Page 58 of Ten Christmases Without You
Emmy arrivedat Cadeau a little early. She entered through the coupled columns that drew the eye to the lavishly painted domed ceilings, her boots clicking on the shiny marble floors. She’d only ever seen this kind of grand Beaux-Arts architecture in public locations like train stations and courthouses. The place was full of New York’s finest clientele: groups of women from wealthy or aristocratic backgrounds, daintily sipping their low-sugar lattes, a pile of high-end shopping bags at their feet; men in business suits, tapping on laptops.Cadeau was clearly a fashionable social gathering place, a who’s who of New York’s elite.
Emmy considered whether to email Mitchell Augustine with her description. Would he get her message? She wandered through the busy café, the buzz of conversation echoing in the airy space. She found an empty spot to stand near the back, but she couldn’t see the doors from there, so she finessed her way through a group of stylish young professionals until she made it back to the entrance.
Wanting something to expel her nervous energy, she went over to the wall and took a menu. The choices were presented in embroidered fabric and stretched across a highly lacquered thin sheet of wood. There were no prices. She’d heard someone at The Big Cup, where she worked, once claim that a latte was twenty bucks. With nothing noted on the menu, they could charge whatever they wanted, and given the people in this room,she doubted any of them would even pay attention to the cost. These people would probably pay anything to be seen here.
“Excuse me.”
Emmy turned around to see an older gentleman, dressed in a tailored pair of trousers and a thick navy wool coat. He was strikingly handsome and distinguished.
“Are you, by chance, Emmy Brewer?”
“Yes.”
He stepped back as if to get a good look at her, taking her in, an indescribable curiosity dancing in his deep-green eyes. “Mitchell Augustine.” He held out a hand in greeting.
She shook it. “How did you know it was me?”
“You have your mother’s smile and her sense of style.”
His commanding presence made her nervous.
“And you’ve been wandering around, looking a bit lost.” He gestured toward a small table and pulled out a chair for her.
She took off her coat and handbag, draped them on the back of the chair, and sat down.
“Forgive me, but that dress you’re wearing is fantastic. Who’s the designer? I’m in dire need of an addition to my team.”
Her cheeks flamed. “No one you’d know, I’m certain.”
“Good thing. If I couldn’t hire them, I’d hate to have that level of competition. Is it someone from out of the country?”
She’d only wanted to look nice. She hadn’t considered that he might ask about her outfit. But she should’ve known because he was a designer, after all. She’d been compared to her mother her whole life. She didn’t want to be compared now. Especially by a top designer. “No, someone made it out of their home. They’re not a professional.”
“Oh, really? Wow.”
She cleared her throat and focused on her breath to keep her heart from beating out of her chest. While she didn’t want to beheld to the high standard her mother had set, she did get a rush of excitement at the compliment.
“What would you like to drink?” Mitchell asked.
Another wave of anxiety crashed over her. What was she supposed to get? Was there a protocol or anything? Should she ask for sparkling water or get a coffee? She stared at his expectant face. “Surprise me.”
“All right.”
He left her and went up to the counter. His movements were assertive. Was that because he was confident or arrogant? He responded to the attendant, who moved swiftly to fulfill his order.
Emmy ran her hands over her dress to smooth it out and sat up straight, feeling very much out of place. But since this would probably be the only time she came into Cadeau, she put her fears aside and soaked in the atmosphere. There was a noticeable air of success in the place. People were less manically rushed and more uncompromisingly focused than they were in The Big Cup. In the mornings, patrons were frazzled, usually late, and hurrying off to their jobs, but here, people were either having direct conversation in what looked to be scheduled meet-ups, or they were meticulously working, their fingers tapping away at their laptops and cell phones at their ears. The difference made her wonder if there was an indefinable thing that set the uber-successful apart from the regular person. Did some people just have it and others didn’t? Was that how her mother had made life look so easy and why Emmy struggled?
Mr. Augustine returned with two ceramic cups. He set one down in front of her. “I got you a prewarmed pour-over of Hacienda La Esmeralda Geisha.” He handed her a small card. At the top, the café’s logo sat in the center of a tiny Christmas wreath.
“What’s this?” She peered down at the list typed on it.
He frowned. “It’s a tasting notes card.” He sat down.
She worked at a coffee shop and had no idea what he was talking about. “What is that?”
He lifted his own card and read the type. “The origin of the coffee is Boquete, Panama. The variety is Geisha. It was grown at an elevation of 5,250–5,900 feet. And here’s the list of its tasting notes.” He tapped the card, showing where to follow along on hers.
She read the text:Aroma:Jasmine, bergamot; Flavor:Bright citrus (tangerine, lime), delicate florals, honey-like sweetness; Body:Refined, tea-like, with a light and elegant feel; Acidity:Vibrant and crisp, with a champagne-like effervescence; Finish:Long, clean, and lingering, with a hint of peach.
