Chapter Eight
Oliver
I trudge up to the lodge, prepared for another coffee-less, caffeine-less day, but stop in my tracks the moment I walk through the door. Austin bumps into me and mumbles, “Sorry,” as he steps to the side and past me to join the growing line for breakfast.
Stepping around the breakfast line, I slip into the small kitchen where Mom and Danielle are hard at work serving the participants who are just as groggy as I am. I follow my nose to the back corner.
And there it is.
A single-serve coffee maker with a still-steaming mug of coffee perched beneath the drip.
And a sticky note that says, “For Oliver,” in feminine handwriting.
I look around, expecting to find my fairy godmother lurking in the shadows, but Mom and Danielle are the only other people in the kitchen, and they’re not even paying attention to me and my life-changing discovery. So I pick up the mug and bring it close to my mouth to blow on it.
It smells strongly of vanilla, and I instantly know it’s not my usual preference, but after the day I had yesterday, I’ll take just about anything that looks like an espresso if you squint just right.
I continue to blow across the top of my coffee as I walk back out of the kitchen and get in line for whatever breakfast Mom and Danielle cooked up this morning.
Sadie appears at my elbow as I take my first sip and wince at the overwhelming vanilla flavor. The smile she had on her face immediately falls into horror.
“Oh no! Do you not like it?”
I look down at her and then back to my steaming mug. “You did this?”
She shrugs, her cheeks turning a pretty shade of pink. “I did not not do it.” She looks back up at me with a smile.
It’s that smile that gets me to take a second sip, even though I hate it.
And as hard as I try not to, my lips press into a tight line, triggering Sadie’s verbal vomit.
“I’m so sorry, I didn’t know what kind you like, so I just got the assorted pack. And I didn’t look, I just popped one in this morning.”
The line moves and we move with it as Sadie continues to apologize. I bump her arm with my elbow, enough of a shock to get her to stop talking.
“Sadie, it’s really fine. It’s no espresso, but I’ll live.” To prove to her I’m not lying, I take another, longer pull from the cup. I would give just about anything for an espresso, but right now, this cup of vanilla French roast is the most delicious thing in the world and I drink it like it is. “Where did the coffee maker come from anyway? Didn’t you say it was broken yesterday?”
“Oh yeah,” Sadie says nonchalantly as she makes it to the front of the line and grabs a tray from the stack and pushes it toward Danielle with a smile. “I ran into town and picked one up. No biggie.” She steps to the side, mumbling thank yous to the two ladies in the kitchen.
I take my own tray and follow after her, wanting to catch up and tell her that driving into town and buying a coffee maker just for me is not no biggie, but she slides onto a table bench next to a set of bleary-eyed camp participants. She greets them with a smile, which the group returns with only a little hesitance.
I slip in next to her, even though I want to steal her away for myself and find a way to properly thank her. Something that involves an alcove, zero prying eyes, and my lips on hers.
But I decide that blatantly breaking the no purple rule in front of participants would not be the best way to win brownie points with the beautiful woman beside me, so I settle for a “good morning” for the group of teenagers and a light tap of Sadie’s foot with mine.
After a moment, she taps mine back.