Chapter Five Coffee Is Life
Meri
It wasn’t my turn to be at the lobby reception desk but I found myself there since it seemed like everyone else had been drawn elsewhere so here I was.
I didn’t mind running the desk. For the most part I would either read a book or get some writing done on the computer for one of my upcoming releases until I was interrupted by a guest or a member of my family.
Taking a quick look around to see if anything needed my attention, I set down a copy of a thick romanstasy novel on the desk. The Lantern Letters sign was askew, so I rotated it to face the entry more directly so it would catch the attention of guests when they approached the desk.
Maple Ridge had a habit of putting on festivals. My mother would say that’s because it was a happy town. My slightly more cynical father would say it was a way of raising revenue before agreeing to take Mom to whatever festival was currently happening.
I felt like my parents were polar opposites who somehow happily tolerated each other. I never had quite understood it.
I looked up from my book to see a couple standing near the edge of the counter reading through the sign together, their voices low and steady as they worked through whether or not they wanted to participate.
I decided they didn’t need my attention and went back to my book, hoping to find out what was in the hidden tunnel.
“Is this tonight?” the man asked, tapping the edge of the sign advertising the Lantern Festival with one finger.
“It begins tonight," I answered, meeting his gaze briefly before returning it to my book. “It starts after dusk and runs until the end of the weekend."
“And anyone can participate?” the woman questioned.
“Anyone can," I said, lowering my book. “All the details are on the poster there."
Her partner nodded at that, then added, “What do people usually write?”
“Whatever they choose," I replied. “There isn’t a format."
“It seems like a lot of people might get upset if someone wrote something awful," the woman said, though she sounded as though she was still deciding.
“Usually it’s nice things people write, or even poetry, or thank yous they didn’t get to say in person," I said with a shrug. “I guess it helps to resolve emotions. Most people love the festival."
I had never been to the festival, but Mom raved about it. She and Dad had grown up in Maple Ridge and had sent love letters to each other at the festival. They planned on doing it again this year.
She nodded once more, then picked up one of the pamphlets and thanked me before the couple wandered away from the lobby.
“Do people usually participate?”
I looked up and found Aryn standing at the far end of the counter, his posture relaxed as he picked up a pamphlet from the small stack. His attention moved from the brochure to me, steady and direct.
“Some do," I said. I figured he deserved an equally dumb answer to his silly question.
I found that a lot of people would start questions with unnecessary observances or social constructs like asking people how they felt when they didn’t really care about the answer. I personally would rather they got to the point.
“Do they write anything specific?” he continued, glancing briefly at the pamphlets.
“People write whatever they choose. It’s anonymous. My mom says it’s the perfect time to get things out in the open. It can relieve a lot of people of their burdens," I replied.
He shifted his weight slightly, then looked back at me. “Do people regret it?”
“I suppose some might. I really don’t know. I’ve never participated," I said with a shrug.
“Really? Why not? Don’t you have things you would like to write and have people read?” Aryn questioned, watching me intently.
For some reason, I looked away. I wasn’t always comfortable with eye contact. “I just recently moved to town."
“‘Bare your heart without consequence’," Aryn read from the pamphlet, raising an eyebrow. “I think if anyone puts two and two together, there would be consequences."
“Anyone who participates knows the letters are on display. They shouldn’t write things they don’t want revealed to everyone in town," I dryly mentioned.
“I suppose so. Although, it runs the risk of someone lying to create some drama," Aryn murmured as he continued to read the pamphlet.
I rolled my eyes and was about to reply when we were interrupted.
“Meri," Kitty called from the hallway, her voice carrying ahead of her, “the coffee machine isn’t working again, and you’re better at that sort of thing."
“I’m manning the front desk. Someone needs to replace me," I mentioned.
“Well, I need to start helping with lunch soon, and I would have asked Dad, but you know how he is with that machine," Kitty told me.
I sighed, gave a longing glance at my book, then followed Kitty.
“It stopped again," she added, glancing over her shoulder. “I pressed a few buttons, but that didn’t fix it."
“Pressing buttons at random doesn’t fix things," I said, following her.
“At least I tried," she insisted.
We reached the coffee station and I saw a bunch of abandoned mugs on the counter which told me the problem had been persisting for a while.
The whole point of having coffee available for guests to make was to take pressure off the kitchen to constantly have to serve.
We offered coffee and service during meals, but otherwise guests were encouraged to use the machine.
We only had ourselves to keep the inn running smoothly and Jane had a huge chunk of the labor by being in charge of the kitchen.
Shoving a few coffee mugs out of the way, I opened the side panel of the machine, hoping to get a look at what might be going wrong.
“It made the coffee too thick for me this morning. It was quite sludgey," Aryn commented near my ear.
I jumped, my elbow flying out and clipping him on the chin. I stared at him as he straightened, rubbed his chin and frowned at me. “What are you doing? I didn’t expect you to be right there!”
“I was just having a look at the machine with you," he explained before muttering “I think that might bruise."
“You can’t just sneak up on people like that," I protested.
“He was here the whole time," Kitty informed me.
I glared at her too.
“I’m going to let you handle this," Kitty decided, wisely retreating.
I grabbed an empty mug, setting it under the dispenser and set up the machine to go through a cycle in hopes of determining where things were going wrong.
Aryn picked up the manual from where it had been left open, probably by Kitty who likened most manuals to hieroglyphics, and turned it toward himself, scanning the page with a slight frown. “This isn’t written clearly."
“It isn’t," I said, checking that the water line wasn’t kinked. “Most manuals aren’t."
“That makes it difficult to follow," he replied, setting the manual down again.
“It does," I said.
He leaned slightly closer to the machine, his attention narrowing as he studied the controls. “What’s the issue?”
“The cycle isn’t completing ," I told him..
“So it stops early," he said.
“Yes." I put the half mug of almost coffee to the side and unplugged the machine so I could take the cover off.
“What are you doing?” Aryn asked, getting too close again.
I felt a shiver go down my spine and I tried to ignore that he was in my space, risking another elbow to the chin. “Trying to see if anything is loose."
“So you run an inn, and dabble in coffee machine repair. What else do you do?” he questioned.
“Not much," I told him, wishing he would back up and give me a little space. It was weird having an audience while I poked at screws and wires.
“Do you read much? I saw you had a book at the front desk," he mentioned after a moment.
“Yes, I read," I responded.
“Was the book you had A Compass of Kingdoms by Jo B? Which book of the trilogy are you reading?” he persisted.
I blinked, wondering why he was pursuing conversation with me. Most people didn’t unless it was over a shared interest and Aryn Levich didn’t strike me as someone who would chat with a socially awkward girl like me. “The Middle."
“Oh you must be getting to the point where the town is trying to drown Keegan because they think she’s a witch." Aryn stopped abruptly. “Sorry. I shouldn’t spoil it for you."
I paused in putting the cover back on the coffee machine, tilting my head to look at Aryn in surprise. “You’ve read it?”
“Sure. It’s a great series. Although, you can tell it’s from the beginning of the author’s career and has a few issues with plot holes, but overall the characters and story are captivating," Aryn commented. “There’s even rumors they might make a film. I was hoping the same would happen for my favorite series Ember and Ink. I think it would make a great movie, don’t you? ”
“I should probably clean the machine. Kitty and Lydia never seem to do it," I murmured, changing the subject and trying to reconcile the fact that the action hero actor beside me was really a medieval fantasy reader.
“Meri! There you are. I wanted to introduce you to someone," came my mother’s voice, bright and cheery, which could only mean trouble.