Page 21 of The Lone Wolf Café
Rowena brushed past me and walked behind the counter, checking the temperature of the teapot. “Today, make whatever you’d like. Whatever you’re best at. We can determine a more routine menu once we get customers flowing back in here.”
“Okay.” I nodded. “Sounds good. Thanks.”
I walked back into the kitchen and leaned my torso over the counter, pressing my weight into my elbows to keep me upright. I was tired. So tired that once I opened my grandmother’s recipe book, which was still at the end of the counter where I left it, I could barely read her scratchy handwriting. The words all blurred together into an inky mess. There was a tiny mirror above the sink, and as I splashed cold water on my face and looked at my reflection, I realized how large and dark the bags under my eyes were.
Ugh. I need coffee.
I knew Rowena was a tea enthusiast, but there had to be coffee somewhere in this kitchen. It was a café, after all.
Doesn’t the word café literally mean coffee?I pondered as I scrounged through the upper cabinets. I found plenty of baking supplies, including a large bag of chocolate chips – something that was difficult to acquire on Hollenboro – but no coffee.
I hated the idea of bothering Rowena again. But I also hated the idea of going without my morning dose of caffeine. So, I strolled back through the kitchen door, walked up to the front counter, and asked Rowena if she had any coffee grounds.
She wrinkled her nose, as if I’d just asked for a cup of boiled dirt. “Um… no.”
“You don’t?”
“No.”
“But this is a café. Doesn’t that mean coffee in some faraway human language?”
“In French it does, yes. But this is a tea shop. We only serve tea here.”
My mouth opened, then snapped shut. I wanted to argue that a café should serve coffee since it was literally what it meant, but I was too distracted pondering what “French” was.
“I see how it is,” Rowena huffed as she swept past me and lifted the boiling teapot off the hot plate. “You’re one of those uncouth folks who think coffee is superior to tea.”
“I never said that, but…”
“I’m not wrong.”
“Uh, well… yes. Coffee is better than tea.”
Rowena turned around, and I thought she was going to smite me with one of her witch spells right then and there. It was a horrible idea to be arguing with my employer about something so trivial, but saying tea was better felt sowrong. Coffee was clearly the superior beverage.
“Coffee has a higher caffeine content, yes, but that also means it can cause anxiety and increased heart rate,” Rowena explained as she poured herself a cup of Earl Grey. She spoke with a heavy, authoritative tone, as if she were some renowned scholar of drinks. “It’s also not recommended for people with high blood pressure, heart problems, or trouble sleeping.”
“But, uh… coffee tastes better.”
“According to who?”
“Um… me?”
Rowena rolled her eyes, taking a long, slurpy sip of her hot tea. “You know what, fine. Have your preference for your unpleasant bean water. But here, we serve tea. That’s the end of it.”
I exhaled sharply, my nostrils flaring. “Fine. And you can have your preference for bitter leaf juice.”
Rowena’s eyebrows furrowed, as if I’d just uttered some grave insult, and she turned toward her teapot and teacups.
“Just get to baking, human.” She huffed with her back turned to me. “It’s what you do best. Leave the drinks to me.”
Fine.I couldn’t argue with that. Baking truly was what I did best.
Even if Rowena won’t let me keep coffee in the café, I’ll find it somewhere in this village, I plotted a few minutes later as I stood in front of the kitchen counter, once again hovering over my recipe book. Strangely, our little argument had given me a newfound burst of energy. Maybe I couldn’t persuade Rowena that coffee was good, but I could at least fill the café’s pastry case with the best baked goods in all of Wisteria Grove.
I flipped through the recipe book, careful not to tear the decades-old parchment, and eyed the giant bag of chocolate chips peeking out of the upper cabinet.
I knew exactly what I was going to make.
