Page 52 of Of Literature and Lattes
The older man looked up, startled. The young man thrust out his hand. “Jeremy Mitchell. I own the shop. Please come in.”
“Thank you.” George nodded.
Chapter 23
“This makes no sense.” Jeremy slammed his laptop shut as Ryan pushed through the kitchen’s swinging door.
“Whoa... What makes no sense?”
“Nothing... Everything.” Jeremy ran his hands through his hair.
Ryan picked up his book from the edge of the desk. Jeremy knew it was more tattered than how Ryan had left it. He had accidentally dropped it and creased the cover, almost to the point of tearing, while devouring it that night.
“Did you read it?” Ryan waved the small paperback at him.
“It’s the loneliest, harshest book I’ve ever read.”
“Really? I think Steinbeck gets at the human condition pretty well, and George and Lennie—that’s the point—they had each other.”
“Until Lennie ruins it killing that woman. Then he loses his life and George loses too. He kills his friend, kills their dream... He’ll never fully live after that, never get his farm. He’s another Candy, alone, with no one and nothing.”
Ryan chewed his lip. “You’re right.”
Jeremy glanced to his laptop and his thinking shifted. “There are lots of ways to betray a friend. I get that Lennie wasn’t fully capable of making good choices, at least Steinbeck presents him that way, but we... We are responsible for our choices. We know what we’re doing and when it’s flat wrong.”
Ryan watched him but asked nothing, said nothing more. Jeremy slid the laptop back toward himself, and Ryan pushed through the kitchen door to the front of the shop. Jeremy watched the swinging door slow until it stilled... He hadn’t thought about someone taking the money. He’d only thought he’d misplaced, miscounted it. But what if?
He forced himself to stop and breathe. He was being unfair and beyond unjust. He looked at the clock he’d mounted on the wall above his desk. Alyssa said she’d drop by at ten—she was the perfect person to ask about this.
And, speaking of perfect, that’s what last night had been. Not like before, with Krista. That was tempestuous, tense, and uncertain, almost like he was constantly on the verge of the stomach flu. But it had been such a heady experience—easily mistaken for love. While it felt harsh to describe those days with Krista like that now, he thought, time and experience did have a way of recasting one’s memories.
But last night... He’d reached for Alyssa’s hand as they walked to her borrowed car. She’d grown quiet as the evening wound down. Lexi and Liam were clearly exhausted, as he was sure they were every night after closing. Alyssa looked wiped too.
“Am I working you too hard?” he had quipped.
She laughed, but it was tinged with sadness. “I can’t tell you how much working for you and Lexi means to me right now... There’s just a lot going on and...”
“What?”
She stopped by a black sedan. “I don’t feel like myself. I thought I would, that once I got here, despite everything that’s still a total mess, I’d feel better. I’d be better. And I’m not.”
“How can I help?”
“Have a latte waiting for me at ten o’clock tomorrow? We need to talk more about your credit card processing.” She lifted up on her toes and pressed a kiss to his lips. Not a peck, he noted right then and there. A real kiss. He almost burst out of his skin as he slid a hand around her back.
“Got it,” he whispered against her lips. As she lowered onto her heels again, he gave a final peck at her lips. “And a muffin.”
She opened the car door. “You’d better skip the muffin. I always feel a little ill after those. No offense.”
“None taken.” He chuckled. “I do too.”
She dropped into the car. “I’ve got an idea to change that too. Tomorrow?”
“Looking forward to it. Sleep well.”
The conversations, the kisses, the hope and anticipation, all pointing to ten o’clock, had woken him before sunrise and brought him to the shop even earlier than usual. And when he looked out the door at 6:25 a.m. and saw George Williams slowly coming up the sidewalk, he felt emboldened and invited the man in. It felt like the previous night’s glow was spilling into the morning and Alyssa had been right all along. Everything would turn out okay.
George had looked surprised at Jeremy’s greeting, but thanked him and entered. At the counter he pulled his credit card out of his brown leather wallet and looked up, with a slightly befuddled expression, at the chalkboard sign.
