Page 9 of The Way We Were(wolf)

Oof.That was a little too hard-hitting for this early in the morning. So Lucy lightened things up a bit. “I don’t know…I’m pretty happy now.” She ripped off a piece of her pumpkin roll and popped it into her mouth.

Stella shook her head. “You’re such a goofball, you know. Start brainstorming what you want to do with Eric, okay?”

A piece of the treat caught in her throat on a tiny gasp, so she used her last swig of coffee to save her life—or to keep the barista from having to Heimlich her. She knew what her cousin had meant with her parting words. Her thoughts needed to be on how the two of them planned to decorate the window, not things she literally wanted to do with Eric. Like see if his lips tasted more decadent than this pumpkin roll. A longshot for sure, though it’d be a tight contest.

No, she couldn’t think about that. Her focus was on winning the window competition and getting that prize money for her aunt. She just needed to meet with Eric tonight at the craft store and find some inspiration. That was all.

And theinspirationshe was looking forwas not a flannel-wearing bearded man who starred in her dreams, both day and night.

Now, if only she believed that.

Eric stepped out of the library and onto the red brick steps, breathing in the fresh air that rustled in the trees lining the downtown sidewalk. He tucked his latest book haul under his arm as he walked, making a mental note to bring a reusable bag next time. Wheeling's Main Street had shops for treasure hunters and people who wanted to walk in the afternoon sun. And it was the perfect afternoon to do so.

He turned the corner as he approached Mountain Brew and knew he was on the right street when the smell of coffee filled his lungs. After hearing Lucy go on and on about how many delicious autumnal beverages the shop had on its menu, he figured he owed it to himself to at least try one.

“What’ll it be?” the young barista asked as he approached the counter. He looked at the board behind her, adorned with leaves, acorns, and other seasonal embellishments scattered among the endless list of choices.

“Which of the fall beverages do you recommend?”

“All of them,” the barista chuckled. “But my favorite is the apple-crisp macchiato.”

“Then that’s exactly what I’ll have. Thank you.” The woman—Quinn, as her name tag informed—rang him up and pointed him to the end of the counter where he could wait for his drink.

He used the time to get a good look at the place. His clients were forever bringing drinks with the Mountain Brew logo on them, and he’d heard enough about the place to feel like he’d been here before, even though he hadn’t. From the black-and-white checkered tiles on the floor to the sepia-toned framed photos on the wall, this place was the perfect blend of traditional and modern styles. He could see why this shop was a popular place among his customers.

“Order up for Eric Clapton!”

Eric stood in the middle of the store as eyes of the patrons homed in on him.

“I think that’s you,” a guy with a backward baseball hat said as he came up beside him.

“No, I’m not…”

“That’s the gig here. You give them your first name, and they give you a famous last one. A real genius of sorts came up with that idea.”

“Is that right?” Eric asked as he grabbed his drink from the counter.

“No,” another guy said as he whacked the bill of the other man’s hat. “Johnny might have started the trend, giving fake famous names with his orders, but he’s no genius.”

“Max is just jealous he didn’t come up with the idea,” Johnny stage-whispered to Eric, and Eric stifled his laughter as Max’s eyes rolled back to his brain. “It’s witty, clever, and hilarious…just like the innovator who came up with it.”

“Would you like to hear the adjectives I have for this knucklehead?”

Eric really did want to hear them, but they were interrupted as the barista called the next name.

“Maxine!”

“Are you serious?” Max deadpanned. “I ask you to put in my order so I can run to the restroom, and that’s how you do me? They couldn’t even figure out a last name for that.”

“Don’t need one. Maxine, you’re as iconic as Madonna or Cher. I can almost see your name in lights.”

“I should have whacked you harder in the head, made you see stars.”

“I’m looking at one right now,” Johnny replied, clutching his chest and batting his eyes in faux admiration of his friend.

“Johnny Carson!” the barista called.

“Heeeeeeere’s my coffee,” Johnny shouted as Max shook his head. “It was really nice meeting you, Eric Clapton. Hope to see you around.

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