Page 139 of Not Exactly a Small-Town Romance

KELSEY’STRIPLEMEET-CUTE

Cara’s Caramel Coffee Shop is adorable from the outside.

It’s painted white with light-blue trim, a pink door, and yellow shutters. It makes me think of Jester. I see why he loves it.

It sits in the middle of a huge lot shared with a strip mall that lines up behind it. There’s a drive-through, and I consider using it to make better time.

But my legs need stretching. Despite Jester’s insistence that I go for more meet-cutes on the way to Alabama, I haven’t.

I’ve taken my time, that’s for sure, driving only a few hours a day. I’m in no hurry to return to life on the farm.

It’s been a quiet, solitary week on the road. I haven’t tried to make any connections. It’s been lonely and pensive, nothing like the ride to Wyoming with Zachery in his Jaguar behind me. I may no longer believe in meet-cutes.

I came very close to taking the northern route and staying in Livia’s bed-and-breakfast for the memories. But I’m not sure I could have recovered from seeing that bed, the wallpapered wall. I’ve never felt anything like I did with Zachery.

I’m scared I never will again. And I never even told him.

He knows everything important. All my secrets. The emails to my mother. The way my father treated us.

Zachery would be so angry to know I’m going back there, even if we’re nothing to each other now, not even coworkers. But I don’t know what else to do. I have to regroup.

And, it seems, I’m going to have to get over him. I never thought I’d lose everything. Even our friendship.

I let myself imagine for a moment that when I get to the farm, he’s there. He’ll tell my father off, scoop me up, and carry me off into the sunset. Cue the closing theme music.

I laugh, pulling off my sunglasses and shoving them in the center console. I’ve got to get my head out of Hollywood. Time for the best coffee I’ve ever had, if Jester is right.

I lock the car. I’m a sweaty mess. Texas is stupidly hot midsummer. The back of my T-shirt sticks to my skin, and I pull it away as I open the door.

The air is thick with the smell of roasting beans and sugar. It’s heaven.

I’ve been worried about money, so I haven’t bought much fancy coffee on this trip, but today I’m going to splurge. Then I’ll take a photo of my treat and send it to Jester.

He wrote me last week, asking if I’d left yet. I’ve more or less kept him updated on my packing, selling as much of my stuff as I could, storing the rest, and finally getting on the road.

He doesn’t know I’ve made it to his favorite shop, or Texas, even. I last updated him somewhere in Arizona. He’ll be excited, I bet.

There’s a mom with a little girl ahead of me, ordering hot chocolate with caramel, even though it’s over a hundred degrees out. They have an entire collection of fancy decorated sugar cookies in coffee-cup shapes. One of them says “Bad to the bean.” That’ll be nice in the picture with the coffee.

The woman in her pink apron couldn’t be any more different from the one I encountered in that tumbleweed town on my last journey.“We do caramel every way you can think of, and a lot more you’ve never dreamed! What can I get you?”

“I have a favorite drink, but I don’t want to waste an opportunity to get one of your specialties.”

“What’s your usual?”

“Iced espresso with almond milk and a drizzle of caramel, shaken rather than stirred.”

“Hey! That’s our double-oh-seven drizzle, just with a different milk. It’s a featured drink.” She gestures to a small sign by the register.

She’s right! “I better get it, then!”

“What size?”

I’m about to say “grande” when I spot their cup sizes. Here, the choices are “modest,” “bold,” and “outrageous.”

“Let’s go with bold.”

“You got it.”

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