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

whipped cream and slides it toward me with a wink. “Here, just how you like it. Go take a break with that dog out there.

beverage and sighing in bliss. “No collar,” I confirm with a shrug. “Huskies are notorious for running away.

scratches are gone.”

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

Carlos

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

on earth. Which, yes, is a cringe level of melodramatic, but it’s how I feel down to

soul.

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Ava: Husky

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

a little bit of a masochist for thinking that

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

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 above a store. I’m not even sure where she’s gone all day to do her

14:40 –

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Husky

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

in my apartment. I’ve made little headway in trying to

catchy little jingle as he finishes up with the money.

“Why would she be waiting for me?”

because you’ve been sneaking her treats all day?

of muffin and croissant whenever I had a chance to toss them her way. What