18. This morning calls for mimosas
Eighteen
THIS MORNING CALLS FOR MIMOSAS
Liv
“My parents always said animals aren’t meant to be cooped up. Cats especially. They’re hunters, and they need to roam,” Viv says, raising her shoulders then letting them fall. “Maybe Mae is right.”
I nod, entertaining the thought, but I’m not entirely sure I’m comfortable with the idea yet.
We pass The Tavern, where the woman who brought our drinks on Friday is watering the flowers.
“Morning, ladies!”
“Morning,” we call back in unison. Joanie, was it?
“You ladies staying over at the Huffman House?” she asks, making small talk as we approach her.
I hate small talk.
“Yup! How’d you know?” Viv asks. We stop in front of Joanie as she cuts off the spray of water from the hose.
“It’s the only B&B in town.” Joanie pops a hip and places her hand on it. “How long ya here for?”
“Until Sunday, sometime,” I say. There is something vaguely familiar about Joanie, though I can’t quite place what it is.
“Well—” Joanie looks up at the building, appraising it.
Short white-blonde hair exposes a small tattoo of a sun and moon that sits at the base of her neck.
I’ve seen that tattoo before. I’d have sworn Claire had one on her wrist just like it.
“We’ve got Sitcoms of the 90s and 2000s Trivia this Wednesday night.
It’s mostly locals, but obviously anyone is welcome to play.
Anyway, you ladies should come on by and try your hand at beating me and my team! We’re the reigning champs.”
Viv scoffs. “Joanie—it is Joanie, right?”
Joanie nods.
“You don’t know this about me, of course—how could you?
I am a sitcom expert. Liv, here, can vouch for me.
I know everything there is to know. I was raised on sitcoms of the 90s and 2000s.
So, uh”—Viv blows a hot breath on her nails and polishes them on her shoulder—“you’re going down. Count us in.”
The woman’s eyes find mine. There’s something about her that’s both friendly and incredibly intimidating. If I had to guess, little gets past Joanie. The best I can offer her is a nod of agreement because it’s true. Viv really is oddly knowledgeable about sitcoms. It’s borderline strange.
“You’re on,” Joanie says with a look of steely determination. “Names?” She looks between Viv and me.
“I’m Liv. This is Viv.”
“Liv and Viv, huh? That’s not confusing at all.” Joanie lifts one manicured eyebrow. “Alright then, Liv and Viv. Stop by my bar any time, but make sure you’re at least here on Wednesday. I’m looking forward to the competition.”
“Oh, you own this bar?” I ask.
“Bet your ass I do, chickadee. The Tavern’s been in my family for generations.”
“So, you’ve lived here in Maple Cove your whole life, then.” Viv states the obvious. She’s so much better at small talk than I am.
“Yep. Everything I need is right at my fingertips, and the people aren’t so bad, though every town has its whack-a-doos. Most of them I’ve known my whole life, though. It’s a good little town—lots of heart here.”
“How will the heart feel when we kick you off your trivia throne, Joanie?” Viv taunts.
Joanie laughs, a loud appreciative sound. “We’ll see about that. No one’s successfully knocked me off yet. Until Wednesday, then.” She tilts her head up, smirking like she has some secret and no one’s privy to it, and resumes watering the flowerpots.
There’s a glaring difference between walking down the street in Maple Cove and walking down the streets of Manhattan.
Here, everyone stops to talk, or leisurely sits on benches sipping coffee.
At least three times, shop owners opening up or people out on their front lawn to pick up the morning paper stopped us to say good morning, asking how we’re enjoying our stay.
You’d think we have “tourists” stamped across our foreheads.
I suppose that’s how it is in a small town—people recognize when someone new comes through.
Not in the city. So many people—so many faces—pass you daily.
People are so wrapped up in what they’re doing or where they’re going that you’re lucky if they even see you as you pass.
If you say good morning, you have a fifty-fifty chance of being ignored or looked at like you’ve grown an extra head on your shoulders. You just never know.
I never really paid much attention to that before. Having experienced a small taste of Maple Cove, I quite like the feeling this small town gives. It’s pleasant and inviting, a stark contrast to the city, which can often feel cold and solitary.
We arrive at The Cove Café, a small bistro that offers breakfast sandwiches, coffee, alcoholic and non-alcoholic refreshments, among other things, and we take a seat at an outdoor table. The cafe is quiet. Maybe it’s still early for the people of Maple Cove, or maybe this place is struggling too.
Reg, the owner of Maple Cove Treasures, walks out the door with a coffee and a bag in hand.
“Hey, Reg!” Viv calls. Reg turns his face in our direction, looking at us over the rim of his glasses. He grumbles back something inaudible, but we get a small smile and a head nod, so I think that’s a win.
“Every town has its crotchety old man. Seems you’ve met ours.
Don’t be fooled. He’s the sweetest grizzly bear you’ll ever meet.
What can I get you ladies started with?” The waitress, Rachel—with rich chocolate hair cut into a jaw-length bob and big brown eyes—drops off a couple of menus.
She takes our coffee order and leaves with a promise to be right back.
“Do you think this town is always this adorable? It’s so different from the city,” Viv asks, perusing the menu.
“I have no clue, but I kinda love it.” My eyes scan and land on the croissants. Mmmm, I’m gonna have to try one of those.
“Agreed. Hey, have you heard anything else from Jerry about your mom?”
“Not since his text asking for an address.” My knee bounces under the table. “I have to assume if he’s sending something it’ll be here soon, right?”
“You’d think so.”
I still don’t even know what I’ll do with the information once I have it, but the thread of hope that ignited when I contacted him to find her burns hot.
“Okay, tell me about this morning. You said you wanted to wait until we were seated. So, now we’re sitting, lay it on me, sister.” Viv has set her menu down, clearly having decided what she’ll be ordering.
Rachel returns with our coffees. She takes our order and leaves Viv and me alone. Viv is on the other side of the table, looking at me expectantly. I blow out a breath and tell her about my near-kiss with Luke.
“I just don’t get it, Viv. I’d have sworn he’s attracted to me. Like literally every sign points to the fact that he is, so what on earth happened?”
Rachel is back again, this time with our food—a massive croissant and eggs for me, French toast for Viv. Her timing couldn’t be more perfect. I’m ready to wallow in my rejection with a delicious croissant.
“Can I get you anything else?” she asks.
Viv gives me the once-over, then comes to her conclusion. “This morning calls for mimosas. Can we have a couple glasses of Prosecco with just a splash of orange juice for color, please?” Viv pinches her fingers together to signify just how little OJ.
“Done!” Rachel beams.
Viv leans against the table, clasping her hands like she’s preparing to deliver some awful news.
“Okay, first, let’s be very clear: whatever happened this morning is not a you problem.
It’s a Luke problem. I need you to hear me when I say this, Liv.
There is not a single thing you could have said or done that would elicit that reaction from him unless you punched him in the penis.
Which, according to what you told me in your story, did not happen. ”
I roll my eyes.
“So, you did nothing wrong. Got it?” She’s giving me her best stern face, as if she’s really trying to drive the point home. So, I nod, otherwise she’d stare at me like Sunny does when he’s hungry and expecting to be fed—relentless until he gets what he wants. My best friend isn’t much different.
“Maybe he has a girlfriend, and he remembered she existed right as he was about to kiss you. This feels unlikely though. I’m not picking up sleazy vibes. Oh! I bet he had a huge boner because, honestly, look at you, and one wrong move and he’d blow in his shorts.”
The feel of him against me comes rushing back. My cheeks burn hot from the memory.
“Perhaps he has a dark past that you remind him of, which scares him. Honestly, the possibilities are endless, but if I had to bet, most likely he’s just a really great guy who's into you—and maybe he’s just gentleman enough to want to take it slow.”
“Take it slow? Vivian, we’re here for what? Eight more days? I don’t think going slow is an option. If I’m going to even consider doing this, I think we need to pick up the pace a bit.”
“Here’s what I think you should do. Pretend this morning never happened.
You are unbothered by the near kiss. It’s not even on your radar.
Wear cute clothes that make Luke drool and pretend like it doesn’t even matter.
You’re just here to live your best life.
It won’t take him long to come crawling because, girl, you’re irresistible. ”
“Not true,” I interject. “All the men I dated before very much resisted me. I think I need a shirt that says, ‘Maintain a ten-foot distance at all times.’”
Viv rolls her eyes and ignores my comment. “Look, if this is a guy you want to tickle your sexy spot, then you need to care less and live your life like you’re not hanging on every interaction with him. He’ll come crawling. They always do.”
Rachel chooses that exact moment to bring our mimosas to the table. She looks between us and sets our glasses down.
“Want me to bring the bottle back?”
“Sure do. Thanks, Rachel,” Viv answers.
“Oh my goodness! She heard all of that.” I plant my face in my hands.
Rachel comes back with the bottle, pauses for a moment, lips pursed, before deciding something.
“I’m sorry. I overheard a little of what you two were talking about.”
Yup, there it is.
Viv looks up, very interested in her insight, while I can feel my face flaming red all over again.
“I agree with your friend. You act like whatever happened—or didn’t happen—with the guy isn’t a thing. Dress cute, maybe cuter than usual but keep it casual, and he’ll come running. They always do. Nothing makes a guy hungrier than a girl who isn’t chasing him down.”
“She gets it!” Viv reaches up to give Rachel a high five.
We spend the rest of breakfast giggling and reminiscing, sipping, and ordering more to munch on.
Each time Rachel comes to check on us, we steal her time a little more and learn she’s an art teacher at the elementary school in town.
Through the café, she hosts a paint and sip night on Fridays.
It’s a small crowd who takes part, but occasionally some tourists join too, she says.
So, we reserve a spot, even though I’m a terrible artist.