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

you like it.

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

scratches are gone.”

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

Carlos regales me with

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

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 how I

soul.

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Husky

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 trash. I’m exhausted from the double shift, but it’s the

a little bit of

his fingers flying faster than I would have ever thought possible when going through that much

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

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us, just a tiny square with a well–groomed tree popping out of it in the middle of

in my apartment. I’ve made little headway in trying to clean and organize everything, mainly

hums a catchy little jingle as he finishes up with the money. “She’s waiting

“Why would she be waiting

her treats all day? She probably

whenever I had a chance to toss