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 –

176

13 Ava: Husky (1)

cup

of caramel–toffee mocha with an obscene amount

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

of the ultra sweet beverage and sighing in bliss. “No collar,” I confirm with a shrug. “Huskies are notorious for running away. I’m sure she’ll wander her way back home when all

scratches are gone.”

and I’m surrounded by the scent of books and coffee. I

is slow, Carlos regales

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

Which, yes, is a cringe level of

soul.

250

Ava: Husky

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 it’s the kind of

bit of a masochist for

‘Closed‘ as he counts out the register, his fingers flying faster than I would have ever thought possible when going through that

is still

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

14:40 –

3/6

Husky

square with a well–groomed tree popping out of

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

as he finishes

eyes. “Why would she be

day?

but laugh. It’s true, She’s been scarfing down bits of muffin and croissant whenever I had a chance to toss them her way. What