You Smiled

You Smiled

A Clairmont Novella

by S. Jane Scheyder

Published by Andres & Blanton

Niantic, Connecticut

All rights reserved.

Copyright 2014 by S. Jane Scheyder

Cover artwork by Jacob Scheyder

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, organizations, places and events are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or locations is entirely coincidental.

No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means without written permission from the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations for use in reviews. For more information, contact: Andres & Blanton, P.O. Box 34, Niantic, Connecticut  06357.

ISBN 978-0-9830318-7-1

www.andresblanton.com

For Paul

Monday

She felt more than saw him come in. The reaction of the girls behind the counter was enough to tell her that someone interesting had entered the store. Grace continued to wipe down the bottom shelf of the refrigerator, figuring she’d satisfy her curiosity once the order was placed and one of the baristas had started preparing the coffee.

She stole a look at her employees, and blinked in surprise to find them all staring at her. No one waited on the customer. She frowned and straightened up, casually glancing over her shoulder through the carafes of coffee cream and milk. Either the customer was flat on the floor - not too likely - or he was on the other side of the counter - directly behind her.

It had to be a he, of course, or the young, usually competent women whom she’d hired would not now be staring wide-eyed, in various stages of meltdown. She wiped her hands on her “Caf-fiend” apron and turned around.

Can I help you?

Apparently she only thought the words, because her mouth never actually opened. At least her jaw didn’t drop. A man, tall enough for his rather broad chest and shoulders to clear the high counter, looked back at her. He wore a denim, button-down
oxford very well, and he gazed at her with what she could only describe as a look of bemused … recognition? Not possible. She didn’t know him. She’d certainly remember those brown eyes if she did. She found herself momentarily wishing that she really was whoever he thought he was recognizing.

“Can I help you?”
Ah, there we go.
She did have a voice.

He smiled and her heart did a strange little twist.

“Can I get a cup of coffee?”

Absorbed with the way his eyes crinkled on the sides of his nicely outdoorsy-colored face, she barely heard the question.
Did he just ask if he could get coffee in a coffee shop?
Well, it would hardly be fair to have that much handsome mixed with an intelligent mind.

“Okay, that was stupid. I’d like a cup of your Kenya roast. Black, please.”

Oh. Good for him. “For here or to go?”

“Here, please.”

“Sure. Anything else?”

The bemused smile appeared again. “Not right now. Thanks.”

He turned to look at the artwork on the wall opposite the counter, and Grace considered the expanse of back now facing her. She wondered why he’d passed the girls who were obviously prepared to serve him, and made the point to order his coffee from her. Baffled, and admittedly a little flattered, she began to grind the Kenya roast.

Her employees had not moved.

“If you’re not waiting on someone, then
clean
something,” she hissed. They jumped back to work, a giggle or two carefully stifled.

It didn’t take long to prepare the coffee - it was comically simple compared to many of the drinks they offered. She slid his mug across the counter while he was still contemplating this month’s art - very colorful hot air balloons.

“You’re all set. Daphne will ring you up.”

Denim Man turned back and picked up his coffee with a smile. “Right. Thanks.” He looked at her a moment more. “You’re Grace?”

Her eyes narrowed a bit before she glanced down at the name sewn into her polo shirt. She looked back up at him with a half-smile. “Good guess.”

“Do you own this place?”

She contemplated him before answering. “And this would be relevant because …?”

“Oh, it’s just a great spot. Interesting name,” he grinned.

She committed a little more to her half-smile. “Yeah, it works.” She looked into those ridiculous eyes. “And yes, I’m the owner.”
Of sorts, but you certainly don’t need the details.

He nodded and sipped his coffee. “I’ll bet you do well. Perfect location.”

Was he looking to buy her out? It wouldn’t be the first attempt, even in the short time she’d been in business. It had taken her months to secure this particular spot, and her hold on it was tenuous at best. No one, no matter how good looking, was going to casually walk in and get information from her so they could take her dream out from under her. She straightened her shoulders and unleashed her business charm.

“Are you looking for something other than coffee here?”

He smiled that easy smile again, and she thought, for a moment, that he might just answer, “Yes,” but not in an, “I want your real estate,” sort of way.

She actually started to blush. She reached to push her dark brown hair over her shoulder, and then remembered that
it hung in one
of her utterly forgettable pony tails.

“Grace?”

She turned gratefully to her office assistant, who leaned in through the door at the back of the shop.

“Phone. The plumber’s finally calling back.
You said to get you ‘no matter what’?”

“Thanks, Jen. Be right there.”

Denim Man raised an eyebrow. “Must be a good plumber.”

“He is,” Grace replied with unnecessary fervor. “And very elusive. I should take this.” She glanced uncertainly at him. Why was she explaining herself to a stranger?

“Of course. Don’t let me keep you.”

She nodded, eyeing him with mixed curiosity and suspicion. “So - have a good day.” She started walking toward the office door where Jen waited, watching the exchange with interest.

Grace heard his quiet, “See you later,” as she entered the office.

Jen closed the door behind her. “Who was
that
?”

“I don’t know.”

“What’s he drinking?”

Grace shook her head. Jen liked to play psychoanalyst with people’s coffee orders. “Kenya roast.”

“Nothing fancy - just straight up coffee?”

“Not even cream.”

“I see,” Jen replied, as though the mystery man’s entire personality had just been revealed to her. “Interesting.”

Grace gave her a wry grin. “Go ahead – evaluate. I’ve got to talk to the plumber.”

Jen smiled dreamily. “He said, ‘See you later.’ Think he’s sticking around?”

Grace reached across her tidy desk and picked up the receiver. She shrugged. “Hello?”

“Well, he didn’t say ‘goodbye,’ ” Jen observed as she sat back down at her own desk.

Grace rolled her eyes and tried to concentrate on her phone call. She jotted down a few notes and breathed a sigh of relief. “We’ll see you tomorrow, then.”

She hung up and Jen was still smiling. Grace refused to ask what Kenya roast meant in personality analysis. “Did you order more of the large filters?”

“Yep. Got a good deal, too. Oh, and I got those energy-saving bulbs for behind the counter.”

“Perfect.”

“Grace?”

She glanced up from the pile of paperwork on her desk. “Yes?”

“Kenya roast is definitely good.”

Grace sighed and walked to the door. “And what kind of coffee would he be drinking if he were particularly evil?”

Jen drew breath to answer, but Grace stopped her with an upheld hand. “I don’t want to know.”

She exited the office quickly, ignoring Jen’s musings, and trying not to care whether Denim Man was still in the room. She peered casually down the length of the store as she made her way behind the counter, but he was gone.

Tuesday

Alex arrived at about the same time as he’d come on Monday. It seemed to be a good time of day; not too busy. The smell of roasting coffee beans was all the advertisement the shop needed; you could taste the coffee in the air before you even entered the store. He breathed deeply and smiled. It really was a great little coffee house.

There were several people ahead of him in line, so he walked over to the mugs and coffee grinders displayed on an antique buffet. T-shirts with the “Caf-fiend” insignia and a frightening little stick figure were also available for sale. He grinned. Whoever designed that masterpiece was having an interesting day. He picked up a ceramic cone-shaped item and considered the simple drip mechanism that fit right over the coffee mug.
Clever.

He took in the rest of the long room, keeping his gaze purposefully casual as he finally allowed himself the luxury of looking for her. The counter ran almost the length of the store on one side, with every imaginable flavor of coffee and tea in display cases against the wall. There were coffee grinders and coffee makers and machines that he couldn’t identify on the shelf. A large mirror stretched between the menu board and the columns of coffee bean bins,
reflecting the colorful hot air balloons he’d noticed the day before.

Tables and chairs lined the store on the other side. A few people were scattered about, reading their papers or typing on their laptops, steaming cups of coffee close by. A Frank Sinatra tune played quietly in the background; audible enough to make you smile, but not so loud as to disrupt the quiet, homey atmosphere. He wondered if Grace chose the music. The clientele apparently enjoyed it.

He couldn’t help himself as he analyzed the layout, work space and customer flow. He focused on the people behind the counter, trying to get his head out of work-mode. Two of the same girls who had been there the day before waited on customers.
Daphne and … Kelly, maybe?
They worked efficiently, although he’d seen them exchange glances at his arrival.

A third employee was refilling a bin of coffee beans further down the alley. His height allowed him easy access and his build made him look like he’d been hauling the 150-pound bags of coffee that were stationed around the impressive coffee roaster at the front of the store. He certainly made an interesting barista. The college girls probably loved him.

The canister filled, the young man turned toward a dark brown ponytail attached to a medium-height, familiar figure with her hands on her hips. She was reading something on one of the bins, and he leaned down to hear what she was saying.

Interesting.
Alex moved toward the counter and smiled at Daphne.

“Welcome back. What can I get for you?” she asked with a nervous giggle.

He would never get used to it. He often still felt like the gangly youth who was entirely overlooked during his teen years. That he’d grown into his limbs in a way that women found attractive still surprised him. The fact that his dark brown hair no longer covered most of a face that had filled out nicely as well, also seemed to work a kind of magic he didn’t understand. He largely ignored the overtures that sometimes accompanied the breathy smiles and greetings. His heart had long since signed on with someone who hardly knew he existed.

He focused on the menu. “I think I’d like to try the Sumatra today. Is that a darker roast?”

“We tend to roast it dark. It has a nice, full-bodied flavor.”

“Sounds good.”

“Would you like to try one of our pastries? They’re made fresh daily,” Daphne offered.

He eyed the tempting array of desserts. “Do you work with a local baker?” He figured they didn’t have room for a full kitchen on the premises.

“We work with a lot of different people. It’s a very small town approach,” she confided to him. “These were made by our own Grace.” She pointed to a flaky square that looked like it might - or might not - contain something wonderful.

“Is it filled?” he asked, curious about Grace’s increasingly interesting skill set.

“Oh no. Those are our fat-free, sugar-free biscuits,” Daphne replied.

“What’s the point?”

“Well, obviously,
you
don’t have to watch your figure, but some of us …” She glanced down at her perfectly trim figure with a sigh.

“Right,” he replied seriously. “Clearly, you struggle.”

She giggled and blushed. “You should try one. They’re better than you think.”

“They’d have to be if you’re actually selling them,” he observed, mostly to himself. “Okay, why don’t you smother it with whipped cream. That allowed?”

Daphne shook her head emphatically. “No - you’re missing the point. Here,” she pulled one out of the display case and looked at it. She rotated the plate and eyed it from another angle. “Okay, I’ll just put a bit on the side here.” She filled half the plate with topping and handed it over with a grin.

“Perfect,” he said. “Just the right balance.”

He paid for his snack and headed toward one of the tables along the wall. Sitting down with his back to the balloons, Alex sipped his coffee. He moved the pastry around on his plate, tempted to simply bury it in the whipped cream and dig in.

The approaching footsteps were soft, but focused. He couldn’t stop the responding kick of his heart if he tried.

“You’re not going to ruin that perfectly good pastry with whipped cream,” she said.

He contemplated the plate before looking up. “I’m afraid.”

A smile tugged at her lips as Grace rested her hands on the back of the chair opposite him.

“You’re here again.” She tilted her head slightly, and he wondered if she knew how inviting the small gesture was.

He lifted his cup, taking in her green eyes framed with dark lashes; older, wiser and still so beautiful. “Good coffee,” he answered simply.

“Thank you.”

His gaze flickered toward the fingers of her left hand. Empty. He’d heard that a ring had come and gone, if you could talk about marriage in such flippant terms. He couldn’t help but wonder what had ended hers.

“So, I’m thinking you’re too old to be a student, but you’re in here too early to have a real job. Are you on vacation?”

He smiled. “Do you interrogate everyone who comes into your store?”

“On occasion.”

“How about the gentleman in the corner?” he gestured with a tilt of his head.

She glanced at Recycle Man, hunched over his small cup of joe at one of the back tables. He did look intimidating and most people gave him a wide berth.

“Oh, he’s harmless. He collects the cans and bottles along Fremont and comes in occasionally for a small cup of coffee. We hold onto our day-old bakery and usually give him a free bite to eat.”

“That’s cool. Guess I shouldn’t have assumed he was
trouble.”

“You’re not the only one. He could be hiding anything under that big coat, and he wears it all the time. We were all afraid of him at first. Now, he’s just part of the place.”

Alex smiled. “And the gentleman behind you?”

The bulky barista tapped her on the shoulder. “Excuse me, Grace. I’m finished behind the counter. Did you still want to move those booths?” He rolled his shoulders as though he was ready to tear down a wall for her.

Grace looked past him at the booths in the back of the store. “I think we’ll wait until tomorrow, Drew. Would you mind checking in with Jen? It’s pretty slow right now, and I think the delivery is ready for the Coach House.”

Drew nodded, gave Alex a measured look, and walked to the office in the back. Grace watched him briefly and then turned around.

“Well, enjoy your visit, or your life, or whatever it is you’re doing here.” She pushed in the chair an inch and gestured at his plate. “Like it?”

Relieved that she hadn’t completely ended the conversation, Alex tried to come up with a way to prolong the description of the interesting pastry now filling his mouth. He grinned and chewed and finally sipped his coffee. He needed something to wash it down.

“Well, I generally go for the loaded variety - made with butter and sugar and stuffed with crème. I may not be the best judge.”

“You don’t look like you eat that kind of stuff,” she observed, her eyes dancing below his neckline and quickly back up to his face.

Somehow, it didn’t bother him when she took the measure of his chest or shoulders or whatever she managed to see with her very brief glance. He shrugged. “I run a lot. And bike when I can. That helps. Do you run?” He almost said “still,” but managed to catch himself. He tried to look disinterested.

“I used to run; I don’t get out nearly as much as I’d like to. Hence,” she gestured, “the fat-free, sugar-free pastries.”

He dipped his next bite into a healthy scoop of whipped cream. “It’s actually pretty good,” he observed.

She rolled her eyes, but managed a small smile. “I’ve gotta get back to work. Got a broken hose that’s slowing up the washing.”

“Right. The plumber.”

“Yep. He’s due fifteen minutes ago.” She looked at Alex for a moment, almost as though a hint of recognition had surfaced. “Nice talking to you.”

“You, too,” he said.

Their gazes held, and she finally turned and walked to the back of the store. She stopped and talked to a customer at one table, waved at yet another, and then took the final few steps to her office.

Alex watched her retreat. She still had her runner’s physique
- long and lean in her blue jeans. The last ten years had been very good to her. She seemed to have developed a no-nonsense approach to life, which was fine, as long as she didn’t lose the smile. He sipped his coffee and finished off the pastry.

He had five days. He’d have to work on getting a little more time with her.