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

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

ultra sweet 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 all the free scritchy

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 ever felt peace like I do here, working at the

slow, Carlos regales

drama he reads on his social media news feeds. He’s been begging me to open up my

earth. Which, yes, is

soul.

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Husky (0)

stray cups and napkins and tossing them into the trash. I’m exhausted from the double

little bit of a masochist for thinking that

as he counts out the register, his fingers flying

is still out

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. I’m not even sure where

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Ava Husky

a well–groomed tree popping out of it

and think of the boxes everywhere in my apartment. I’ve made little headway in trying to clean and organize everything, mainly

catchy little jingle as he finishes up

roll my eyes. “Why would she be

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

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