Page 12 of Of Literature and Lattes
Jeremy chuffed, but felt reluctant to miss an opportunity. Even accounting for an afternoon lull, Andante was too quiet. He needed customers. “That wouldn’t work, but I’m sure I can pick her up afterward. Count me in.”
“Excellent.” Janet clapped her hands together, and Jeremy noted purple paint on the tips of her fingers. “Come to Winsome Realty at seven and bring some coffee. Two of those cardboard carrying things should do it. Your coffee really is much better than anything around, and it’s time everyone knew it.”
Jeremy stalled outside the realty office. He stepped back, forward, and back again. He felt like the new kid once more, the one everyone knew had lost his parents and got thrown into foster care, but rather than say it to his face or even welcome him, they talked behind his back.
He placed the bags on the sidewalk, straightened his spine, tucked his shirt into his jeans, again, and steadied himself. Only his death grip on the bags as he picked them up, crinkling the paper handles, belied his calm façade as he pushed open the door.
The smell hit him first. Burnt coffee. Old, stale coffee.I can fix that, he thought.
Janet spotted him as he entered the back conference room and beelined his direction. “Am I glad to see you.” She led him to two tables pushed against the side wall and cleared him a space between flyers and an old stainless steel coffee urn.
A few heads turned to watch them.
“Set up right here. I was so afraid you weren’t going to come. When I asked, you looked like I was force-feeding you Folgers. Dry.”
“Hey—” Jeremy laughed. While he couldn’t tell her he’d been so nervous he’d changed his shirt three times, he was glad she made a joke about it. Somehow calling it out made it easier to handle.
Janet lifted one of the coffee containers from the bag. “I really appreciate this.” She stepped closer. “Hang around afterward and I’ll introduce you to everyone one-on-one. Claire’s already jumpy about running late, so I can’t now. You won’t run off, will you?”
Jeremy set a decanter of cream on the table. “I won’t.”
She nodded, crossed to the front of the room to where her co-worker, and one of the Printed Letter Bookshop’s owners, Claire Durand, sat, and clapped her hands. “Everyone, attention please. Before Claire begins, go grab a coffee if you want one, generously donated by Jeremy Miller of the Daily—excuse me, Andante.” Janet widened her eyes with her mistake, then gestured to the room, palms out. “Sorry about that. Andante provided tonight’s coffee.”
Jeremy sat as Claire stood to welcome everyone. At her first word, his cell phone rang, and all heads again turned his direction. “I’m sorry. I thought I silenced this.”
Noting his daughter’s smiling face on the screen, he swiped Accept and walked out of the room.
“Jeremy? Jeremy? Are you there?” Krista’s tiny voice squeaked at him from a distance.
He crossed through the real estate company’s outer office and hit the pavement outside. “Sorry. I was in a meeting. I left you a message about it.”
His ex-wife was silent a beat. “I got the message, but I also have plans tonight. I need you to get Becca when you agreed, as you agreed.”
“This is important. It’s for my business, Krista.”
“So is this, Jeremy. We’ve got an event tonight and we’re already short-staffed.”
“We?” he scoffed. “You’re an employee, Krista. I own this shop.”
“You did not just say that to me.”
Jeremy closed his eyes and leaned against the brick building. Despite the day’s warm sunshine, the bricks had cooled with the evening. “No. I didn’t. Can you get your parents to help? Just this once?”
“If they were in town. But they’re not.”
“Get a babysitter. I’ll cover the cost and get Becca first thing tomorrow, and keep her all weekend.”
“Forget it, Jeremy. I’ll talk to you later.”
“No, wait!” He pushed off the bricks.
“No. You wait. I didn’t ask you to move out here. I never asked you to be a part of Becca’s life. We had it all worked out, but you changed everything and now she believes you’re in her life, that you’re her dad—”
“I am her dad.”
“Then act like one. Be where you say you’ll be, when you say you’ll be there. I won’t play these games with you.”
“That’s rich, coming from you.” Jeremy winced at his words, at his tone. It wasn’t that they sounded angry—though they did. It was worse than that. They sounded broken, hurt, and he wondered if that feeling, that emptiness, was ever going to go away.
