9
CLAIRE
The door rattles shut behind me and I stand for a second, sizing up where I’m going to take a seat. The wine I drank still gives my body a strange tingling sensation that I can’t wait to get rid of.
“This spot is clean,” a bright-eyed older man says from behind the counter. He pulls a menu from the stack near the register and places it down.
“Thanks.” I slide onto the cushy stool and glance at the specials on the chalkboard behind him. “I’ll have a cup of coffee. And a blueberry old-fashioned, if you have any.”
He turns, grabbing a fresh mug and the steaming pot. He pours my drink and slides it across to me.
“Thank you.” I look for his nametag, but unlike the other employees, he doesn’t have one. “Do you happen to have any cinnamon?”
He pauses, blinking at me like I asked him something in a different language. “Sorry, I… yeah, of course.” He reaches under the counter and pulls out a shaker and hands it to me.
I put a couple dashes into my cup and stir it in. I ignore this man’s strange stare at my apparently weird combo. I can’t be the only one that has ever come in here that takes my coffee this way.
“Here you go.” He sets a plate down with the donut I asked for.
“Thanks.”
“Mmhm.” He clears the countertop a few seats to my right. “You just start at the university?”
I nod. “Yeah, today.”
“Nice place. We get a lot of traffic from the school. I know a few students that go there.” He refills the sugar packet holder and puts it back in place.
“I like it so far. I’m hoping to transfer out by next year though.” I bite off a chunk of the blueberry goodness and chase it down with a swig of my coffee.
“Oh?” This seems to grab his attention. “How come?”
I wipe at my mouth with the napkin. “I had some…extenuating circumstances that brought me here. It wasn’t supposed to be a permanent thing.”
“I see.”
“It’s not that I don’t like it here. It’s nice, honestly. But I grew up on the East Coast. It’s home, you know? I don’t know anyone out here. My life is back there.” Here I am having word vomit with a stranger again, what the hell is wrong with me?
“That’s understandable.” The old man adjusts his thick brimmed glasses. “Change can come when you least expect it. Sometimes it’s for the better, other times it’s not. Obviously, I don’t know your story, but if experience has taught me anything, it’s that sometimes the most unexpected shifts pay off in the best of ways.”
I eat the last of the donut and soak in his words, letting the combo of substance and caffeine help sober me up. I reach for the bills in my pocket, counting out how much I owe.
He holds out his hand. “This one is on the house. Consider it a welcome gift.”
“Are you sure?” I flit my gaze around. “Can you do that?”
He chuckles. “I hope so. I own the place.”
Which explains why he doesn’t have a name tag. I’m probably the only idiot who didn’t know who he was. My cheeks redden with embarrassment.
He extends his hand across the counter. “Bram.”
“Claire.” I take his and give it a firm shake.
“Nice to meet you, Claire.” He takes my empty plate and mug.
“You, too. Thanks again.” I hop down from the stool and leave the little café.
I cross my arms over my chest, the evening breeze a little cooler than I anticipated. I walk past a couple storefronts when my phone buzzes in my pocket. I pull it out and duck into the closest alley, gathering my bearings to answer the call.