Page 71 of Whirlwind

Violet

“Shoot, I’m so late!”

I bolted off of Sara’s sofa, and I fell face flat on the floor. “Dammit!” The sheet was tangled around my legs.

“Girl, you need coffee,” came Sara’s voice. “I’ll make us some—”

“Girl, I need to be MAKING the coffee! I should’ve been at the Grand a half hour ago.” I darted to the bathroom in Sara’s apartment. At least our official barista, Aaron the asshat, had the first shift today.

Sara and I had gone out together after I’d helped her bartend at Pete’s Tavern. They’d been short one person and I’d gladly dove in to help. I did that a lot at Pete’s. I enjoyed it. I knew pretty much everyone, and I handled the crowds—be it orders or potential fights—pretty swiftly. It was a totally different experience from Dad’s office or the Meager Grand.

I hadn’t expected a Monday night at Pete’s to be so hopping, and we’d stayed out pretty late then I’d bunked on Sara’s couch instead of going home.

Going home. Any excuse not to be around Dad glaring at me non-stop.

I showered, threw on the change of clothes I’d brought with me, tugged a brush threw my hair, and put on mascara and lined my eyes with my favorite purple eyeliner pencil. Now I looked semi-human at least. “I’m off, girlfriend.”

“And I’m crawling back into bed. Call me later.” Sara shut the door after me.

Luckily Sara lived two blocks down and around a corner from the Meager Grand Cafe. I’d left my car at the Grand’s back lot last night. I walked quickly down Clay Street.

“Dang.” A line snaked out the door of the cafe. Two for Tuesday Cupcake Day had caught on like wildfire in the month that mom had started it at my suggestion. Of all the worst days to be late to work, today was it, and I’d never been late before. What the heck had gotten into me?

I knew. I just didn’t want to deal with it.

“Excuse me. Hi. Good morning—sorry, can I get through?” I pushed past the people in line and finally made it inside the cafe. A red-faced Shelby flew behind the long counter, filling boxes and bags with cupcakes and all sorts of baked goods, as well as filling coffee cups. She darted to the cash register, where a long line of customers waited. She was up there alone. No sign of Aaron at the espresso machine or my mother at the register, her usual spot, chatting with her customers who were mostly life-long friends. It’s what you did in a small town like Meager, and she loved it.

Mom’s dad’s family had owned the cafe for generations in its former life as Drake’s Luncheonette. She’d grown up bussing, waitressing, being the friendly cashier girl through high school. Over eight years ago she’d transformed the sleepy coffee shop of yore into the smart and chic Meager Grand Cafe, which offered her own baked goods and a carefully curated selection of fine teas and high quality coffees.

She’d taken her family’s business and transformed it, made it something shiny and new, and in the process had brought Meager much-needed sparkle. New stores had begun to pop up shortly after the Cafe had made its mark. I was proud of Mom, and I was proud to help her manage the business.

“What do you mean there’s no cinnamon spice latte? I get one every morning!” said a customer at the front.

“I know, Mr. Fieldston, and I’m so sorry about that,” said Shelby, keeping her tone punchy and bright along an edge of panic. “Aaron hasn’t come in yet, and I’m doing the best I can to keep up here—”

Shelby didn’t know how to use the massive espresso machine. She was intimidated by it and refused to learn, which was fine by me. That was Aaron’s job and mine.

“This is unacceptable,” came the reply.

It certainly was. Where the hell was Aaron?

Up at the register, instead of my mother stood Jill and Grace, friends of Mom’s, both wives of local bikers.

“I could get you a cup of today’s brewed coffee to start with, and once Aaron gets here, your latte will be on the house?” attempted Shelby.

“I suppose.”

I darted over to the counter next to the irate Mr. Fieldston. “Good morning, Mr. Fieldston, so sorry about all this.”

His sour glance attempted to make me shrivel.No dice.“What’s going on here today, Violet?”

“I’m on it, don’t you worry. One cinnamon spice latte coming right up.” My gaze darted at Shelby. “Is my mom here?”

“She was but then she left for a quick errand, and that was over an hour ago. She’s not back yet.”

“She’s not answering her phone,” said Jill, ringing up Dan’s order. “Cupcakes on the house, Dan.”

He scowled at her.

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