COOL BEANS

  “You’re finally home!” she nearly yells, making Calvin jump.

  I start a little bit too. “Hi,” I say.

  She hops off the couch and starts bubbling. “Oh, Maya, it was so wonderful! After church, he took me to this picnic spot that was so beautiful because all of the trees were changing, and he’d packed this whole lunch with sandwiches and cheese and fruit and sparkling cider, and then we just sat and talked for, like, hours, and then when it was time to go, we decided to go get coffee, so we sat and talked for hours there, and then we went and saw a movie at the theater, and then we had dinner, and oh — !” She finally takes a breath. My lungs are hurting just watching her. She falls back on the couch. “It was the perfect day.”

  No accusing “Hey, you never told me you dated him,” so I’m assuming Travis did not recognize me last night. Travis is nothing but honest. If he knew who I was, he’d tell Jen as soon as he could.

  I set Calvin down, and he slumps to my room to go to bed. I watch him longingly but recognize the hopeful look on Jen’s face and sit on the couch.

  So sorry, Jack.

  He’s really not going to like me in the morning. But every girl knows that half the fun of going on a date is dishing about it later.

  This isn’t the first time Jen’s told me about a date, but it is the first time she’s told me about one without using periods. Normally, it goes something like this: “So, we went to dinner. Then we went to a movie. It was fun.” The end.

  I try to ignore the tightening in my stomach. Maybe if I just pretend I never dated Travis … maybe that could work.

  There’s a prominent new display of tulips on the coffee table. “He brought a gift, I see.” I point to the flowers.

  She sighs. “Aren’t they beautiful?”

  “They’re pretty.”

  “Oh, Maya, he’s the sweetest guy I’ve ever met.”

  Jen, we dated. All through high school and the first year of college. I thought you should know. And it’s late. I’m going to bed.

  It sounds good in my head. I open my mouth.

  She beats me to it. “And we have so much in common!” she exclaims. “We both love movies and hiking and Italian food, and he tells the funniest stories!”

  “Jen,” I start as soon as she takes a breath.

  “Oh! And the dinner! I’ll tell you what, Maya, he does not scrimp on taking me out. Flowers, nice restaurants, he always asks if I want dessert….”

  She’s got this dreamy soft look in her eyes, and the light from the TV is making them sparkle even more.

  Oh boy.

  “Jen,” I try again.

  “Oh gosh!” She jumps and looks at the clock. “Work! We both have to work tomorrow! You have to open!” She yanks me to my feet. “Go to bed! I’m sorry for keeping you up for so long.” She pulls me into a long hug. “You are the best friend ever for listening to me.” She leans back and smiles. “I love you, Maya.”

  “Love you, too.” Which is why I keep my mouth shut and do what the woman says: Go to bed.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Monday morning, I get to Cool Beans tired, cranky, and with a headache because Jen and I are out of coffee. (Mental note: Buy more today.) To add insult to injury, I’m opening today. Which means it’s 6:25 a.m.

  “What’s eating you, Pattertwig?” Jack greets me at the door, pulling his keys out of his dark-rinsed, straight-legged jeans. I shrug. He unlocks the front door, and we walk into the cold, dark coffee shop.

  I hate Cool Beans when no one is here and no lights are on. You can almost smell the vacancy. It’s chilly and dead and clammy.

  Jack sighs. “I love being the first one here. It’s like this place gets excited to be opened.”

  Jack is weird.

  He pockets his keys and looks over at me. “So, seriously, what’s wrong?”

  “No coffee at home.”

  “Sit. I’ll make you a cup.”

  He doesn’t have to ask me twice. I flick the switch for the gas fireplace and then plop on one of the couches.

  “Don’t go to sleep, Maya. You do have to work eventually.” Jack’s smiling at me from behind the counter.

  I block a yawn and lie down, tucking my feet up underneath me. “I won’t.” I stare at the fireplace, watching the flames lick around the fake wood. “What’s the fake wood in fireplaces made from?”

  “I don’t know. Ceramic, maybe?” Jack measures the grounds into the ten-gallon basket.

  “Do you think there are people whose whole job is making the fake wood for fireplaces?”

  “Probably.”

  “Huh.” My cheek is pressing so hard against the couch that I can feel the corduroy fabric indenting into my face.

  “Okay, time to get up.” Jack comes over and tosses my cherry red apron over my head.

  I sit up, rubbing my curly hair, and tie my apron around my waist.

  “How’s Polly?” I ask Jack.

  “She’s still nocturnal.” Jack closes his eyes.

  “You look more rested, though.”

  He grins at me. “She sleeps on the porch.”

  “Jack!”

  “What? She’s the one making all the noise. It’s not so cold out that she needs to be inside.”

  I join him behind the counter and get the decaf started. At exactly seven, about ten regulars will run in on their way to work. And while I’ve never seen the reason for decaf coffee before noon, apparently other people do.

  “How was dinner last night?” Jack asks.

  “Not that bad,” I concede. Zach was really decent last night. I think it’s because he remembers when Travis and I broke up. It was tough, to say the least. “I think the distance is good for me and Zach,” I say.

  “Good.” Jack smiles.

  “Seeing each other only once every eight months has been helpful. Any more than that, and we’d kill each other.”

  He just laughs.

  I pour a cup of the freshly made French roast and inhale it. It’s 6:56 a.m. By the time I had listened to Jen, brushed my teeth, and cleared my bed of all the outfits that didn’t make the cut for dinner, it was well past one in the morning.

  Ugh.

  I sip my coffee, thinking about Jen. She was still snoozing when I left this morning. On my way out, I passed by the tulips on the kitchen counter, the coffee table … and I know she’s got a vase of them in her room that she brought home from work.

  Honestly, three bouquets of tulips? They’ve been dating for what? Three days?

  “Do you think romance can be overdone?” I ask Jack.

  He gives me a weird look and opens his mouth, probably to say something smart-alecky, but right then the door opens and our first regular, Leonard, comes in.

  Leonard is a mystery to me. He comes in every Monday morning at 7:01 and orders a french vanilla MixUp (our version of the Frappucino). No coffee, no caffeine, no stimulants at all, save for the couple hundred calories and a bunch of sugar.

  Then he sits at the same table, stares out the same window, waits for the shake to melt, and drinks the whole thing in one long gulp. After that, he stands, throws the empty cup away, and leaves.

  Every single Monday morning.

  Some people would say he’s a man of habit. I say he’s just strange.

  “Morning, Leonard,” I say cheerfully.

  “Good morning. One french vanilla MixUp.”

  Jack’s already halfway done making it. “Yes, sir,” I say over the high-pitched drone of the blender. “Anything else?”

  “No.” Leonard hands me his MasterCard.

  “Scone? Cookie? Cinnamon roll?”

  Now Leonard just gives me a weird look. I never probe, so this is out of the ordinary. “No, just the drink.”

  Boorrring. I swipe the card but frown. I, for one, think Leonard should follow the title of his favorite drink and mix it up a little.

  “Add a shot,” I whisper to Jack while Leonard sits at his table to wait for his drink.

  “What? No, Nutkin, I wi
ll not,” he hisses back.

  “Please? Add some spice to that poor man’s life.”

  There’s hoppy fifties music playing, so Leonard can’t overhear us. I give Jack my best Bambi expression, but instead of dumping a highly addictive yet very legal substance into Leonard’s drink, Jack just raises an eyebrow.

  “You look like that cat on Alice in Wonderland”

  “Thanks.” My Bambi impression must need work.

  “Leonard, your drink is ready!” Jack calls.

  “To answer your question, yes,” Jack says to me at ten thirty when we’re in the midst of a brief lull.

  “What?”

  “Romance being overdone? I definitely would say yes, it can be.” He looks up at me from a big bowl of frosting he’s mixing for the cinnamon rolls I just pulled from the oven. Cool Beans is renowned for its inventive coffee flavors and homemade cinnamon rolls. Kendra Lee is our chef, and she comes in every night after closing and whips up another batch that rises in the fridge all night, so all I have to do is bake them.

  I’m really good at pulling something from the fridge and putting it right in the oven. Pillsbury and me? We’re buds.

  “Yeah?” I nod and set the hot pan on the counter. “I agree.”

  “Why were you asking?”

  “Three bouquets of tulips. Three days.”

  “See? That’s almost to the point of creepy.” Jack frowns. “This guy is trying too hard. You didn’t break up with him because he just got out of prison, did you?”

  I giggle. “No.”

  He grins and looks at the frosting again. “Hey, why did you guys break up?” he asks, not looking at me because he knows this is a very personal question. Don’t get me wrong — he’s one of my best friends, but there are still things we don’t talk about.

  My chest clenches. “I don’t remember,” I lie. “A few things.”

  He’s looking at me again. I’m an awful liar, and Jack has always been able to read me like a Little Golden Book.

  “It’s okay. We don’t have to talk about it.” He picks up the frosting bowl to pour it on the rolls. “Just wanted to make sure he hadn’t knocked off a florist in a horrific high-speed car chase or something.”

  I grin again. “That’s it, Jackie. You’re really weird. Have I told you that lately?”

  He starts laughing. “Would that be like putting the petal to the metal?”

  “Oh my gosh,” I groan, but I start laughing.

  “Like if he — ”

  “Ugh!” I scream as Jack loses his hold on the frosting bowl and the whole thing dumps right on my shoes.

  All eight customers stare at us, and one tentatively claps.

  Jack’s alternating between snorting and apologizing. “Oh, Maya, I’m so sorry. I — “ He half-laughs and mashes his fist against his mouth. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to … uh …”

  Now he’s doubled over, gripping the counter in a full-out wheezing laugh. I stand there, arms crossed over my chest, sugary stickiness saturating my shoes and seeping into my socks.

  “Jaaack.”

  He straightens. “Nutkin.” He’s still trying hard to hide a grin. His brown-brown-brown eyes are sparkling like crazy and crinkling up on the sides, and his dimple is showing.

  I sigh and shake my head. “Nothing.” I half-walk, half-slide to the back room to take off my shoes, and I finally start giggling.

  “Yuck!” I yell, for Jack’s benefit.

  He comes in, all apologetic now. “I’m really, really sorry, Maya. I’ll pay for new shoes and socks.” Then he sees me laughing. “Hey!”

  “Do you think this counts as a sugar scrub, Jack?”

  He gives me a look. “A what?”

  “Sugar scrub. Like an exfoliating thing.”

  “I’m male,” he reminds me, shaking his head and leaving.

  “Sorry!” he yells over his shoulder.

  I get home at two thirty. The perk of working the morning shift is you’re finished ridiculously early.

  I had rinsed out my socks with the hose out back, and they dried in the afternoon sun. My shoes are toast, though. I’m not too disappointed. They were my ugly work shoes, and Alisha said she’d replace them.

  There’s yet another bouquet on our porch. I roll my eyes and pick it up as I walk in the apartment. Daisies and cranberry red roses this time. Swell. How come Travis can get daisies now, when it seemed like an impossible feat when we were dating?

  Calvin is dancing around my feet in a happy doggy four-step. “Hi, baby!” I greet him, still carrying the flowers. “Let me put these in the kitchen, okay?”

  The card is popping out of the bouquet, and it catches me off guard when I read my name on the envelope: Maya Elise Davis.

  They’re for me?

  I rip open the card, my heart starting to beat a little faster. Hey, I’m a girl. It’s allowed.

  Roses are red,

  Violets are blue,

  Please accept this

  Apology for your shoe.

  Jack. I grin and shove my face in the bouquet to inhale their spicy, sweet scent. “Good thing you’re going into animal-behavioral biology and not poetry,” I mutter, still grinning.

  I grab my cell and send him a text:

  Mustard is yellow;

  Dill pickles are okay.

  Thank you for the flowers.

  They made my day!:)

  Now I turn my attention to Calvin, who decided I hate him and is moping around, tail lackluster.

  “Dude, don’t be so sensitive,” I tell him, rubbing his ears until he perks up again. He gives me a lick on the chin and then trots behind me as I go to my room to change out of my dirty work clothes.

  “Work out or veg on couch?” I ask Calvin.

  He plops his butt on the ground, and I’d swear he shrugs, but then people would tell me I spend too much time alone and need to get more eccentric friends.

  I finger my sweats and my yoga pants.

  I did have Cheesecake Factory last night.

  Work out.

  Tossing my work clothes in the hamper, I pull on my yoga pants and a blue T-shirt that I got in Florida with my family. It says: Who cares about Prince Charming? My heart belongs to a Mouse. There’s a silhouette of Mickey Mouse behind the words.

  I pop a Pilates DVD in the player and push the coffee table out of the way. Calvin stretches out on the floor next to me, where I sit back on my knees and stretch, face against the floor, in what’s called “Child’s Pose.”

  He sticks his nose in my ear, and I yelp.

  “Ugh! Calvin!”

  “Roo! Roo!”

  I send him a look and stare at the carpet fibers again. Our carpet really needs to be cleaned.

  “Up to Up Dog,” the perky little instructor chirps.

  Now Calvin’s hopping around on all fours. “Roo! Roooo!”

  “Not you, Calvin.”

  “And down to Down Dog.”

  Calvin immediately falls to the floor, head on his paws.

  I disobey the ninety-pound, beyond-humanly-flexible instructor and sit up, staring at my dog. “How come you’ll lie down for the lady with the most annoying voice on the planet, but you won’t for me?”

  “Back to Up Dog …” I can tell the instructor is aiming for a soothing voice, but she hits squeaky instead.

  Calvin smoothly sits up.

  I just stare, open mouthed.

  My cell phone rings right then.

  “Yes?”

  “Honestly, Maya, it’s like I never taught you any manners for answering the phone.”

  “Mom, the weirdest thing is going on! I’m doing Pilates and — ”

  “Don’t tell me. You got fuzz in your eye again.”

  “No! I — ”

  “Your mouth? Your nose?”

  “Mom, listen to me for a second!”

  “Okay, what?”

  “Calvin is doing Pilates! He’s doing exactly what the lady says to do!”

  Long silence. “Maya …”
br />   “Yes, Mom?”

  Again, silence.

  Finally, I hear her sigh. “It’s not worth it. Listen, Maya, I was calling for a reason, actually.”

  I pause the Pilates. “Go ahead,” I tell her.

  “Roo!” Calvin protests from the Down Dog position.

  “Hush,” I hiss at him.

  “I’m calling to tell you some of Zach’s news, actually,” Mom says. “One of the reasons he was here this week was for an interview at the San Diego Children’s Hospital. And he just found out he got the job. I guess both he and Kate were ready to come back to California. He starts in two weeks.”

  I am having trouble wrapping my brain around this fact.

  Did I or did I not just tell Jack this morning how great it was that Zach and I were getting along and how I thought it was due to the distance?

  Funny, Lord.

  Sometimes, I find God’s timing to be the most hysterical thing on the face of the earth.

  “Two weeks, huh?”

  “Yep. He’s starting as the head of the Neonatal ICU. Isn’t that exciting?” Pride rings in Mom’s voice, and I catch a little tiny stab of jealousy in my lower abdominals.

  Jealousy or pain. Those scissor crunches will kill you.

  “Cool.”

  “I think this is wonderful. Both of my kids back in California! We can all have dinner together every Sunday night again!”

  I feel bad that Mom’s so excited and I’m so not.

  Now I’ll have to feel inconsequential and awkward every single Sunday night.

  Whoop-de-do.

  “Okay, well, I just wanted to let you in on what is going on. I love you, sweetie. Have a good day!” She hangs up.

  I turn off the TV and go to my room. Grabbing my Bible, I flounce on the bed.

  Okay, Lord. I’m sorry I feel like this, but I don’t know how to stop it.

  I flip open the Bible and turn to 1 Thessalonians. “Rejoice always.”

  I know, God. But good grief! Travis and Zach in one week? Couldn’t we space out the men who make me nuts coming back into my life?

  “Pray without ceasing; in everything give thanks.”

  I reach for a sticky note.

  Reasons I Can Still Be Thankful:

  1. Calvin appears to be wise beyond his breed. Maybe this is a new entrepreneurial enterprise: Canine Pilates.