Page 88 of Falling Back to You

“You . . . want me to work for you?”

“You were the best barista I ever trained.” Mrs. Klein leaned in with a conspiratorial wink. “Don’t tell Ruby. The girl tried, but it wasn’t her gift.”

I chuckled. Ruby grew up with Dad’s coffee, and her tastebuds had been murdered by a lifetime of ashtray-beverage exposure. “I’d be happy to, if part time works,” I said. “I’m nannying for, uh . . . Cal.”

“So I heard.” Mrs. Klein’s eyes twinkled, but she didn’t press further. She might be my new favourite person. “Can you start tomorrow?”

“Absolutely.” I grinned at her. “And can I have two hot chocolates to go?”

“Why, of course.”

She didn’t let me pay for any of the drinks—her welcome-back-home gift—and my heart tripped over itself as I drove back home. I set the drinks down on Cal’s welcome mat, and once I was safely back inside the confines of the cottage, I shot him a text.

ME:

Check your doormat.

CAL:

you shouldnt have

ME:

Chocolate helps everyone feel better.

CAL:

is that medical advice? if so, i want your kind of nursing

ME:

Consider it a Noelle specialty.

CAL:

oh i do. very much

Working in the coffee shop brought back a lot of memories, both of Serenity Springs and New York. When I first got to the city, it was the only marketable skill I had, so I’d slung coffees like tomorrow wasn’t coming until I could enroll in nursing school.

There was something calming about the rhythmic routine, although a Serenity Springs morning rush was infinitely less chaotic than a New York one. Have you seen how desperate New Yorkers are for coffee? Working in that high-stress environment prepared me for the emergency room.

Midmorning, I ran an order of coffees and pastries over to the fire station. It was practically tradition, even when I was in high school. Every Friday like clockwork. I was nearly back to the café when a cold wave washed over me.

A determined platinum bob with its effervescent fuchsia streaks marched up the sidewalk in my direction. Serenity Springs’s official welcoming committee—the founder and sole member, Mrs. Elvira Gulliver.

She was a woman on a mission, and I was her next target.

No, no, no. The Bean was halfway between us. There was no way I could make it. Did that keep me from speed-walking? Absolutely not. Unfortunately my gait was more like speed-limping. But I’d go down in a cloud of delusion.

Mrs. Gulliver picked up the pace. The woman was an Energizer bunny and one baton short of a marching band leader.

My legs wobbled, strongly protesting my current speed. I slowed down, resigned to my inevitable fate.

“Yoo-hoo! Noelle!” she hollered, waving her oversized pumpkin-orange handbag. How seasonally appropriate.

I’d have to be blind to miss that display. It was big enough to flag a ship into safe harbour.

“Mrs. Gulliver, how are you?” I paused in front of the café. So close, but so far.