.”
“So,” he says. “The fundraiser.”
We spend the next half hour tossing ideas back and forth.
A movie marathon, games for kids, live music.
“And the petting zoo,” I remind him.
Everett laughs. “You’re really excited about that.”
“Who wouldn’t be?” I ask, laughing.
“Maple Meadow Farm is bringing the animals, I have confirmed that. Goats, lambs, chickens, miniature ponies, even the donkeys if they behave,” he confirms.
“That will be so much fun,” I say.
“I have started asking some business owners if they would like to participate in the silent auction, and so far we have four stores. The Hardware Store, The General Store, The Diner, and of course, my café!” I tell him
“That’s awesome!” Everett replies. “Thanks for doing that.”
There is an easy rhythm to the conversation. Like we have known how to talk to each other our whole lives.
The conversation slows. And I glance at him.
“So,” I say carefully. “How are things with your family?”
He looks a little surprised by the question. But he doesn’t avoid it.
“Better,” he says. “Still complicated though.” He shrugs. “Henry helps.”
I smile. “Henry seems great.”
“Yeah, he is,” Everett says.
He changes the subject, and I don’t push. “You know, us working together, I think it might work out.”
“Lily will be happy to hear that, she loves being right,” I say.
He laughs. “Good thing she was right about this.”
I smile and look around the theater, at the dust, the peeling paint. The potential hiding underneath all of it. I’m not just thinking about the theater, but also the potential of this growing into something more than a friendship.
“You’re going to make this place amazing,” I say.
Everet looks at me for a moment. And something soft settles in his expression.
“I hope so,” he says.
For a second, the world feels very small. Just the two of us standing in a quiet theater.
Then Everett checks his watch.
“What time is it?” I ask.
“Almost two,” he says.
“I should probably get back to work before the town thinks I’m slacking,” I joke.
“Violet, I think everyone here knows you’d never slack on anything.”
I smirk as I tilt my head to the side. “Thank you, that means a lot,” I say.
Neither of us moves right away. And I have a feeling we are both thinking the same thing.
That working together might end up being the best part of this whole fundraiser.