Charlotte
A flick of my wrist reveals I’m precisely ten minutes early. My plan is to arrive at Triple C, get a drink, and reserve the perfect table with about five minutes to spare.
I take one last look in the mirror, run my hands through my hair, and adjust my sundress.
Grabbing my backpack with my laptop and notebook, I walk through the bookstore and tell my employee, Sarah, I’m heading out.
She waves me away and turns back to restocking books.
The bell above the door twinkles as I walk out, a wall of humidity hitting me straight in the face.
I blink and shudder before walking toward the café, sweat already forming on this muggy late May day.
Welcome to spring in Maryland. Tomorrow, it could be cold and rainy.
I bump right into someone’s lean, hard chest.
My body sways a little as I scramble to regain my footing.
Two firm, steady hands grasp my biceps. I look up, and it’s Aidan.
We’re so close that I have to tilt my head back to make eye contact.
The faint smell of caramel and coffee wafts over me.
For a second, I think I could reach up and run a hand through those soft brown waves.
It’s difficult to breathe.
“Hi,” I squeak out.
“Hi,” he echoes as he smiles down at me with crinkles at the edge of his brown eyes. His dimples pop, and my knees go weak. “Are you ok?” he asks in that velvety voice.
“Yeah, I’m fine.” I take a step back from his grip, shivering slightly from the lack of closeness. “Sorry for nearly running you over. I like to be early, and I guess you do too.”
He shrugs. “It’s a habit.” His smile vanishes all too quickly. Which is a shame because it’s dazzling. He’s wearing salmon pink shorts with a green shirt, a gray messenger bag slung over his shoulder.
Fuck, he’s cute.
With a nod, he gestures toward Triple C. “Shall we?”
“Sure,” I say, and we walk in silence down the street and onto the porch of my town’s favorite café.
Actually, it’s the only café in town. There’s a Starbucks in the nearby town of Wickersville, but who wants to get overpriced drinks when you could get handcrafted lattes and support a locally owned business?
“Thank you,” I say as he holds the door for me, and we step in.
Such a gentleman.
Kacey Musgraves’s “Cardinal” plays over the café’s speakers. The aromas of coffee, caramel, and fresh flowers float over to us. I spot Nicole working behind the wooden bar, making a drink.
“Morning Charlotte. Brown leaf water vanilla latte with almond milk?” she calls over the counter. Her gaze travels to Aidan. “Let me guess, a maple cinnamon latte?”
“Brown leaf water?” Aidan asks with knitted brows.
“Tea,” she explains. “Charlotte is a weirdo who drinks tea, specifically, London Fog lattes.”
“At least it still has caffeine.”
Aidan looks at me with pursed lips, like he’s trying to remember something. “What is a London Fog?” he asks. His gaze darts back and forth between us.
Nicole answers before I do, “Earl Grey tea, steamed milk, specifically almond for Charlotte because she and milk are not friends, and vanilla syrup. Supposedly it reminds people of London.” She finishes the drink she’s making and hands it over to a waiting couple.
She shifts over to the cash register. “So, y’all want a London Fog with almond milk and a maple cinnamon latte. Anything else?”
“That’s it,” I reply and look over to Aidan.
“Uh, no.” He presses his lips together, and I follow his stare to the pastry case.
“Oh, good idea! We need some sustenance.” I pat his arm. “A cherry scone!” Aidan’s gaze travels to me and his face softens. I wink and shimmy my shoulders. “Have you had their scones? They’re amazing. Get one!”
Nicole places her hand on her heart. “I make them with love.”
Aidan eyes the case of pastries for a few seconds before saying, “I’ll have a cinnamon blueberry scone, and a London Fog latte, with regular milk.”
Nicole looks at him with wide eyes. “Are you sure? You always get a maple cinnamon latte.”
He presses his lips together. “How do you know what I order?”
With a twinkle in her eye, Nicole replies, “I’m good at recognizing patterns, like if someone comes in here every Friday morning and orders the same thing.” Her fingers hover over the register. “So, you want a London fog too?”
He nods, a weak smile on his face. Only one dimple pops.
“Ok, two London Fog lattes, one with almond milk, the other with cow’s milk, a cherry scone, and a cinnamon blueberry scone.” Nicole taps into her register tablet.
Within a few minutes, she has our drinks made and places them on the counter, with our scones on plates.
Aidan reaches into his pocket for his wallet, but Nicole waves him away. “No charge.”
He raises his eyebrows in question. Nicole and I notice the gesture. She nods and lets out a low chuckle. “Charlotte never pays here, and I give an equal discount to fellow Library Committee members.” I ignore the wink she gives me.
He says with a weak smile, “Well thank you.”
I grab my drink and scone. “Come on, let’s go upstairs.”
The floorboards creak as we make our way toward the second-floor sitting area. I find a table near the back wall that’s big enough for two laptops and set my stuff down.
I pull out my laptop and open it. He sits down at the other chair and pulls out his own computer. “I figure we’ll have one petition using . It’ll be easy and we can just send the link or use a QR code.” I look back at him. “What do you think?”
“Sounds fine.”
“I’ll dictate if you type?” I ask.
He nods. A lock of hair falls over his forehead.
I take a sip of my latte. The comforting taste of vanilla and bergamot dance in my mouth, and the warmth seeps into my bones. I close my eyes and breathe the delicious scent of the latte deeply.
“Damn, that’s good,” I muse. “I love a London Fog.”
Aidan nods and picks up his own to take a pull. “Wow, that is good, and I’m a coffee addict.”
I swish my mouth over my tea. “Can I ask you a coffee question?”
“Uh, sure.”
Grinning, I ask, “Do you think that a vanilla latte with soy milk is a three bean soup?”
An eyebrow raises and the corners of his eyes crinkle. “You’ve talked with Xander, haven’t you?”
I chuckle, some tension easing between us. “What’s the difference between a soup and a hot beverage? Sometimes, they’re made of the same things.” I shrug. “Milk is a common ingredient in soups and hot beverages. Hot cocoa could just be chocolate soup.”
He chuckles. “You drink hot cocoa, but you eat soup.”
I palm my hand on the table. “Yeah, but what’s the difference?”
His computer dings, and his face falls. He looks down and furrows his brow. “Shit,” he mutters under his breath.
“Am I annoying you that much?” I take a bite from my scone.
Aidan flashes a concerned glance. “No, no, not at all. I find this rather riveting, even if I’ve had this discussion with Xander before.
Your arguments are better formed.” He sighs.
“I had an incident with a student yesterday, and I asked his mother for a phone call. She’s insisting I call now instead of the times I suggested.
” He picks up his phone and studies me for a second.
“Do you mind? It should only take a minute.”
“Sure.”
He nods.
“Are you going to call them?” I ask.
He chews on his lower lip and breathes deeply a few times. “I don’t like parent calls.” Muttering a few curses under his breath, he taps his phone and then puts it to his ear.
I shift my shoulders and go back to my laptop, where I’ve pulled up my list of to-do items.
My head snaps to attention when Aidan starts talking with confidence. It’s completely different from his soft, rolling voice from before. “Good morning, Ms. Hartlett, this is Mr. Talbot, Jackson’s English teacher.”
I shudder and mouth, “I’m sorry.” I can guess which Ms. Hartlett he’s talking to.
He flashes a quizzical look. “Thank you for replying to my email and being receptive to a phone call. As you know, there was an incident yesterday in fifth period. Did you read the incident report provided?”
He listens to the muffled voice.
“Good, I’m glad you did. I do not tolerate those kinds of behaviors from my students, and I would appreciate your assistance in making sure that Jackson corrects his behavior.” There’s more garbled speaking from the parent. His brows knit even more than before, and his lips press into a thin line.
“Ms. Hartlett, did you actually read my email? Because what you just said is not at all what happened.” He nods.
“I see. You skimmed it. Well, I can certainly summarize the report to you, so you can get the full story.” He opens his mouth to say more, but he is interrupted by a shriller garbled muffling from the phone.
“He was definitely not trying to ‘Kobe’ it. How do I know? Well, the trash can is on the other side of the room, and the pad hit the board right behind me. From where he was sitting, it is logical to assume that he was aiming it at me. He said, and I quote, ‘Heads up’. Contrary to the fictional account he told you, Jackson threw that pad of Post-it notes at me.”
The garbled voice becomes shriller and louder. Aidan holds the phone farther from his ear, and Ms. Hartlett’s voice is loud and clear. “My Jackson wouldn’t do such a thing! He’s not a liar!”
“I see. Quick question, did you ask Jackson where he was on Saturday night? When he told you that he was going to Bradley’s for a sleepover?”
Ms. Hartlett resumes talking but muffled again.
“He was bragging to his friends on Monday that he snuck into the bedroom of Hayley Schmidt.”
The muffled voice is silent. My eyes grow wide, and I struggle to stifle a laugh. Aidan listens for a few more moments as the voice continues.
“Thank you, Ms. Hartlett. I appreciate you speaking with Jackson. I’ll see him in class. Have a great afternoon.” He hangs up the phone and sets it down, rubbing his hand over his face and emitting a low groan. “Little fucker,” he mutters.
I cross my arms and lean back in my chair to look at him. “If it makes you feel any better, his mom was the same way. I went to high school with her. She was a bit of a bully.” I grit my teeth. “I caught my high school boyfriend making out with her on Prom Night.”
Aidan’s face softens. “I am so sorry.”
“She’s one of those book banning ladies,” I remark.
“Probably our biggest opponent. She got mad at me because I had a Pride display last year. She had the gall to accuse me of selling pornography to children.” I let out a chuckle.
“She didn’t realize that Sheriff Hudson is a very out lesbian. That was fun.”
He lets out a groan. “She reported me to my principal because I have Song of Solomon as one of the books we read. Called it an offense to God.”
“Meanwhile, she’s never read the book.” I scrunch my face. “I’m sorry you have to deal with her.”
“She thinks her precious little baby is incapable of doing anything wrong. I won’t get an apology, and I can guarantee he’ll whine at me tomorrow for ratting him out.
” He lets out a half-sigh, half-groan and taps away at his computer.
“Sorry, I just need to write a note that I talked to his mom and what was said. Everything must be documented.”
“You’re fine.” I take another sip from my latte. “How long have you been teaching?”
He chews on his lower lip and studies the wall for a few seconds, then turns back to me. “Almost ten years.”
“Have you always taught at Summerville High?” I ask.
“No.” He continues tapping as he talks. “I taught at Canterbury High.” I resist the urge to boo my alma mater’s rival. “This is my first year at Summerville.”
“Why’d you change schools?”
“I was surplused.” He closes his laptop and takes a sip of his latte. His face softens, and he regards the latte with a bemused expression. “This is pretty good.”
“What do you mean, you were ‘surplused’?”
He leans back in his chair. “It’s when the school system eliminates your position at that particular school, but you have tenure and they can’t fire you. They involuntarily transfer you to another school with an opening.”
“Do you have a choice where you go?” I ask, taking another bite of my scone.
He lifts one shoulder. “Nope. You interview with different schools, and then they offer you a placement. If you don’t like it, you’re basically out of a job.”
“How do they decide if you get moved?”
“Seniority. Last one in, first one out,” he grumbles.
“It fucking sucks. I don’t like change.” He grits his teeth.
“That’s not to say that I don’t like Summerville.
The other teachers are great, and for the most part, the kids are great.
Admin is the same everywhere. Now I’ve gotten to like working here, and I just hope I don’t get surplused again.
” There’s a sparkle in his eyes as he talks.
He reaches for his scone and reopens his laptop. “Sorry, that’s enough school talk. I’ve derailed us from our purpose.”
I wave him away. “No worries. Can I ask you a question, related to the library?”
He nods.
“My high school boyfriend was Stephen Gott.”
“I heard.”
I tap my fingers against the table. “Nicole suggested that I lobby him directly. What do you think?”
Aidan lifts a shoulder. “It’s a good idea.”
“You think so?”
He leans back in his chair. “Yeah. It seems like something you would do as Committee Chair.”
I swallow. “I’ll text him.” I pull out my phone and tap away. “Would you be willing to come? If I can get a meeting and if you’re available, of course.”
A corner of his mouth turns upward. “Sure.”
A smile spreads across my face. “Now where were we?”
We fall into a rhythm. I talk while he types.
Occasionally, he offers a suggestion with regards to wording, but for the most part, it’s me who is doing most of the talking and direction.
As the conversation flows, the awkwardness between us eases.
Aidan and I have stepped from acquaintances to friends.
Progress.