Page 10 of Caffeinated in Amesbury
I accepted the cup, cradling the warmth in my hands. My thoughts meandered like the lazy swirls of steam rising towards the ceiling. Felicity had this uncanny ability to make the familiar feel extraordinary, like seeing the world through the lens of a kaleidoscope—everyday hues suddenly bursting with vibrancy.
“Hey, Thomas, when she comes back, maybe you should ask her to read at the holiday event. You know, since you’re both such book enthusiasts.”
“Perhaps,” I replied, noncommittal, yet the seed of the idea took root, sprouting possibilities that felt both thrilling and terrifying.
“Or are you afraid she might reject you?” Cole needled, his grin wide as he sipped from his cup, clearly enjoying the light flush creeping into my cheeks.
“Hardly.” I rolled my eyes, but couldn’t suppress the smile tugging at the corners of my mouth. “Felicity doesn’t strike me as someone who’d pass up a chance to share her love for storytelling.”
“Especially not in our little enchanted cafe, right?” Cole winked, taking in the twinkling fairy lights and the paper snowflakes dangling from the ceiling—our festive decorations a testament to the holiday spirit that seemed to have taken hold ever since Felicity walked through their door.
“Let’s just say Caffeinated Bliss has never been more aptly named.” My smile widened, and I looked around the cafe we’d built together with pride. It was more than just a place for coffee; it had become a crossroads for connection, a haven for hearts seeking warmth.
“Looks like Felicity isn’t the only one finding her purpose here in Amesbury,” Cole observed, clapping me on the shoulder. “She’s bringing out the best in us, too.”
“Maybe so,” I conceded, gaze lingering on the door long after Felicity had disappeared. In the end, it wasn’t just the anticipation of her return that made my heart beat faster—it was the realization that her presence had unearthed a part of me I thought lost beneath layers of pragmatism and routine.
“Next week can’t come soon enough,” I murmured, already envisioning the lively conversations and shared laughter that awaited us.
“Cheers to that,” Cole raised his cup in agreement, the brothers’ laughter mingling with the festive ambiance of our cozy sanctuary, each chuckle a silent wish for the days ahead.
7
Felicity
“Blair won’t let me live it down if this isn’t up to par,” I chuckled while placing the pie in a basket, heels clicking on the hardwood floor as I moved through the room.
A text came in, alerting me of Blair’s arrival, and I felt a surge of warmth at the thought of seeing her. I grabbed my coat, the pie, and, with a last assessing glance in the mirror, stepped out into the winter wonderland that Amesbury had transformed into.
“Girl, you look like Christmas came early!” Blair exclaimed the moment I slid into the passenger seat of her idling car, snowflakes dancing in the headlights.
“Only the best for Amesbury’s finest,” I replied, tucking a stray curl behind my ear, the corners of my mouth lifting into a smile.
As we drove, the town unfolded like pages from a storybook, each house crowned with snow and adorned with twinkling lights. The trails of sleds etched the streets, and as we passed, children bundled in colorful scarves waved.
“Tell me everything,” Blair urged, her eyes flicking between the road and Felicity. “How’s everything in the city?”
“Busy, relentless, but rewarding,” I said, my gaze following the snowflakes that clung to the window. “But being here, it’s like pressing pause. Makes you think about where you’re running to all the time.”
“Or who you’re running from,” Blair quipped, her laughter filling the car like music. “Don’t worry, Amesbury has a way of slowing everyone down.”
Sometimes I forgot Blair had only been in my life for two years instead of since childhood. We had such a strong friendship that it was easy to forget.
“Your pie’s got competition. Mrs. Henderson’s been bragging about her gingerbread cookies all week,” Blair teased.
“Challenge accepted,” I declared, my competitive spirit mingling with the effervescent joy of the season. “Let the cookie wars begin.”
We shared a laugh, the sound mingling with the gentle hum of the engine and the muted crunch of tires on fresh snow. As the car glided past store windows, our reflections passed in a blur of red velvet and blonde waves—a portrait of friendship unaltered by time or distance.
The car rolled to a stop, and my breath caught in my throat. The Mason family’s barn, usually reserved for the most rustic of gatherings, had been transformed into a veritable wonderland. A constellation of twinkling lights beckoned from the rafters, casting a warm, golden hue over the snow-dusted world outside.
“Would you look at that?” Blair murmured, echoing my awe as we stepped out into the crisp evening air.
“Like stepping into a Christmas card,” I said, my boots crunching on the frosted ground. I tilted my head back, admiring how each bulb seemed to have been placed with painstaking precision.
“Old Man Mason’s handiwork,” Blair confirmed, locking the car with a beep that felt almost sacrilegious in the hushed reverence of the scene. “He strings those lights before Thanksgiving.”
“Remind me to never challenge him to a decorating duel,” I replied, my chuckle misting in the cold air.
