As a single mom in a small town, there's only one thing I want. Another baby. When all the roads to getting what I want lead to dead ends, I turn to one of my best friends for help.
In my mind, Trent Castillo is the perfect baby daddy. He has good g...
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Once a week when my mother is manning the reception desk, I go get coffee and pastries for the crew. Today, all three bays are booked solid, and it feels like a gigantic win. Looking at the rest of this week and next there are hardly any spots unfilled. That might mean a lot of overtime after hours for me and, possibly, Brett, because I've committed to not turning anyone away. When people in Little Falls think of getting their vehicle repaired, their oil changed, or trouble shooting a tricky electrical problem, I want my shop to be at the forefront of their mind.
Each week I've picked up coffee and pastries, I've avoided Kathy's Café. Everyone says it's the best, but I went to high school with Kathy, and I've heard through the Little Falls gossip grapevine that she's not my biggest fan.
So, it's with a fair bit of trepidation that I enter her packed café this morning. People who've been to the shop or who remember me from high school call out a hello as they collect their orders and breeze past me. It helps that Grady is so popular in town. His bid for mayor a couple of years ago restored the Castillo name.
The shop has large, curved windows at the front, and there are people dotted at the tables all around. The line is substantial, but if I want local people to support me, I need to do the same for them. The big box stores and the chain restaurants aren't as small town minded as the grassroots ones like Kathy's Café, where she and Sabrina know everyone who enters.
"What can I get for you?" Kathy asks when I get to the till.
The orders are memorized after so many weeks of coffee runs, and I rattle them off with ease. Then I scan the rows of pastries behind clear glass.
"Just an assortment, I guess," I say, unsure of what's even any good. I probably should have asked everyone before I left the shop, but I wasn't sure I'd actually get up the guts to come in here. "A dozen or so." My mom will give the rest to customers who stick around while we work on their vehicle.
"Sure," Kathy says, ringing up the order and then grabbing a strip of wax paper to put pastries into two large boxes. "Anything else?" she says when she returns.
"No," I say. "That'll be all."
She clicks through the total, and as the machine to pay loads, Kathy's gaze rakes over me. I brace myself for some snide comment. I do have slightly more respect for people who can say shitty things to my face and not just behind my back.
"Heard a lot of good things about your shop," she says as I dig out my credit card. "Bit of a buzz in the café about how good you are, specifically."
"Oh," I say, completely taken aback by her compliments. "That's—that's good to hear."
"I'm just glad you're not dragging another Sullivan into some shitshow."
Ah, there it is.
"Em and I are just friends." It irks me to say the words.
"Still," she says, "what you do impacts her, since you're living in her house, spending time with her kid. I'm just glad you've turned into a positive influence. Couldn't have said that in high school."
