Page 30 of Caffeinated in Amesbury
"Sounds exhausting," I replied, voice rich with concern and a hint of curiosity.
She offered a wry chuckle. "It is. It's like living on an escalator—constantly moving but never taking a step yourself. Everyone's chasing after something: a dream, money, fame. And there I am, amidst all that ambition, wondering if my ladder's propped up against the wrong wall."
I tilted my head, watching her with an earnest attentiveness. I could see the way her hands gripped the warm ceramic, a lifeline in a sea of uncertainty.
"Back in college, I had this image of what my life would be," Felicity continued, her blue eyes reflecting the candlelight, imbuing them with a liquid sadness. "I thought I wanted to conquer the literary world, you know? Be the one to discover the next great American novelist."
"And now?" I prompted gently.
"Now," she sighed, "I want to find stories that mean something. I want to connect with words that touch people’s lives, not just fill spaces on bookstore shelves."
"Connection," I echoed softly, sensing the weight behind her words.
"Exactly," she affirmed. "I want to wake up feeling like I'm part of something more meaningful than just contracts and deadlines. I want to contribute to a legacy of literature that lasts longer than a New York minute."
As she spoke, Felicity's fingers absently weaved patterns in the condensation that clung to the windowpane, drawing invisible constellations in the foggy glass. Her aspirations stretched out before her, nebulous and untamed, seeking a place to land.
"Then maybe," I ventured, a smile playing at the corners of my mouth, "you're more of a stargazer than a cog. Maybe you're here to find your own constellation."
Felicity looked up at me, her expression softening. "Maybe," she whispered.
My fingers traced the rim of my coffee cup, a motion that seemed to mirror the circular thoughts whirling in my mind. Caffeinated Bliss was more than just a business; it was a testament to our dreams, a vessel for our hopes. And tonight, as the soft golden glow danced across the walls, casting playful shadows amidst the scent of roasted beans and cinnamon, my heart was heavy with the gravity of what it meant - to me, to Cole, to this snow-dusted town that had embraced us.
"Sometimes I feel like this place is a second heartbeat," I confessed, locking eyes with Felicity. "If it stops... I don't know if I could forgive myself."
"Thomas," she said, her hand reaching out and hovering over mine, not quite touching but offering an unspoken solace.
"Every morning before dawn, I'm here, grinding beans, prepping pastries," I continued, the laugh lines around my eyes tightening with tension. "I chase the sunrise with espresso. It's like a daily ritual—a promise I made to myself, to Cole, and our mother."
15
Felicity
I watched him, her own breath hitching with the sincerity of his words. I saw the man before me—the one who wore responsibility like an old, well-loved jacket, threadbare at the elbows from use.
"Your brother knows how much you care," I assured him, though my words felt inadequate for the depth of his dedication.
"Does he?" Thomas countered, a wry smile breaking through. "I can be a bit of a bear in the mornings. More growls than grins until the caffeine kicks in." The humor in his tone didn't quite mask the strain behind it.
"Ah, so that's why the 'Beware of Bear' sign hangs by the register," I teased, trying to lighten the mood.
"Guilty," he admitted, his green eyes flickering with amusement before sobering once again. "But it's not just about brewing coffee or turning a profit. This place... it's Cole’s dream, too. And he's not just my brother; he's my best friend."
"Sounds like you're both lucky to have each other," I said softly, imagining the two brothers pouring their souls into every brick, every latte art heart that graced the surface of a steaming drink.
"Maybe," Thomas agreed, his gaze drifting to the window where snowflakes began to fall like tiny wishes against the glass. "But luck doesn't keep the lights on or fill the seats. That's all sweat, sleepless nights, and the stubborn refusal to fail."
"Or perhaps it's love," I mused, allowing my hand to finally rest atop his. "Love for this place, for your brother, for the community that calls Caffeinated Bliss home."
Thomas looked down at our hands, his thumb brushing against my knuckles in a gentle acknowledgment.
"Thank you, Felicity," he said, his voice a blend of hope and uncertainty. "For seeing the love in what feels like an endless grind."
"Anytime, Thomas," I replied with a smile that reached my eyes. "After all, isn't that what Christmas is all about? Finding light in the darkness, warmth in the cold... and maybe, just maybe, a little magic in a cup of coffee?"
"Isn't it funny," Thomas mused, his voice a low timbre that flirted with the edges of the candle's glow, "how life can bring us back to places we never thought we'd see again?"
I leaned forward, elbows resting on the edge of the table, bringing me closer to Thomas. The proximity seemed natural, almost necessary, as if the space between us was a chasm that only our shared confidences could bridge.
