Page 30 of Saltwater Cowboy

“I’ll give you the lowdown. Don’t stress.” Charlie offered.

“Then consider me your newest barista.”

SUNDAY MORNING

“Are you ready for your first shift?” Charlie asked, wiping down the counter.

I looked up at him from tying my apron, my fingers fumbled with the knot. I’m not sure if ready was the right word. Excited? Nervous? Terrified? Maybe all three. “I think so,” I admitted, though it came out sounding more like a question.

Charlie smiled, “Trish is going to be training you this morning.”

My eyes went wide, “I thought you were.”

He shook his head, “I have to run back home. My mom isn’t feeling well and is heading to urgent care, so I have to take Wren to school this morning.” Charlie rested his hands on my shoulders, “I’m leaving you in the best hands.”

I gulped as a young, bubbly brunette walked over to me, extending a hand. “I’m Trish, it’s so nice to meet you! Miss Blythe has told me so much about you. It’s really cool that you moved here.”

“Don’t fuck it up!” Charlie called out with a laugh as he walked out the door.

“Thanks for the vote of confidence, Charles.”

Trish’s eyes were saucers, her voice was low. “You called him Charles. No one does that.”

“Blythe and I do when he’s made it onto our shit list.”

The girl suppressed a laugh.

“I’ve never done this before,” I admitted.

Trish grinned, “You’ll be just fine! The first rule of working in a coffee shop—look like you know what you’re doing, even when you don’t.”

She gestured for me to follow her behind the counter and the moment I stepped behind the register, the energy shifted. The hum of the espresso machine, the rhythmic clinking of cups, the scent of freshly ground coffee—it was a world in motion, and I had no choice but to keep up.

“Let’s start with a tour.” Trish moved smoothly through the space, pointing things out as she went. “Espresso machine: your best friend and your worst enemy. Milk fridge, syrups, tea station. Cleaning rags are here, cups are stacked there, and if you ever lose track of anything, just look where the chaos is happening. It’s probably there.”

I nodded, trying to absorb everything but it was like drinking from a firehose.

“Now, the menu.” She slid a laminated sheet in front of me. “Mr. Hannigan—”

I cut her off. “Do you all really call him Mr. Hannigan?”

“Everyone else calls him Charlie, I was just raised by very polite people.” Trish answered.

“Noted.” I suppressed a laugh. “Sorry for interrupting you.”

“The menu has the classics—lattes, cappuccinos, Americanos, cold brew. But customers are rather creative and like to come up with their own concoctions. Last week I had a woman order an oat milk matcha with a splash of lavender. Then the next day, a man ordered a honey cinnamon cold brew.”

I laughed nervously but Trish winked, “I promise you’ll get the hang of it.”

Blythe walked in from the bookstore and sat on one of the barstools at the end of the counter. “How’s it going in here?”

“Good! I’m teaching Rose all the things. Would you like a decaf, Mrs. Hannigan?”

Blythe nodded. “Trish, sweetheart, how many times have I told you—just call me Blythe. I promise, you’re not being rude.” The corner of Blythe’s lip perked up, “However, please keep calling Charlie Mr. Hannigan, it makes his skin crawl in his skin and it’s hilarious.”

Trish turned towards me, “Let’s make an espresso shot.”

I watched as she moved through the process with practiced ease, loading the portafilter, tamping the grounds with a firm press, and locking it into the machine. A few seconds later, dark ribbons of espresso streamed into the cup. “Golden rule—if it looks like tar or water, something’s wrong. Would you like to try before it gets busy?”