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

just how you like it. Go take a break with that dog out there. Have

in bliss. “No collar,” I confirm with a shrug. “Huskies are notorious for running away. I’m sure she’ll wander her

scratches are gone.”

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

business is slow, Carlos regales me with

reads on his social media news feeds. He’s been begging me to open up

to find me here, in this last bastion of peace on earth. Which, yes, is a cringe level of

soul.

250

Husky (0)

takes little time to wipe down the last of the tables, gathering stray cups and napkins and tossing them into the trash. I’m

I’m a little bit of a masochist for thinking that

counts out the register, his fingers flying faster than I would have ever thought possible when going

your furry friend is still

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

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Husky

because there’s no yard near us, just a tiny square with a well–groomed tree popping

the boxes everywhere in my apartment. I’ve made little headway in trying to clean and

jingle as he finishes up with the money.

eyes. “Why would she be

treats all day? She probably thinks you’re going home together.”

She’s been scarfing down bits of muffin and croissant whenever I had a chance to toss them her way.