Page 8 of Salvation

“He’s probably going to spend his entire life chasing after that girl,” Ana says, trying to cover her growing smile with her hand.

Soon, Elise is joining her in a fit of giggles. They both begin to laugh so hard that tears spring to their eyes, and they have to hold onto each other as they double over and gasp for breath.

“Yeah,” Elise laughs as they both look out beyond the porch and at the two running through the field. “Yeah, I think he will.”

Chapter 9

Blake

The tiny gold bells above the coffee shop door ring as I step into the space. It’s nothing like I remember. I left just a few weeks after Whitney had bought the space, and sadly, I missed out on the majority of the renovations. It was once home to an antique shop and is easily the largest space on the street. The perfect size for what she decided to do with it.

One half of the shop consists of towering walls of books, and the other half is a café. The wall of mugs dangling from old horseshoes is what separates the two sides. The marble countertops lying along the long black coffee bar are littered with everything coffee. I could smell the mouth-watering baked goods the minute I walked in. But the huge vintage mint-green espresso machine is what immediately catches my eye. Vivienne had found it in a thrift shop and anonymously mailed it to her sister’s front steps. Whitney had called me, thinking I was the one who had sent it. The second I had tried to deny it overthe phone, Vivienne had reached over and squeezed my arm so hard I thought it’d fall off. I never could understand why the two pretended to not care about the other, or why there was this weird bridge between them that they’d never cross. It was sad, knowing that they both so obviously yearned for a relationship with the other. I’m an only child, though, so what do I know?

Mismatched furniture and tables for working, reading, or a cozy breakfast are scattered throughout. The walls not covered by books, mirrors, or local art are old, rustic brick. The regal white ceiling is still gorgeously intact and is home to a huge crystal chandelier right in the middle of the space, but most of the light within the shop streams in from the glass windows taking up the front of the coffee house. Other adorable details are scattered throughout. Plush pillows, vases of flowers, an old wooden coat rack that’s being used to hold even more battered horseshoes, bits, worn cowboy boots and hats, and lassos. Somehow, it’s both chic and country. Something only Whitney’s artistic eye could make look so charming. I immediately feel like grabbing a cup of coffee and a book to cuddle up with on the floral settee stuffed in the far-left corner.

“Oh, my god!” A girly shriek pierces the air. “Blake? Is that really you?”

Raven-black hair and hazel eyes appear, pulling me away from taking in the shop. It always shocks me just how alike Whitney and her sister look, no doubt sharing their mother’s features. The only difference is their eyes. While Whitney’s are more green than brown, Vivienne’s are a brown so dark they’re nearly black.

“Whitney!” I throw myself at her, hugging her until my arms start to cramp, only pulling back so we can take each other in. “It’s so good to see you.” Another bone-breaking hug.

“What the hell are you doing home? Why didn’t you call? You look amazing!”

“It’s nice to see you, too, Whit. The shop…It looksamazing.Youlook amazing!”

She beams at me, a glint of pride and excitement coating her beautiful features. “It’s come a long way, that’s for sure.” She nods toward a booth by the window. “Take a seat and let me make you a coffee. We clearly have a lot to catch up on.”

“Lavender and honey with oat milk, right?” She asks as she points a finger in my direction.

“That would be perfect,” I answer with a smile.

***

Some time passes, and as I sit in the window seat of Bell’s, I watch as people pass on the street outside. It’s so quiet compared to the city, and for some reason, I find myself missing all the noise. It gave me something to focus on rather than the never-ending anxiety floating through my head.

Whitney comes around the table, using her foot to kick out a chair, and sits across from me, two coffees in hand.

“So? What’s new? What are you in town for?” She questions, sliding my glass towards me.

“I lost my job. Well,” I pause, nervously biting my lip. “I quit.”

“Oh, B,” No pity on her face, just pure curiosity and worry. “What the hell happened?”

So, I tell her everything that’s happened since I’ve left. I tell her about college, I give her updates on Vivienne (without her asking, of course), what the city was like, and how exactly I ended up back in town.

She slumps back in her chair and crosses her arms. “Fuck them. I knew I didn’t like that bitch. And Marshall? What the fuck kind of name isMarshall?” She seethes.

I can’t help but laugh, something Whitney has never failed to make me do. My heart tightens, realizing just how much I’vemissed her. We kept in touch throughout the years, but with us both being so busy, it was hard to update each other on every aspect of life. I have her to thank for ever getting out of this town. She’s the sole reason I even got a fresh start. I take a sip of my coffee, savoring the taste of lavender on my tongue. A beat of silence, and then Whitney’s face lights up like it’s Christmas morning.

Her grin widens as she says, “Funny enough, I’ve been looking for some extra help."

“Oh, no. No.I couldn’t. I appreciate-"

“Blake,” She cuts me off, holding up her hand. “We’re practically family. And aside from that, you’re one of my favorite people. This will benefit you just as much as me. I get to see you more, and maybe get a little free time for myself with an extra pair of hands around. Do this, maybe stay in town for a little, and then go from there? Maybe it’ll give you some time to figure things out and clear your head.”

Her words of wisdom sound oddly similar to Vivienne’s, and before I can voice anything else, she sets down her coffee cup and grabs my hand that’s resting on the table between us.

“Speaking of family…how do you feel about becoming a godmother?” She asks then she glances down, and I follow her gaze to the hand resting on her belly.

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