Page 11 of Falling for My Ex Next Door

When the attorney told me that I would inherit the shop, I considered taking a course in the art of coffee making and enrolled in a local roastery. I was glad I had learned some vital skills, which I was more than anxious to maximize.

As I went about, I carefully avoided clusters of spider webs, dust, dirt, and thick layers of grime. It felt as though the place had been abandoned long before my aunt passed. Realizing I couldn’t postpone the cleaning, I started immediately. I took breaks at intervals, satisfying my hunger and thirst with burgers, sweets, and soft drinks I got from a nearby fast food store.

The maintenance room had plenty of cleaning supplies and tools, so I didn’t run out.

While I cleaned, an idea crossed my mind: I could renovate the entire coffee shop, subtracting nothing from its vintagey but adding some internal contemporary structures. The building was strong, but some of the furnishings were worn out.

The countertop needed filling in chips and cracks and resealing the surfaces. I knew resin would work for the latter. The flooring likewise needed new tiles and several chairs and tables must be replaced with new, fancy ones.

Also, I observed that only one of the three coffee machines was working.

After I concluded the things that I needed to buy, I listed them out and checked their availability on an online store.

Putting things in place would cost me some money, I knew, some money I hardly had, but I was sure the stretch would be worth it.

The resonance of the bell at the entrance broke into my thoughts, and I left cleaning to see who had rung the bell. When I arrived, an older man with a bright smile stood a few inches away from the adjoining glass doors.

“Hello, sir.” I slightly bobbed, curious about him.

“Good day, darling.” He sounded just as cheerful as he looked, smartly dressed in black cargo pants and a sweatshirt.

“I’m afraid the shop has not been officially opened, sir.”

“I know that. I was passing by, and I noticed that the windows looked much cleaner than they had ever been in a while. Someone must be responsible, I thought. I’m glad I was not mistaken.” He smiled.

I was moved to smile, too. What a soft-spoken man!

“Well, I felt I must do some cleaning, though I only came to check the place out.”

“Sure, sure. May I know who you are? You look quite familiar,” he asked.

“Yes, I am Clara. Clara Lisbon.”

“Are you perhaps Madeleine’s relative?” His voice shook.

“Yes,” I said. “I’m her niece.”

“Beautiful! You sure do take after her, and I think I might have seen you at the funeral.” He said.

I didn’t think I had seen or encountered him before, but it didn’t matter. I was happy to be meeting someone new.

“I’m glad to meet you. I’m called Old Napoleon.” He introduced himself.

“It’s nice to meet you, Old Napoleon, but I’d prefer not to include ‘old,’ I don’t think there’s anything old about you.” I was simply honest with my compliment.

He laughed even more.

“Come, sit down, and talk with me.” He urged.

I brought two chairs I had cleaned earlier, and then we sat.

Old Napoleon was a resident of Sunnyvale. He had known my aunt Madeline even before she got married.

“She was a magical person. Her eyes always lit up, and her lips always had lovely things to say. Madeline taught me how to live life. That was about thirty years ago, and now I’m far better than I was in my youth.” He confessed unashamedly.

I couldn’t believe my aunt had transformed a life, and it was this beautiful. There were quite a number of things I wanted to emulate in her personality.

“I do miss her most of the time. You know, I fondly love to remember the time she ran over a stray cat. She couldn’t get over it for months. She would tell me that she was responsible for taking a life, a life she couldn’t restore. Perhaps her attachment to Lady worsened her situation, she was vulnerable, but vulnerability was the core beauty of her humanness. I cannot help, but always remember Madeline.” He said, a feeling of longing popping in his eyes.

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