9. Tasha
CHAPTER 9
Tasha
A week after the flare-up, I was feeling great and back to my normal schedule, which meant on Tuesday at 5:20 a.m., I was chopping vegetables for the slow cooker before my shift at the Coffee Loft. Parfait had followed me to the kitchen, mewing his demands to be fed. I dished out some kitty salmon, cued my phone up to my morning playlist—on low volume so it wouldn’t wake Monty—and got to work.
I hummed along to the upbeat music, dicing carrots and cucumbers, chopping zucchini. Did I want to add steak or chicken to this one?
Definitely steak. I’d had enough chicken in my Recovery Soup last week. I set my knife down and turned toward the fridge.
“Oof! Sorry, Barfy!”
“Mew!” he protested.
“Well, don’t try to trip me on the way to the fridge!” I stooped down to scratch his chin and run my hands along the sleek striped fur on his back. “Who’s the ugly old kitty?” I asked in a deep, silly yet condescending talking-to-pets voice. “ It’s you! You’re so ugly. Yes you are, yes you are!” I touched my nose to his as he purred like a car motor. “Old fat ugly kitty!”
“His name is Parfait, and he’s not fat or ugly.” Monty’s groggy voice carried over the kitchen island to where I was squatting on the floor.
I scooped the cat into my arms and stood to face him, momentarily frozen as I took in his morning Monty-ness. Tousled hair, sleepy eyes, minty fresh vapors strong enough to inhale two feet away. Fitted tank over his monstrous muscles.
I raised my eyebrows and glared at him while I tried to get my words to work. What was wrong with me?
I was watching too many cheesy Christmas in July lovey-dovey movies, that’s what. Had to be.
I swallowed and lifted my chin. “So? He has no idea what I’m saying, do you, boy?” I rubbed my face in Parfait’s neck, inciting deeper purrs. “He loves me. Always has. Right, Barfy?” I kissed him on the head between his ears. “Good boy!”
“Hmm.” He blinked away his heavy-lidded gaze and cleared his throat. “Sounds like I need to have a chat with him about wolves in sheep’s clothing.” Monty’s grogginess fell away a little bit with each word, and by the end of the sentence, his normal, arrogant tone had replaced the kinder, just-woke-up voice.
“Aren’t you supposed to be moved out of here by now?” I asked. He skirted around the island and reached out to rub Parfait’s head. His pale toes peeked out of his beat-up discount store fuzzy slippers like a turtle poking its head out of its shell. The sight of them took me back in time to when we were inseparable, both irking me and warming my heart. Why had he kept them all these years when he could afford the best slippers money could buy?
“Beck said by the end of the week. There was a delay on permitting to knock down the wall around the toilet. They’ll be starting that today.” He held out his arms, and Parfait scrambled into them.
Good. The clock was running down on this roommate thing. Then I could blast my playlist again.
I washed my hands and collected the steak and a homemade gluten-free marinade from the fridge. Monty’s gaze never left my knife as I cubed the steak.
“You don’t have to wait until I’m finished,” I said. “There’s plenty of room in here for you to make your protein shake.”
He shrugged. “I figured I’d just stop by the Coffee Loft once it opened.”
I pressed my lips together, wondering why he would bother with the morning rush when he could make it himself here in the peace and quiet. I much preferred to drink my coffee at home.
I glanced at the mug of pumpkin spice that I’d been sipping. Yeah. Much better to drink here in peace than at the café.
But to each his own.
In a rare burst of kindness that even surprised me, I said, “If you come over with me when I leave, I can make it for you before the rush.”
Monty lifted his head, and his eyes locked on mine. His lips parted, then closed, as if he’d decided not to say what was on his mind.
“Or not.” I shrugged at his rejection. Wasn’t the first time. Wouldn’t be the last. Not like it was an olive branch or anything. I was just trying to save the guy the time and hassle he was setting himself up for.
“Maybe another time.” He avoided my gaze and slid off the stool, setting the cat on the floor. “I, uh, have some work I was planning to do there today.”
Work? What kind of work did he do?
“For the charity,” he added. He must’ve read my thoughts. “Several Edge players want to donate to the auction this year, so I need to figure out what I want from them.”
I’d forgotten about his charity. Each year, his parents held a Valentine charity gala to raise money for whatever organization was trending and needing financial support. Several years ago, Monty added a silent auction to the event to raise money for the kids in the oncology units at local hospitals. This past year, Penny had played her harp at the event, and Xavier had attended with several of his teammates. They’d left inspired and wanted to contribute. Some of them had even joined Monty during his Ridgie visits at the hospitals.
I didn’t say anything as I opened the drawer that held the various types of kitchen bags and wraps. What was there to say? I couldn’t razz him over that. I dumped the meat into a large Ziploc bag and poured in enough marinade to coat the pieces. I’d run home from work on my break and add them to the pot once the marinade had time to seep in.
There were a lot of perks to living so close to work.
Montgomery Biddington being within walking distance wasn’t one of them.
I cleaned up my mess and washed my hands again.
5:57.
“See ya,” I said with a wave, grabbing my purse as I rushed out the door. I didn’t turn around to see if he waved back. I took the stairs faster than usual, my heart pounding.
Why was it pounding?
No need to dwell on that. I took a few long breaths as I exited the building and crossed the parking lot to the strip of buildings that lined Main Street.
I punched in the code and slipped inside the back door of the old saloon-turned-cafe and into the Coffee Loft’s kitchen just as the big digital clock over the bulletin board changed from 5:59 to 6:00.
Right on time. I hung my purse on the coat rack, tied on my apron, and pushed through the swinging door to the front of the shop.
With both Penny and Gabby cutting their shifts to support their guys during the playoffs, Jannell had to hire on additional staff. Betty was one of those new hires, a mother of three in her early thirties, back into the workforce after being a stay-at-home mom for eleven years. Her three kids were spending the summer with her husband’s parents in New England, and she’d wanted something to do during the day so she wouldn’t miss them so much.
Betty was one of those people who made you feel at ease the moment you met her, and by the end of the first week, she’d eased into working at the Coffee Loft like she’d been here all along. She quickly learned all the specialty drinks, could fix any tech problem that arose, and upsold at least half of all the customer purchases, offering shots of espresso or a cake pop to go, or the addition of food-grade essential oils into non-coffee drinks. She was brilliant, likable, and most important, not annoying.
True to his word, Monty arrived just after Jannell unlocked the door and entered the queue, which was already about twenty people deep with our morning regulars. Betty and I worked the registers, writing orders on cups while Jannell, her husband, Marcus, and their daughter, Marie, made the drinks.
The way the line went, Monty was next up for Betty, but he gestured for the man behind him to go ahead. I handed my customer her receipt, and Monty approached my register.
“Your usual?” I asked.
He nodded. “And a Lofty-size pumpkin spice blah-te for Nana.”
I tapped in the extra item, surprised at his change of plans. “I thought you were staying here to work today?”
“I’ll be back. Nana’s therapy was rescheduled to 7 a.m., so I thought I’d soften the blow with one of your poisonous coffees to sip on all day.”
I rolled my eyes. “They’re not poison. There are a lot of health benefits to coffee. Coffee beans are actually?—”
“I know, I know. Coffee cherries. From the coffee cherry plant.” He waved his hand flippantly. “Antioxidant, heart healthy, can prevent cognitive decline, et cetera et cetera. Whatever. There are better ways to stimulate the brain in the morning.”
Yeah, if it was only my brain that needed stimulating in the morning. But I wasn’t about to say that out loud. Monty didn’t need to know anything more than he’d already gleaned about my digestive system’s inner workings. He paid for the order and moved down the counter.
The next few hours flew by, and I found myself glancing at the door every time it chimed to signal a new customer.
Astoria Brewer arrived during one of the short lulls after the initial rush. She stepped up to my register, and I greeted her warmly .
“Hey, Astoria! What’s new in the hockey world?”
She grinned. Hockey was one of her favorite subjects. She’d played on the Olympic team, and her dad was an NHL legend who’d played for both the Voltage and the Edge. We’d known each other since we were kids.
“Lots of fan hearts will be breaking this week. Restricted free agents can start signing contracts July first,” she reported.
“What does that mean for the Edge?” I asked, genuinely curious.
She frowned. “We’ll likely lose a favorite or two that are worth more than what the team can pay them. Including Dean Hathaway. They haven’t been able to agree on numbers with him yet, and other teams are calling with some significantly high offers.”
“But he’s the captain,” I said. “Wouldn’t they try everything they could to keep him?”
“Maybe if they’d won the Cup.” She shrugged. “But they didn’t, so they’ll be aggressive in making changes over the summer to build a team that’s better prepared to beat Miami and whatever other teams might be in their way.”
“Oh wow,” I said. I hoped none of my favorites were leaving.
“Don’t worry about Xavier or Noel,” she said. “They’re safe. And so is Brendan.”
I let out a sigh of relief. “How can you be sure?” I asked.
“I can’t tell you. But don’t worry, okay?” I nodded. She handed me an envelope branded to Pasta Nacht’s. She co-owned the restaurant with her dad.
“What’s this?” I asked.
“A gift card and an apology. I heard about your, ah, reaction to our cross-contaminated fettucine alfredo. I feel awful. I know the promise of more uncontaminated food can’t make up for the agony you were in, but I hope you’ll give us a chance to make it right.”
My cheeks flamed. Who had told her about that?
I tried to hand it back to her, but she wouldn’t take it. “I’m fine,” I insisted. “It happens. No need for this. Can we never talk about it again?”
Astoria tilted her head and tucked a long blond wave behind her ear. “Only if you keep it.”
I sighed. “Fine. Thank you.” I slid the offending gift into my apron pocket. “How did you find out, anyway?”
She glanced to her left and right, then leaned in over the register. “Penny called Brenna and asked her to check on you, to see if you were at work Monday morning. I happened to be here in line with Brenna when she called, and I heard the whole conversation.” Her eyes widened as she realized what she’d said. “I wasn’t trying to be nosy or overhear, promise! And I haven’t said a word to anyone. My nephew has food allergies; he’s the reason Brewski’s turned allergy-free. I saw him react once and—” She blinked as her eyes began to water. “I never want that—or anything like it—for any of my customers. Especially friends and family. You trust us. We broke that trust.”
I sighed. Small-town life. Everyone knew someone who knew your business. “Happens all the time,” I said. “You can’t ever make a kitchen one hundred percent safe because you can’t control what’s on the hands or clothing of your employees. But I appreciate the gesture. Thank you.”
She nodded. “I know. I hate that for you. And for Benji. And for everyone else affected by it.”
“Can I get you your usual?” I asked, anxious to change the subject before any of my co-workers overheard .
“Umm…” Her gaze landed on the framed chalk menu between my register and Betty’s. “Yes, but a small. I’d also like to try your Summertime Splash.”
I rang in her salted caramel Frodoughchino, a frozen coffee inspired by our salted caramel doughnut, and the new Citrus Twist, a lemon-lime juicer infused with one hundred percent certified pure citrus essential oils. She paid for the order and scooted down the counter.
How embarrassing.
The door chimed again, and Liam Brewer entered. So many Brewers in this town! As a Palmer, it was annoying. But the Brewers were all so nice, it was hard to dislike them.
Liam turned his head, scanning the tables as he walked up to the counter. I stepped back so Betty could take his order, but he walked straight to me.
“Is Monty here?” he asked, pointing upward to the loft seating area on the second level.
I shook my head. “No, but he’s due back soon. Said he was coming to work after Nana Booboo’s therapy.”
He pressed his lips together and nodded as he pulled out his wallet. “I have some bad news for him. What can I get him to soften the blow?”
My heart rate kicked up. “What bad news?” I might not like Monty, but bad news was never a good thing. “About the house?”
Liam rubbed the back of his neck. “Beck found a bad pipe.”
“So? She can replace it, right?”
He shook his head no, then nodded yes. “It’s a little more complicated than that.”
What he wasn’t saying was that Monty probably wasn’t moving out next week. “How bad is it?” I crossed my arms over my chest. Liam was an architect, and if he was worried, I was worried.
The door chimed, and Monty strode in, straight toward us. “I got here as soon as I could,” he said. “What’s the issue?”
Liam looked from him to me and back to Monty. “The whole house needs re-piping. And we can’t start until at least September first because the plans and all the permitting for something this extensive have to be approved through the town’s Historic Preservation Board. I’m sorry, Monty. But it’s good she found this now, before the winter. Those pipes are in pretty bad condition. They’ve been rotting for decades.”
No no no. Another two-plus months of living with this guy?
I could kick him out.
Couldn’t I?
I totally could.
But that would be mean.
I probably shouldn’t.
But … I looked at Monty. His eyes were fixed on me, waiting for my answer.
I closed my eyes and dragged my hands down my face. “Fine,” I acquiesced. “Stay as long as you need to.”
He let out a long breath and nodded and, for once, didn’t add a snappy or insulting retort. I rang up their drinks and handed Liam his receipt.
How was I going to get through almost three more months of Monty?