Yep. This owner sure knows how to get their name out.
“Hi there. Just one?” asks a woman with a kind face that screams “I’m overworked.”
“Just a latte to go, if I can,” I say.
She smiles. “Sure thing, hon. What kind do you want? We’ve got every flavor under the sun and twenty different kinds of milk.”
“I know it’s off-season, but could I get a pumpkin spice with oat?” I shrug sheepishly.
She scowls and throws out a sassy hip. “Off-season, off-schmeason. Pumpkin spice is good year-round, hon. Anything else?”
“How are the pancakes here?” I ask, knowing I’ll need a fix of fluffy, buttery goodness for breakfast instead of a PB&J.
“They’re the best in town if you get them Monday through Thursday. Weekends is a different cook, and he doesn’t know his ass from his elbow.”
I laugh. “Thanks for the candor. Just the latte for now, but I’ll be back for some blueberry pancakes soon.”
“Blueberry girl, huh? Okay, I see you. But have you tried”—she pauses for dramatic effect and raises her arms—“boysenberry?”
I can’t help but laugh again. This woman gets me, and I don’t even know her name. I look at the tag on her chest.
Cherry.
Well, that’s a very small-town name.
“I’ll try boysenberry one of these days. I have to verify that the blueberry passes muster first, Cherry.”
She looks at me curiously and then glances down at her nametag. “Oh, this is just a joke. They’re our ‘tripper’ names. Get it?”
We both laugh.
“My name is Irene, and I’m the hostess, barista, and server on weekday afternoons until close.”
No wonder she looks so overworked. The place isn’t packed, but it’s busy enough that she wouldn’t get a second to breathe.
“Nice to meet you, Irene. I’m Sylvia Azarolla,” I say, reaching out to shake her hand. No harm in getting to know the locals, especially when they’re so awesome.
“Sylvia! You’re the new owner of the haunted hot spring!” she exclaims, gripping my hand and shaking it vigorously.
“I am. I hope the rumors aren’t true,” I say with a wink.
She blanches as she pulls back. “I’ve lived here a long time and we’ve seen some shit up there.”
“Like what?”
“Lights flickering, water running backwards, shadows in the steam, and some other stuff you probably won’t believe,” she says with a nervous chuckle that colors her dark cheeks. “Anyway, it’s definitely haunted.”
“Well, fortunately I’ve graduated from Ghost Bustin’ University!” I say, flexing my arms.
She shakes her head. “I hope you’ve got real witchy powers because thereissome kind of demon up there. No doubt.”
“Oh…”
Shit…these people are crazy.
We stare at one another for a moment and then she looks down at the notepad in her hand.
“I’ll go make your latte,” she says, her smile returning.
