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

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13 Ava: Husky (1)

cup

of caramel–toffee mocha with an obscene amount

wink. “Here, just how you like it. Go take a break with that

with a shrug. “Huskies are

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 think I’ve ever felt peace like

business is slow, Carlos regales

He’s been begging me to open up my own profile, but I always

don’t 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

soul.

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Ava: Husky

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 body’s proud

bit of a masochist for

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

furry friend is still out

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

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Ava Husky (1)

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

made little headway in trying to

jingle as he finishes

my eyes. “Why would

day? She probably thinks

but laugh. It’s true, She’s been scarfing down bits of muffin and croissant whenever I had a chance to toss them her way. What can I say?