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

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13 Ava: Husky (1)

cup

of caramel–toffee mocha with an obscene amount

cream and slides it toward me with a wink. “Here, just how you like it. Go take a break with that

nod, taking a sip of the ultra sweet beverage and sighing in bliss. “No collar,” I confirm with a shrug. “Huskies are notorious for running away. I’m

scratches are gone.”

passes in a slow, meandering sort of way. People ebb and flow in a familiar pattern, and I’m surrounded by the scent of books and coffee. I don’t think I’ve ever felt peace like I do

is slow, Carlos

and drama he reads on his social media news feeds. He’s been begging me to open up my own profile, but

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

soul.

250

Ava: Husky (0)

tables, gathering stray cups and napkins and tossing them into the trash. I’m exhausted from the double shift, but it’s the

maybe I’m a little bit of

me flip the sign on the door to ‘Closed‘ as he counts out the register, his fingers flying

friend is

sitting there, staring at me, with her nose pushed against the glass, her pants leaving a 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

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3/6

Husky

no yard near us, just a tiny square with a well–groomed tree popping out

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 work.

little jingle as he finishes up with

“Why would she be

treats all day? She

muffin and croissant whenever I had a chance to toss them her way. What can I say? I have