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

it toward me with a wink. “Here, just how you like it. Go take

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

scratches are gone.”

sort of way. People ebb and flow in a familiar pattern, and I’m surrounded by the scent of books and coffee. I don’t

is slow, Carlos regales

been begging me to open up my own profile,

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

soul.

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Husky (0)

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

bit of a masochist for thinking that

has me flip 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 going through that

furry friend is still

glance out the window and, 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 store.

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Ava Husky (1)

because there’s no yard near us, just a tiny square with a

there.” I toss the rag into the sink and think of the boxes everywhere in my apartment. I’ve made little headway in

catchy little jingle as he finishes up with the money. “She’s waiting for you.”

“Why would she

been sneaking her treats all day? She probably thinks you’re going home together.”

of muffin and croissant whenever I had