Page 89 of Bonus Daddy
I parked along the street in front of a hipster-looking coffee shop called Bean There, Sipped That and headed in, desperate for a hit of caffeine.
When I checked my reflection in the rearview mirror, I almost didn’t recognize myself. My hair was a disaster, probably because I’d run my hands through it repeatedly to keep myself awake. I hadn’t trimmed my beard in a week, and today, it had officially begun veering into mountain hermit territory. Then there were the dark circles under my eyes that looked more like bruises. Shit, I was a mess.
The shop was mostly empty, though there were a few older folks sipping from large cobalt blue mugs in one corner. Their eyes followed me intently as I approached the counter.
On one wall was a massive mural of the mountains I’d admired on the way in, with hand-painted road signs displaying the distance to various world landmarks.
The other was dominated by a chalkboard menu with every type of drink one could imagine and an impressive selection of pastries and breakfast sandwiches, each with special notes about the origin and sustainability of its ingredients.
The lanky teen behind the counter looked me up and down, his lip curled with what might have been disgust, though his question held a hint of concern. “You okay, dude?”
“Um, yes,” I replied awkwardly. “Can I get a large black coffee, please? And one of those croissants.”
He pulled a large mug that matched the ones the patrons were using from under the counter.
“Can I get that to go, please?” I asked, pointing at it.
“Did you bring a reusable mug?” he asked, his pierced brow arched, his teenage attitude on display. It was impressive for such an early morning, really.
“No.”
“So you’re okay with killing a tree so you can have a cup of coffee?”
His words barely registered. I was too lost to sleep deprivation and caffeine withdrawal. In hindsight, I’d really let myself go to hell since Jess left last week.
“Sure,” I replied, eye twitching.
With a scowl, he produced a cardboard cup from under the counter.
“Hey, kid,” I asked as he poured. “What day is it?”
He peered at me over his shoulder. “Monday.”
“Munchkin Monday,” I murmured. “Do you have Munchkins?”
“Does this look like a Dunkin’ Donuts to you?” he snapped back.
I rolled my eyes. Teenagers.
Frowning, I scanned the bakery case, which was the size of a school bus and filled with dozens of amazing-looking treats.
“Can I get a few donuts, then?”
He set the coffee beside the register and grabbed an empty box. Then he looked at me expectantly.
I did a few calculations in my head, though my thoughts were jumbled. Jess was at the farm with the girls and her brothers and her sister and her kids. I should get a lot. Plus, they looked delicious, andI couldn’t remember the last time I’d had a donut, so I wouldn’t mind having more than one. Or leftovers.
“That one.” I pointed to the top shelf. “The lemon curd—no, make it two. And three of the maple bacon. Nah, I’ll eat those while driving. Just give me all the maple bacon. And the Mexican chocolate ones too.”
The kid dropped the donut in his hand into the box and leaned back. “Hey, Mom,” he hollered. “There’s an unhoused guy in a suit out here who wants to buy all the maple bacons.”
A moment later, the kitchen door swung open and a plump woman with a blond ponytail and a full sleeve came striding out.
“Elijah. What are you talking ab—oh, shit.”
She froze in the doorway, her eyes going wide. “You’re here.”
I studied her, trying to place her, but my exhausted brain and blurry eyes made it impossible.
