Tangled

13 Ava: Husky (II)

Carlos‘ words bring me out of my little mini–funk, and I nod. “I need to make as much money as I can before the summer semester. I’m going to need money for tuition, books, miscellaneous fees, and then hopefully a car. Between rent and life necessities, I really need the overtime. I’m lucky Mrs. Elkins is even letting me

work this much.”

He nods, wiping down the counter as I replenish napkins in the dispenser. “She’s got a way about her.

Takes care of us all. Sometimes I wonder if she’s even making money off this place. We sell a lot of coffee, but not so many books.”

He’s not wrong; I’ve thought the same. My shoulders lift in a vague shrug, and I start cleaning off the end tables of newspapers, magazines, and books.

“I have no idea, but I can’t imagine she would run a business just to lose money.” I pause, thinking of the sweet old lady and how she treats every customer who enters her shop like family. “Would she?”

“Wouldn’t put it past her.” Carlos puts together a sinful

14:40 –

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13 Ava: Husky (1)

cup

of caramel–toffee mocha with an obscene amount

a wink. “Here, just how you like it. Go take a break with that dog out there. Have you checked her for a

collar,” I confirm with a shrug. “Huskies are notorious for running away. I’m sure she’ll wander her way back

scratches are gone.”

familiar pattern, and I’m surrounded by the scent of books and coffee. I don’t think I’ve ever felt peace like I

slow, Carlos regales me with

He’s been begging me to open up my

this last bastion of peace on earth. Which, yes, is a cringe level of melodramatic, but it’s how I feel down to my very

soul.

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Husky (0)

sun set, it’s finally time to close, and the husky is still there, asleep on the sidewalk in front of our door. It takes little time to wipe down the last of the tables, gathering stray cups and napkins and tossing them into the trash. I’m exhausted from the double shift, but

of a masochist for thinking that way.

door to ‘Closed‘ as he counts out the register, his fingers flying faster

your furry friend is still

foggy haze against it. Once again I’m struck by those eyes so eerily similar to my own, and I feel a bizarre tug in my chest. I want to take her home, but that doesn’t seem intelligent. I live in a tiny apartment above a store. I’m not even sure where she’s gone all day to

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Ava Husky (1)

tiny square with a well–groomed tree popping out of it in the middle of the sidewalk.

I toss the rag into the sink and think of the boxes everywhere in my apartment. I’ve made little headway in trying to clean and organize everything, mainly because I’m taking every shift Mrs. Elkins lets me

finishes up with

eyes. “Why would she be waiting for

her treats all day? She probably thinks you’re going home

help but laugh. It’s true, She’s been scarfing down bits of muffin and croissant whenever I had a chance