Chapter 5
CHAPTER FIVE
ETHAN
I’ve had my fair share of shit coffee, but the sludge in this cup might be the worst I’ve ever tasted. There are so many grounds, my mouth wants to start chewing.
Disgusting.
I pop off the top of the sunny-yellow travel mug and dump the entire contents of the gas-station coffee onto the concrete. Some splashes onto a tuft of wispy grass poking through the cracks, and I half expect the grass to shrivel up and turn to dust.
A middle-aged woman climbs out of the small sedan parked at the pump across from mine. The salty breeze lifts the tips of her gray curls and the fringed ends of her leather jacket. She glances from me to the brown stain on the concrete and back again. “You didn’t like your coffee?” she asks.
I came here for coffee and a full tank, not a conversation.
Except there’s something about her that reminds me of Mom. Since I wouldn’t want someone being rude to my mother, I brace myself for the long haul. “Not particularly. It tasted like tar.”
Her brows come together. “I’ve never heard of anyone not liking the coffee at Mugs.”
“This wasn’t from Mugs. It was from here.” It’s the only other place I could find that sells coffee early in the morning.
The woman’s eyes widen. “You’re a brave man. I don’t think the coffee pot in this station has ever been cleaned.”
Well, that explains the grounds. I press my lips together, trying not to gag.
“I just assumed, when I saw the cup, that you’d gotten it from Chloe,” she goes on.
If only. “I’m banned from Mugs,” I say. At least until I develop a “better attitude.” Not sure that’s even possible at this stage in my life.
Her lips part in surprise. “How come?”
My smile feels more forced than usual. “Being too personable.”
She laughs so loudly that the guy at the next pump over starts staring at us. “What kind of coffee do you like?” she asks.
“Black. No sugar.”
She snorts an amused sound, like she can already tell that flavor suits me perfectly. She wouldn’t be the first person to think so.
“Tell you what,” she says. “You pump my gas, and I’ll save you from drinking tar.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, I’ll get you a coffee from Mugs.”
I don’t even have to think about it. “It’s a deal.” One I’ll gladly take. Last night, I ordered a coffee maker, but it won’t arrive until next week. Back in Philly, they would’ve had it shipped and delivered by this evening.
This doesn’t bode well for the construction supplies I’m waiting for, either.
The woman slides her card into the slot, chooses the cheapest fuel pump, and then drags it over to me.
When I was little, there was a gas station near our house where workers used to pump gas for customers. Mom always loved going there, especially when there was a foot of snow on the ground.
I click the hold in place and round to the front of my new accomplice’s car to grab the squeegee from the side of the trash can. After shaking it out, I lift her wipers to give the windshield a good clean.
Scrubbing off the bugs is kinda satisfying.
Maybe I missed my calling. At least in this job, no one would get hurt.
I push that thought to the back of my mind. Now isn’t the time to spiral.
Twenty-three dollars later, the pump clicks off.
I put it away, replace the gas cap, and close the hatch. The woman shouts her thanks from the window and tells me to follow her to Mugs. Instead of parking where Chloe might see me, I pull into a spot beside a rusted old junker.
The lady parks right next to me, then steps out of her car, motioning for me to roll down my window.
“Give me your mug,” she says.
Oh, yeah. The mug. The one that currently looks like the drain pipe on a public toilet. Not sure I can bring myself to drink out of this thing ever again.
I drag a twenty from my wallet and hand it to her instead. “Mind grabbing me a new one?”
“No problem. Want anything else?”
I’ve had breakfast, but my options for lunch are scarce until I get to the grocery store. If I have her grab me lunch now, I could work straight through and wouldn’t even have to get to the store until tonight. I take out another ten. “Can you get me a Reuben too?”
“Sure thing.”
The fringes on her jacket swing as she makes her way through the parking lot into the tiny yellow coffee shop. With my window open, I hear the chime of the front doorbell as she walks in.
This solves today’s problem, but what am I supposed to do the rest of the week? I can’t exactly wait for a good samaritan every day, can I?
The woman comes back in record time, a brown paper bag in one hand and a yellow travel mug in the other.
“Thanks,” I say, my lips kicking up into a smile. “Sorry, I never got your name.”
“It’s Lily Jane.”
“I appreciate it, Lily Jane.”
The first sip might not be as hot as I’m used to, but it’s still a damn good cup of coffee. A bunch of screaming cats kept me up half the night, so caffeine isn’t a luxury today; it’s a necessity.
“Whatever you did to that sweet girl must’ve been pretty bad if she banned you from Mugs,” Lily Jane says.
My smile fades. I wouldn’t say it was bad at all.
Do I feel mildly guilty for being rude yesterday? Maybe. But the sentiment came from an honest place: a boss should be held at a higher standard than regular employees. They’re responsible for the entire operation. If they’re not there keeping an eye on things, shit can go wrong fast.
Lily Jane blows out a breath, no doubt hoping for some scandalous tale instead of silence.
But what happened between Chloe and me is no one else’s business, no matter how much they might’ve helped me out.
The woman chuckles to herself but still doesn’t leave. “Same time tomorrow?”
I blink at her.
“From the way you groaned when you took that sip,” she says, “I assume you’re gonna want more coffee tomorrow?”
I did not groan. If I did make a noise—and I’m not saying I did—it was probably more of an appreciative hum.
I don’t want to bother this lady any more than I already have, but I’ve been told I’m even less pleasant when I’m not caffeinated. Maybe I’ll be doing everyone a favor by taking her up on the offer.
“How about eight?” I’ll be up at the crack of dawn, but I can hardly expect her to be the same. I’ll grab some instant coffee to get me by until then.
“Eight it is…?” She glances at me expectantly.
“Ethan.”
“See you here tomorrow at eight, Ethan.”
“See you then.” With my window back up, I take another deep sip.
Maybe lukewarm coffee isn’t so bad after all.
The wheel on my shopping cart squeaks like a rusty hinge as I push it down the cereal aisle.
There are brands here I haven’t seen in years.
I didn’t even realize they still made Lucky Charms. As kids, my brothers and I used to love this stuff.
How we got away with eating a bunch of freeze-dried marshmallows for breakfast, I’ll never know.
Wyatt would get a kick out of this. Maybe I should grab a box or two… or three, since they’re three for two. I won’t eat them for breakfast, but cereal makes a great late-night snack, and heaven knows I’ll be working hard enough to earn it.
Now to grab some milk, and I’ll be all set.
I round the corner only to collide straight into another cart that happens to be driven by a certain smiley barista.
“Oh, I’m so sorry!” Chloe chirps, pushing off the handle and slipping her foot from the rung beneath her cart. When our gazes meet, her eyes narrow. “Oh, it’s you.”
I recognize that stance. Wyatt was a fiend for riding around on Mom’s shopping cart. “Were you just riding on your cart?” I say.
Her chin lifts. “So what if I was?”
“Aren’t you a little old for that?”
“You’re only as old as you feel, Sir Butthead.”
Oh, I’m a knight now. Isn’t that great?
She whips her cart around, but we end up in the spice lane together, walking side by side. Her cart is perfectly straight and quiet, while mine wobbles and squeaks like hell.
Her gaze drops to my cart, and she laughs. “Three boxes of Lucky Charms? Aren’t you a little old for that?”
Walked straight into that one, didn’t I? “Someone told me you’re only as old as you feel.”
She takes my poor attempt at humor as an invitation to reach right into my cart and snatch out the jar of instant coffee I threw in.
“Oooh…” Chloe spins the jar around in her hand, pretending to read the label. “This looks delicious. You’ll have to let me know how it is.”
I snatch it back, setting it carefully next to the frozen wings so the glass doesn’t shatter.
Although maybe broken glass would make it taste better.
“I figure anything’s better than the lukewarm slop you’re selling.
” I don’t know why I say it. There’s something about this woman that makes me want to rile her up. Probably her false air of constant joy.
She laughs, but it’s as tight as her smile. “A man who thinks he knows everything about everything. How refreshing.” Chloe pushes her cart a little faster, her golden ponytail swinging back and forth ahead of me.
I hang back for some peace, and when I reach the personal items, I stop at the deodorant section, hunting for the brand I like.
Chloe stops just behind me, lingering at a shelf of products very much not meant for me.
She starts humming a tune—not quietly—and I turn my back. Good grief. Life isn’t a musical.
When I finally find the deodorant I want and toss it into my cart, I realize it’s a lot fuller than it should be. An oversized bag of sugar? I definitely didn’t put that in there. Sunflower seeds for birds? An absurdly big jar of sauerkraut, and—lube?
Chloe snickers just behind me.
I twist to face the culprit. “This is what you do for fun?”
Her grin grows wider. “Just the PG version.”
PG version, huh? I lift up the lube. “And what am I supposed to do with this?”
“It might come in handy when you get into a tight spot.” She presses her lips together like she’s biting back a laugh. Truth be told, I have to do the same.
She brushes past me with a lightning-fast wink, pushing her cart towards the register. The store is getting busy with evening shoppers, so I quickly dump out the crap Chloe added to my cart and line up behind her.
As she’s loading her juice onto the checkout belt, a guy strolling past lets out a low whistle.
“Hey there, sweetie,” he calls. He grins beneath his douchey wraparound sunglasses, which are pointed right at Chloe’s tanned legs peeking from beneath her light-blue dress.
She glances over her shoulder with a tight laugh as she hands the cashier her card.
“Keep walking, genius,” I growl under my breath, loud enough for him to give me a double-take.
Chloe finishes paying and leaves without a goodbye.
Which is fine by me. It’s not as if throwing shit in my cart makes us friends.
I start dumping my items on the conveyor belt, spotting one last addition she left behind: a pack of “slim-fit” condoms. The cashier reaches for them, and I push them back across the belt.
“Not mine,” I mutter. Next time I’m in here at the same time as this cashier, I’m buying a pack in my size just to save face.