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

you like it. Go take a break with that dog out there. Have you checked her for

with a shrug. “Huskies are notorious for running away. I’m sure she’ll wander her way back home when all the

scratches are gone.”

I’m surrounded by the scent of books and coffee. I don’t think I’ve ever felt

Carlos regales

media news feeds. He’s been begging me to open

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

soul.

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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

bit of a masochist for thinking that way.

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

your furry friend is still

sure enough, 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

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Husky (1)

us, just a tiny square with a well–groomed tree

sink and think of the boxes everywhere in my apartment. I’ve made little headway in trying to clean and organize everything,

he finishes up with the

would she be waiting for me?”

her 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. What can I say?