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

just how you like it. Go take a break

a shrug. “Huskies are notorious

scratches are gone.”

familiar pattern, and I’m surrounded by the scent of books and coffee. I don’t think I’ve ever felt peace like I

is slow, Carlos

on his social 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

soul.

250

Ava: Husky (0)

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 tired that burrows deep into your bones and says you’ve worked hard. Like your

a little bit of a

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

your furry friend is still out

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

14:40 –

3/6

Ava Husky

a tiny square with a well–groomed tree popping out of it in the middle of the sidewalk.

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

as he finishes

would she

sneaking her treats all day? She probably thinks

whenever I had a chance to toss them her way. What can I