Chapter Fourteen Violet
Chapter Fourteen
Violet
The hiss of the espresso machine had become a background noise I no longer registered.
It was a constant in my head, drowning out everything else—steam pushing through metal, grinding beans rattling the counter. The milk frother screeching its counterpoint.
It was the end of my shift, the last customers lingering at the far tables with laptops glowing in the dim light. Harper leaned against the counter beside me, one hand in her apron pocket, the other holding a rag she’d been using all night, now stained with coffee.
She said under her breath, “If one more person asks for their fifth refill knowing we’re about to close, I’m gonna lose it.” I held in my chuckle as I cleaned. “I swear, the sound of the steamer running nonstop pisses me off.”
I laughed, exhaustion making the sound brittle, but it was genuine enough. “I dream about this damn place,” I lied, because the truth about what I really dreamed about was better left unsaid.
“Girl, me too.” She threw her head back and sighed, dramatic as always. “All thanks to Isobel’s Café.” She looked at the sign that hung outside, right above the front door, that glowed neon. “I’m turning the sign off, letting everyone know their time is up.”
I snorted, tossing a rag into the sink without looking. I missed and it slid down the counter to land with a wet plop on the floor. We finished closing things down, and when the last customer left, Harper locked up, and I sighed in relief.
Twenty minutes later, we had our bags in hand and stood by the front door. “Hey, how about we grab something to eat? I’m not ready to go home yet.”
I smiled. “Me neither.” Going back to my dark, cold house was the last thing I wanted to do.
We stepped outside together, and I inhaled deeply. The sidewalks of Sweetwater Lake were almost empty even though it was barely dusk. She hooked her arm through mine without hesitation and smiled brightly. I loved her energy, even though I felt my energy draining.
“Where to?” I asked.
“The competitor, obviously.” She winked and laughed, and together we headed toward Piccolo Caffè.
I raised an eyebrow.
“Oh yes,” she said, eyes gleaming with mischief. “The forbidden fruit. The enemy on the other side of town.”
We walked in silence, but it was nice. Harper, for all her energy, didn’t force a conversation. Maybe she could see I was drained? As we reached our destination, I glanced at the glowing sign of Sweetwater Lake’s newest coffee shop.
It was newer and definitely sleeker than ours. Trendier. They sold their drinks in ethically sourced and produced cups with rose gold foil lettering on the sides. They offered a luxury caffeinated experience, as per their sign above the coffee bar.
Margie, the owner of Isobel’s, always grumbled about them when she stopped in, muttering that they were “stealing” our customers.
“We’re traitors,” I said under my breath, feeling like Margie was watching us right now.
“Please,” Harper said with a smile in her voice.
“We can eat and drink anywhere we want. There’s no law about it.
” She nudged me with her shoulder as we walked up to the coffee bar.
“Besides, it’s like sneaking off with your boss’s lover.
Scandalous.” She looked at me and waggled her eyebrows, and I burst out laughing.
I glanced around as we waited to be helped. Even the air felt fresh in here. Cooler, scented with something expensive—like they roasted all their beans with hundred-dollar bills.
The barista smiled too brightly—clearly forced. “What can I get you?”
Harper leaned in, deadly serious. “I want the sweetest, strongest thing you have. I want my teeth to hurt and my nerves to be wired after I finish it.”
The barista said nothing, just entered her drink like she was used to everyone being overly dramatic when they came in here.
I smiled, my voice soft and low when I asked for a cappuccino.
We slid into a booth near the back, sinking into plush velvet seats that didn’t stick to our skin the way our vinyl ones always did. Another barista, this one with a genuine bubbly personality, a lot of piercings, and pink hair, started working the machines.
Harper slumped against the booth. “This place is noice,” she said, drawing out the last word. We sat in silence as we waited for our drinks, taking in the entire atmosphere and aesthetic of the place.
The drinks came quickly. Harper’s looked like tar in a cup. Mine steamed gently, the foam soft enough to leave a mustache when I sipped.
“Maybe I should work here,” Harper idly said.
The low thrum of music filled the space, and I let myself relax against the seat, the heaviness of the day slipping away in increments. “No, you won’t leave,” I replied even though I knew she hadn’t been serious.
“Yeah.” Harper sighed and looked at me. “I like Margie too much to fuck her over like that.”
Harper watched me over the rim of her cup, her eyes sharper than I liked. For as easygoing as she was, I knew she was attuned to her surroundings—and to the people she hung out with.
Neither of us said anything for long moments, but when I heard Harper’s cup connecting with the table, I knew that silence was over. “You okay?”
The words hit harder than they should, and my chest tightened, an invisible hand pressing down, trying to dig through my skin, muscle, and bone and get to my heart.
I forced a shrug. “I’m fine.” I was a horrible liar.
She knew I was lying. “You’ve been somewhere else in your mind, not just tonight, but for a while now.”
I picked at the cardboard sleeve around my cup, tearing little strips until there was nothing left. “I’m okay. Just . . . I have a lot on my mind.” I felt her watching me but couldn’t bring myself to look at her.
“I meant it when I said you could talk to me. I want you to, Violet.”
I swallowed. The lie rose quickly and easily: I’m just tired. Stressed. Lonely. But when I looked at Harper, her gaze could see right through that shit.
“Talk to me,” she breathed, leaning in with an expression that was filled with genuine comfort and concern.
When I exhaled, I knew I needed to get so much off my chest, although the truth was still hard to say.
“Everything feels the same here,” I admitted finally.
“Every day is work, sleep, repeat.” I took a deep pull from my cappuccino before continuing.
“Like I’m stuck. Like I can’t . . .” I trailed off, shaking my head.
Harper didn’t interrupt. She let me drag the words out, let me feel the silence press in.
“Sometimes I wonder if life is a trap,” I said. “Or maybe a dream. A nightmare. Once you’re here, you can’t leave. It just keeps you. Holds you down until you’re fighting for the rest of your life not to drown. No one wants to admit life is like hell sometimes.”
The confession hung between us like a heavy weight pressing down.
Harper leaned forward, nodding. “You’re not wrong. But hey, we have to see the silver lining in shit, right?”
I wasn’t sure about that.
“And we have each other.” She smiled again. It was small and steady. No pressure behind it.
Something in me unclenched. Not dramatically. Just a quiet loosening in my chest, like a fist I’d held tight for years finally easing open one finger at a time.
I’d always believed closeness was dangerous, and that letting anyone in only gave the world something else to take away. But Harper’s words were simple, uncomplicated. A reminder that maybe loneliness wasn’t the only option anymore.
I managed a shaky smile back. “Yeah,” I whispered. “We do.”
After that, things seemed lighter. I felt . . . good and comfortable and not afraid of what was waiting for me. And I’d take any small reprieve I could.
We lingered long after our cups were empty, and the rain came down steadily, a soft mist that coated everything in a layer of damp. At one point Harper reached across the table, her hand covering mine, and I was surprised how grounding it felt.
“You ever think about just leaving?” I asked, my voice stronger than I felt.
“All the time,” she said without hesitation. “But . . .” She shrugged. “This is my home, where I set roots. I can’t leave just because shit goes sideways. Besides, going to another place isn’t going to make my life any easier. Whatever I’m running from will just find me at my next stop.”
I thought about her words and what they truly meant. “You know what?” I looked at her, my mind feeling clearer than it had in a long time. “You’re absolutely right.”
The mist had turned into heavy rain, but when we finally left, the weather had calmed, and in its place was rain-slick ground.
I faced Harper, and before I knew what she was doing, she gave me a hug. “Thanks for hanging in there with me. I’m glad we could both vent and bitch and just forget about everything else for a bit.”
“Couldn’t have said it better.” My words were muffled against her shoulder.
The night felt lighter. Not fixed in the slightest. Not safe at all. But definitely lighter. And for now, right here and now, that was enough.