Page 32 of Saltwater Cowboy

From when the first customer walked in the door at 7:02 until the last walked out at 1:04, Charlie and I were a well-oiled machine. We cranked each order in record time.

We sat down at a table and looked around at the empty coffee shop.

“That was insane.” Charlie stated, shock in his voice.

“We freakin’ killed that.” A grin spread across my face.

“And you said you weren’t a barista.”

I shrugged a shoulder. “Apparently I’m decent.”

“I know we said this was just a short-term thing until our new graduate comes back, but if you want to be put on the team full-time, the job is yours.”

My smile faded. “I’ve gotta go back, Charlie.”

He sat up straight. “Why?”

“I’m leeching off you guys.” I sighed heavily, the weight of the world returning to my shoulders. “I’m a big girl, I can swallow my pride and go back. Thad might take me back.”

“That’s the most disgusting thing I’ve ever heard you say.” His eyes met mine. “And I’ve heard you say very inappropriate things. Why are you going to go back to some guy who didn’t have the guts to follow you?”

“I was asking him to uproot his life. His family lives there.”

His eyes were serious. “And yours is here.”

“I—” I didn’t know how to respond.

Charlie’s eyes narrowed. “Are you going to be the one to tell Blythe?”

“She’ll understand.”

He raised a brow. “Do you really think that?”

I half-heartedly lifted a shoulder. “I don’t know. Maybe? I just don’t belong here.”

“Why not?”

“I almost punched a man on the plane, Charlie. Just for being too nice.”

“The guy probably deserved it.”

“He did have a really annoying accent.” I said matter-of-factly.

“Most of us do.”

“I need to try and salvage whatever I can from my life.”

“Why are you going back when you’ve been given an incredible opportunity to start over?”

“I’m scared.” It was barely above a whisper.

“You have a place to live. You have a job. Those are the big scary things.”

He was right. Blythe and I hated to admit it, but he was usually right.

Charlie stood, his voice was steady. “Make your own decision, but you owe it to yourself.”

I didn’t respond. Instead, I pushed open the bookstore door, flipped the sign to Open, and busied myself tidying up the shelves. It wasn’t long before customers trickled in, then more, until the quiet space buzzed with conversation and the rustling of pages. The hours passed in a blur of helping readers find their next favorite book, ringing up purchases, and keeping the store in order.