Page 2 of Kylo
That was evidenced by his golden skin that set off his bright blue eyes and sandy blond hair all the more.
Traeger might not be what someone would call ‘classically handsome,’ but he was still undeniably attractive with his wide forehead, generous mouth that was always prone to smiling, and a lightly cleft chin.
“You know better than to try to romance that machine,” he told me as he reached to remove the crossbody bag (that was really just a fanny pack worn across the chest for some reason). “You know it only has love for me.”
I threw up my hands and backed away from the machine as he moved forward with a wave of cologne. Okay. That was possibly the only thing I didn’t absolutely adore about my coworker. His cologne had that too-clean scent to it, where I preferred earthy, natural, spicy scents. Since it had been his signature scent since his fifteenth birthday when his mom first took him to a store and bought him his first (very expensive) bottle, there was no way I could ask him not to wear it.
Traeg made a clucking sound as he removed the portafilter. I had no idea what I could have messed up by putting grounds into a little circle, but I somehow managed to do it. He dumped them out, scooped them in again, tamping them down, then repeating the process.
Meanwhile, I washed out the glasses from the day before, added ice, and handed them over to the coffee master.
“Make anything fun last night?” I asked, knowing that after I’d locked up, he’d gone off to his shed.
“Made you a few six-inch pots,” he said, knowing they were the most frequently sold ones. “And did a lot of coffee mugs. I posted a video that went a little viral, so now I have orders coming out my ears.”
“That’s a good problem to have.”
“It is. But it’s cutting into my socializing time.”
“You’re young. You have plenty of time to socialize. And you can have a lot more fun socializing if you have some money in your pocket.”
“True. I hear mixed drinks are like twenty-something bucks in the good clubs in Miami.”
“You’ve got another two years before you need to worry about that.”
Don’t rush it, I urged him silently. As someone who was in such a rush to grow up, I’d missed out on so much along the way.
“Um, a year and four months, actually.”
“Just the fact that you’re counting months still means you don’t need to worry about the cost of mixed drinks,” I said, getting a little laugh out of him.
He finished his coffee magic, and I let out a whimper at the first taste.
“Maybe if you got yourself a boyfriend, I could teach them to make your coffee right for you.” At my curled lip, he smiled. “Or girlfriend.”
“Boys, unfortunately,” I grumbled, maybe a little bitter still from the last date I’d had. He’d seemed like a perfectly nice guy when he’d chatted me up in the line at the sandwich shop. And then on the date, he’d gone off on a tangent about how he didn’t only think women shouldn’t own their own businesses, but that we shouldn’t be ‘allowed’ to live alone or vote.
“Just because some have their brains rotted from alpha-bro podcasters doesn’t mean they’re all bad,” Traeger reminded me. It was a very optimistic mindset considering his last boyfriend had cheated on him mercilessly and then convinced him he was crazy for suspecting as much.
“Maybe,” I agreed. “But I somehow doubt I am going to find one when I am literally only ever here, at home, or visiting my grandmother.”
It was the same grandmother who had given me this shop that had been her life’s passion after my grandfather died, leaving her a small fortune. She earned that money after a lifetime of being married to a man who gave her a weekly allowance that was hardly enough to buy feminine hygiene products or toiletries, let alone anything she might find joy in.
She’d lovingly run Vital Greens for fifteen years. Then there started to be issues with arthritis, followed by two falls, and, finally, some mild memory loss that made it hard for her to live fully alone anymore.
It had been her own decision to step away not only from the business, but her home. And to leave them to her very troubled granddaughter who was just barely keeping herself stitched together up in Chicago.
It was like she’d known how much I needed to get away. From my life, the pressures of my parents, and the job I hated with every fiber of my being.
She was still in the shop in spirit. And in her portrait on the wall I’d had made—surrounded by rare, exotic plants, with her signature big green glasses on her beaming face.
And she was in it in a more practical way, since I still had to defer to her at times when I was having a particularly hard time with a certain plant.
She even came to the shop sometimes still, though she actually had this big, vibrant friend group of widows at the assisted living place she called home. They were always doing activities and getting into mild trouble with the staff together. She was happy there.
Me? I was happy here.
Or as happy as I could be… considering—
