by Teri Wilson
With that, he turned to go and shot her a full-tilt, thousand watt smile that made her insides churn. Goldie clutched her stomach.
What was that?
She must remember to eat. Had she had anything for breakfast? Simple hunger had caused the fluttering in her belly. It had to be.
Coffee Guy reached the end of the street and waved. When he turned the corner, she bent down to pick up the mess of paper cups at her feet. Her fingers wrapped around the one closest to her. The warmth of the fresh brew seeped through the walls of the cup and spread outward from the center of her palm. Goldie brought the cup closer to her face and took a whiff from the opening. She closed her eyes and took in the comforting scent she associated so closely with her grandfather.
When she opened her eyes, simple block letters flooded her vision.
Joe’s Coffee Shop.
Turtle Beach, North Carolina.
That’s right. His name was Joe. Joe Montgomery. How could she have forgotten?
ef
The chimes on the door to the coffee shop tinkled as Joe crossed the threshold, rousing Java from his slumber on the plaid dog bed in the corner.
“Hey boy, did you miss me?” Joe gave the Siberian Husky a good scratch on the scruff of his neck and smiled.
Java answered him with his signature woo-woo yodel. Joe interpreted that as a yes. He took a crunchy dog biscuit from his pocket and waited for the big dog to politely sit and offer his paw for a shake. Joe gave the biscuit to Java with an open palm. Treat clenched firmly in his jaws, the Husky returned to his bed, turned three slow circles and plopped down with his tail wrapped around his body in a tight hug.
“Joe, you’re back!” gushed the slender young woman behind the counter.
Joe nodded to the regular morning customers sipping their coffee from the shiny red stools at the bar. Then he turned his attention to his employee. “Good morning,” he replied, making every effort not to wince at the tiny diamond stud sparkling in Cinnamon’s nose. Joe doubted the glittering stone was real, but that’s OK because her name wasn’t either.
C’mon, was anyone really named Cinnamon? He’d met a few dogs with such a moniker, especially since he’d started hosting monthly pet adoptions for the Turtle Beach Animal Shelter in the coffee shop parking lot, but never an actual person. Not even one with flaming red hair like Cinnamon’s.
If the scrawl on her employment application could be trusted, her real name was Jane. A perfectly respectable name as far as he was concerned. But the moment he’d hired her, despite the nose piercing winking at him from its place next to her nostril, she’d insisted he call her Cinnamon. According to his new employee, it was a much more suitable name for a barista.
Barista—yet another label Joe found himself reluctant to use. What was wrong with counter help? He supposed it didn’t make a difference, so long as baristas and counter helpers earned the same hourly wage.
“The shelter called to make sure everything is still set for tomorrow’s pet adoption.” Cinnamon frowned in concentration and scrubbed an invisible spot on the counter. Nose rings and aliases aside, she was hands-down the best employee he’d ever hired. She could change her name to Paprika and Joe would still give her a job.
“Sounds great. I’ll give them a call.” Joe’s gaze swept the counter and he raked a hand through his hair. “Have you seen today’s paper?”
“Yep. Right here.” Cinnamon pulled the thin, small-town paper from a shelf beneath the counter. She handed it to him. “Are you looking for your friend’s obituary?”
Joe frowned and flipped open the local news section, spreading the flimsy pages open on the Formica. “Mmm hmm.”
He turned the pages until he saw faces peering back at him from the neat columns of the obituary page. Faces he mostly recognized as either acquaintances or customers. Turtle Beach was a small town, after all. But none of the faces tugged at his heart quite like the one beneath the army cap with the captain’s bars. The photo had to be at least fifty years old, but Joe could still see the eyes of his friend on the fresh face of the young soldier in the World War II photo. They were the same cat eyes that sometimes watched him from behind thick, feminine, lashes. Eyes that kept him spellbound. Eyes that now held the vacant glimmer of pain and loss.
Goldie’s eyes.
“Interesting,” Cinnamon commented as she peered over his shoulder. “I wonder why his family chose such an old photograph.”
Joe cleared his throat, pressing down the lump that had lodged there. “It’s his military photo. He belonged to one of the first Army units to go in and liberate the concentration camps during World War II.”
“Oh. Wow.” Over his shoulder, Cinnamon’s voice carried a note of reverence, which made the lump grow even larger.
“I know. He was a really special man. We’re all going to miss him, especially his granddaughter.” In his vulnerable emotional state, he didn’t quite trust himself to say Goldie’s name aloud.
“Teresa?”
Joe knit his brows, unsure who Cinnamon was talking about until he saw her bright red fingernail pointing to the tiny words of the obituary.
Robert K. Jensen
December 22, 1918—October 23, 2008
Robert K. Jensen, “Bob” to his friends and family, died peacefully at his home in Turtle Beach, NC, at the age of 90 after a long illness. Bob was a retired Army captain who served his country for 22 years. He is survived by his loving granddaughter, Teresa Jensen, and predeceased by his wife of 30 years, Annabelle Jensen, and his son, Robert K. Jensen, Jr. Memorial services for Bob are scheduled for noon, October 27, at Turtle Beach Community Church.
“He will swallow up death forever,
And the Lord God will wipe away tears from all faces…”
Isaiah 25:8
Hmm. So it appeared Cinnamon wasn’t the only one with an alias. “She goes by Goldie.”
“Goldie?” The corner of Cinnamon’s mouth lifted, causing the diamond nose stud to twinkle and glisten. “That’s sweet.”
“Yes, she is,” Joe muttered, almost to himself.
Cinnamon cut her gaze sideways toward him, suspicion washing over her features. He focused on the black and white print of the newspaper, particularly the Bible verse at the bottom of the paragraph. He imagined tears rolling down Goldie’s porcelain cheek. His gut clenched and he prayed, Lord, work through me if it is your will. I want to wipe the tears from her face and bring the sparkle back to her eyes.
“She’s his only survivor. He told me he raised her after her parents were killed in a car accident when she was just a little girl. She took care of him these last months while he was sick.”
Cinnamon stopped watching him with that suspicious gleam and knit her brows. “So, she’s all alone now. That’s so sad.”
Joe grabbed a pair of scissors from next to the cash register and cut a neat square around Bob’s obituary. He tacked it up on the wall next to the flier announcing the following day’s pet adoption.
They both tilted their heads and looked at the photo on the wall of Bob Jensen as a young, vibrant soldier. After a quiet moment, Cinnamon broke the respectful silence. “Well, I’d better get back to work.”
Joe nodded his understanding until he remembered the important matter he needed to discuss with her. “Wait a sec, OK?”
“Sure. What is it?”
“Well, I’ve been thinking.” Joe leaned his back against the counter and crossed his feet at the ankles. “Maybe we should add a few new things to the coffee menu.”
Cinnamon’s mouth dropped open and the dishrag in her hand fluttered to the floor.
Joe ignored her shocked expression and continued, as if he did this sort of thing every day. “Nothing too crazy. Maybe some latte. Or some cappuccino.” His gaze flitted to the unused milk steamer and fancy espresso maker sitting in the corner. Items that had been purely decorative up until this point. “And I think we should start tomorrow.”
“Are you serious?” Cinnamon’s voice quive
red with excitement. She looked like a kid on Christmas morning. “But I’ve been bugging you about this since I started working here. I’ve begged and begged you to let me come up with some more modern menu choices. You always say ‘no.’ I’d finally given up.”
Joe couldn’t help but smile at Cinnamon’s delighted reaction. He was suddenly very glad she fancied herself a barista because he didn’t have the first clue how to make a latte. Or what skinny, foam, whip, no whip, or any other of those words he never thought he’d ever utter in his own, old-fashioned coffee shop meant. “Well now I’m saying yes.”
Cinnamon crossed her arms and cocked an eyebrow at him. “What’s going on? You always say we don’t need to serve anything but plain, old coffee. You even have a mantra.” She gave a mock salute. “Everybody likes coffee.”
“Not everybody.” Joe sneaked a final glance at the photo of Goldie’s grandfather tacked up on the wall. “Nope. Not everybody.”
Cup of Joe
Inspirational romance, Christian romance, Christian fiction, romance novel, christian romance novel, teri wilson, white rose publishing
Cup of Joe
Chapter Two
Joe eyed the paper cup topped with a generous mountain of something that resembled whipped cream. He held it to his nose and took a whiff. It smelled, and looked, much more like a dessert than a coffee beverage. “What is this again?”
Cinnamon rolled her eyes. “A latte macchiato.” An exasperated sigh followed the eye rolling. “With foam.”
He took another whiff, then a tentative sip. “This is phenomenal.”
She grinned from ear to ear. “I told you I knew what I was doing. Honestly, it’s shameful you’ve never had one of these before.”
“I mean, it’s really, really good.” Then he just had to ask, “Are you absolutely sure there’s coffee in here?”
Cinnamon jammed her hands on her hips. “Yes. As a matter of fact, it has espresso in it.”
“Hmm, no kidding?” He took another sip. He would have never guessed something as strong as espresso. Sure enough, there was a hint of coffee mixed in with the creamy caramel goodness. But it was subtle. Subtle enough that someone who didn’t drink coffee just might like it, too. Someone like Goldie.
“This is perfect. Let me get a lid for this one…” His voice drifted off, and he cleared his throat.
Cinnamon shot him an amused grin. “What was that?”
He felt his face redden and he squared his shoulders. Why should he try to hide his feelings? Cinnamon may have a nosy streak at times, but she was his employee. “I said, can you please make another one? I’m going to take it to Goldie. She’s got a tough day ahead of her.” He looked straight at Cinnamon, willing himself not to wince, and waited for what he knew would probably be a teasing remark.
Instead, her expression softened. “That’s really sweet, boss.”
Joe shifted his weight from one foot to the other. Having prepared himself for teasing, he almost felt even more uncomfortable with her sincerity. “Um. Well, she might not like it. She’s not a, uh, coffee drinker.”
“Yet.” Cinnamon pointed at her new creation. “If she doesn’t like that latte macchiato, I’ll be shocked. But don’t worry. If she doesn’t, we’ll find something she likes. I’ve got more delicious recipes up my sleeve.” She winked at him knowingly, and he ran his hand through his hair as he always did when he was nervous.
How in the world had he ended up in this situation? Taking love advice from a young girl with a nose ring?
“OK. Well, thanks.” He added for good measure, “And, good job.”
“No problem, boss.” She flicked a lever on the shiny espresso machine and a loud hiss filled the air.
Less than half an hour later, Joe stood on the now-familiar territory that was Goldie’s front porch. In one hand, he gripped a fresh, warm latte macchiato and in the other, the end of Java’s leather leash. He looked down at Java. The dog’s pink tongue lolled out of the side of his mouth. “Behave, OK?”
Java just blinked. Joe wondered, once again, if he should have brought the big Husky along. It seemed more than a little presumptuous. But Cinnamon had absolutely insisted on it. Take Java, she’d said as she shoved the leash into his palm. Chicks dig dogs.
Joe glanced up at the blue morning sky.
Forgive me, Lord.
At once, he regretted ever letting Cinnamon figure out how smitten he was with Goldie. Now, his genuine attempts to cheer her up, to take away at least some of the grief dragging her down, felt wrong. Like he was taking advantage of her sadness, which he never, ever would do.
He was half-tempted to turn around and walk back to the coffee shop, but he couldn’t. He’d made a promise to her grandfather. A promise he intended to keep.
So, instead of slinking back to the coffee shop, he rang the doorbell with the hand that held the whipped coffee confection. Java sat completely still and let out a dramatic yawn. Joe wished he felt half as calm as his dog.
“Who is it?” Goldie’s monotone voice was barely discernable coming from the other side of the door. But at least she hadn’t pretended not to hear the bell. It was progress, right?
Joe spoke loudly enough so she could hear him through the door, but not as forcefully as he had yesterday. He didn’t want to seem pushy before she even laid eyes on him. “It’s me. Joe.”
The door opened a crack. Through the tiny sliver, he saw her groggy eyes widen as she took in the large dog standing next to him. Joe held his breath in anticipation. And as Java’s tail wagged and beat against the wooden steps of the porch, Goldie’s features flickered to life. Then, to his utter astonishment, she actually smiled. “Who’s your friend?”
Joe had never seen such a glorious vision as that subtle smile. His heart leapt to his throat at the sight of her standing there, dressed in black for her grandfather’s funeral, smiling as she pat his dog on the head. Yes, it appeared Goldie did, in fact, dig dogs. Cinnamon was right. And if Java brought her even a moment of happiness on this solemn day, he was glad he listened to Cinnamon’s advice. He sent up a silent prayer of thanks. “This is Java.”
The smile lingered on her lips, faint as a whisper. “He’s so sweet. Is he yours?”
“Yep. I adopted him a couple of years ago.” He watched as Goldie scratched Java behind the ears. She looked like a ballerina, elegant and lovely, in her sweeping black skirt and ballet flats with tiny bows on top. A vision of grace and beauty. But she was dressed this way because today she was going to bury her grandfather. He wished he could take her place, and she could climb back in her Sponge Bob pajamas and fuzzy slippers and spend all day curled up on the sofa.
“So, I brought you something.” As he spoke, her gaze flitted to the paper cup in his hand. Her bow-shaped lips lifted into a subtle upturn as she saw the cursive letter G drizzled on top of the whipped cream in caramel sauce. Another smile!
“Is that coffee? Don’t you remember what I told you yesterday?” The smile lingered, giving her words a teasing quality.
“You don’t like coffee. How could I forget?” He clutched his chest in a mock heartbroken gesture. “Just taste it. One little sip. That’s all I ask. Please.”
She took the cup from his hand. “Well, I’m not sure how it will taste, but it’s awfully pretty.”
He had to admit Cinnamon knew more than her fair share about coffee. The caramel G had actually been his own idea. He’d practiced a few times on a napkin before tackling the mountain of whipped cream atop Goldie’s latte macchiato. Penmanship had never been his strong suit, but he’d kept at it until the G was perfect. “So, you’re going to try it, right?”
“OK. But no promises.” She wrinkled her nose as she brought the cup to her lips, red and smooth as a shiny satin ribbon.
Joe held his breath as she took a tiny sip. He relaxed slightly when she took another, longer, taste. “You like it, don’t you?”
“It’s not bad.” She peered at him over the coffee cup and took another sip, decora
ting the tip of her nose with a small dollop of whipped cream.
Before he could stop himself, Joe reached over and dabbed at her nose with the tip of his finger. “Admit it. You love it, don’t you?”
“Love?” She raised her eyebrows. “Like hate, love is an awfully strong word.”
The blood in Joe’s veins stood still. He knew she was only joking—turning his own words around from the day before. But hearing the word love fall off her lips gave him the strangest sensation inside.
Because he loved her. Yes, he did. And that is why he’d promised her grandfather he would look after her. To make sure she was OK. And one day, God willing, he would actually tell her how he felt about her. Someday…when she was ready to hear it.