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

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

“No collar,” I confirm with a shrug. “Huskies are notorious for running away.

scratches are gone.”

in a slow, meandering sort of way. People ebb and flow in a familiar pattern, and I’m surrounded by the scent

slow, Carlos regales me with

social media news feeds. He’s been begging me to open up my own profile, but I always decline.

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

soul.

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Ava: Husky (0)

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

a little bit of a masochist

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

furry friend is

the husky 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 a tiny apartment above a store. I’m not even sure where she’s gone all day to do her

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Ava Husky (1)

tiny square with a well–groomed tree popping

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

hums a catchy little jingle as he finishes up with the money. “She’s waiting

would she

day? She probably thinks you’re

muffin and croissant whenever I had a chance to toss them her