Page 8 of Caffeinated in Amesbury
“Wouldn’t miss it,” she said, laughing as she smoothed her puffy jacket, the color reminiscent of holly berries.
“Be careful,” I interjected with mock solemnity, raising my book as if it were a shield. “He’s been experimenting with cinnamon ratios all morning. You may walk out of here more spice than human.”
She tilted her head back in laughter, the sound mingling with the soft jazz playing in the background. “I’ll take my chances. Besides, who better to test it on than your favorite guinea pig?”
Cole, now behind the counter once more, began to craft the latte with the finesse of a conductor leading an orchestra, his movements precise yet fluid. Milk steamed and frothed under his command, and the scent of gingerbread soon enveloped them, a sweet and spicy caress.
“Favorite?” I quirked a corner of my mouth upwards, eyeing her with an amusement that crinkled the edges of my green eyes. “You sure about that? I thought that title belonged to the mayor’s cat after he got stuck in our tree last Christmas.”
“Ah, that’s right,” Felicity nodded playfully, leaning against the counter, her eyes twinkling. “How could I forget Sir Fluffington III?”
Our laughter filled the air, wrapping around the patrons like festive ribbons. These moments, I reflected, were like hidden verses within the prose of daily life, small pockets of joy tucked between the lines of routine. As different as Cole and I were, we found harmony in their contrasts, a melody enriched by the presence of friends like Blair and Felicity.
“Here you go,” Cole announced, sliding the latte across the counter with a flourish worthy of a magician revealing his grand illusion.
“Drumroll, please,” Felicity said, raising the cup to her lips. The first sip was hesitant, but then her face lit up with approval. “Mmm, it’s like Christmas in a cup!”
“Then our work here is done,” I declared, bookmarking the novel with a nod of satisfaction. The chatter of the shop swirled around me, the laughter of customers mingling with the clinking of cups, all underscored by the steadfast hum of the espresso machine.
5
Felicity
“I might start thinking you’ve missed our little coffee haven here,” he teased, his tone light.
“Miss it? I’ve been dreaming of your signature brews amidst the skyscrapers and endless honking of taxi horns,” I quipped back, the corner of my lips quirking upward. I approached the counter, gaze lingering on the chalkboard menu despite already knowing what I would order. “Let’s just say I’m appreciating the quieter moments more these days.” My hand brushed a lock of hair behind my ear, a thoughtful expression flickering across my face. The truth was, I wasn’t quite sure how I felt about anything lately, but the simplicity of Caffeinated Bliss offered a comforting clarity. I wanted to slow down and enjoy life. Doing that was simply impossible in the fast city.
“Peace and quiet can be addictive,” Thomas mused, giving me a look that suggested he understood more than he let on.
“Addictive enough to keep you anchored here, I see.” I rested my elbows on the counter, mirroring him. “You never did take the leap to the big bookstore chains.”
“Never needed to,” he replied with a shrug. “I’ve got everything I need right here. Books, coffee, and good company.” His voice held a touch of pride, his gaze sweeping across the shop that was more a labor of love than a mere business.
“Sounds like the perfect life,” I said, the words carrying a weight I hadn’t intended.
“Maybe not perfect, but it’s ours.” Thomas’s eyes crinkled at the corners as he smiled, the earnest warmth in his expression reaching out to wrap around my doubts like a soothing balm.
“You know, nothing quite compares to the feeling of holding a holiday-themed book in one hand and a cup of Christmas spirit in the other.”
“Ah, the classics or something more contemporary?” Thomas inquired without looking up, his hands moving with a fluidity that only came from years of repetition.
“Classics, always,” I confessed, leaning against the counter, fingers tracing the wood grain as if it were the spine of a beloved novel.
“Can’t argue with that.” Thomas nodded, the rich scent of coffee mingling with hints of nutmeg and cinnamon.
“It’s the raw human emotions; they never go out of style in literature.”
“Nor in life,” Thomas added, sliding the steaming cup towards me, the foam artfully swirled into a tiny Christmas tree on top.
“Nice touch,” I complimented, admiring the latte art before taking a careful sip, the warmth spreading through me like the first chapter of a book.
“Always aiming to please,” a new voice chimed in, and both Thomas and I turned to see Cole sauntering over, his hazel eyes shimmering with untold jokes just waiting to be told. “But let’s not forget the unsung holiday hero, Hans Christian Andersen. That guy knew how to spin a wintry tale.”
“Ah, ‘The Snow Queen,’” I said, recognizing the reference. “Another heart-warmer.”
“Or freezer, depending on how you look at it.” Cole winked, eliciting a light, melodic laugh from me. I couldn’t help but be charmed by his lightheartedness—a stark contrast to the often too-serious world I navigated back in New York.
“Speaking of freezing,” I played along, “did you hear about the snowstorm brewing in the next chapter?”
