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

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

scratches are gone.”

familiar pattern, and I’m surrounded by the scent

Carlos regales me

and drama he reads on his social media news feeds. He’s been begging me

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

soul.

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Ava: 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 exhausted from the double shift, but it’s the kind of tired that burrows deep into your bones and says you’ve worked hard. Like your body’s proud

of a masochist for thinking that

sign on the door to ‘Closed‘ as he counts out the register, his fingers flying faster than I would

friend is

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

just a tiny square with a well–groomed tree popping out of

I’ve made little headway in trying to clean and organize everything, mainly because I’m taking every

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

eyes. “Why would she be waiting

treats all day? She probably thinks you’re going

been scarfing down bits of muffin and croissant whenever I had a chance to toss them her way. What can I say? I have a soft spot for animals.