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

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

collar,” I confirm with a shrug. “Huskies are notorious

scratches are gone.”

meandering 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 think I’ve

Carlos regales

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

in this last bastion of peace on earth. Which, yes, is a cringe level

soul.

250

Husky (0)

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

of

his fingers flying faster than I would have ever thought

furry friend is still out there?”

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. I’m not even sure where she’s gone

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Ava Husky

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

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

little jingle as he finishes up

“Why would she be waiting for

been sneaking her treats all day? She probably

I had a chance to toss them