A Winter's Tale

Red Velvet Rencontrer

Red Velvet Rencontrer

One Week Later, 10 am, Outside Pleather Pop-Up Shop, Spruce Hill Village

Mel stood outside the Goth dark holiday-festooned pop-up storefront, clasping a faux rhinestone-studded spiky pleather thermos, its contents enjoyed and savored in the days following Abigael's surprise visit. She realized the brunette left the beverage behind—accidentally or on purpose, Mel did not know—and she took a sip. Then another, closing her eyes to the symphonic burst of flavor dancing upon her very tongue, her toes involuntarily curling amidst a heady gasp she barely registered herself making. Heavens to Hera, that was better than s—

She paused, spotting a flyer, taped to the inside window. What could that be?

Recalling the taste of that cocoa, its contents left behind akin to a modern-day Cinderella's shoe, Mel understood she had delayed the return of the container to its rightful owner, far longer than was considered societally polite. Even if Abigael didn't necessarily ascribe to social norms, Mel certainly did. In the evenings that followed, Mel spent hours attempting to replicate the cataclysmic warmth and passionate glow the beverage had imbued within her very spirit. Her flavor technologist hat on, she had scoured the internet for possible recipes, ingredients, substitutions, additions, additives—anything—and found nothing that could have sparked such an emotional, expressive reaction. Maybe coconut extract?

Can you blame Abigael—for taking away business? She knew the answer was no, as she drew closer to the notice in question. The British woman admittedly had an excellent eye for detail, and was altogether unconventional and refreshing, with her crisp, accented lilt.

Mel stood stock-still, a sudden realization dawning upon her. Omigawd—I think—

I like her.

No. No way. Mel shook her head, as if by that motion alone her seemingly errant thoughts would fly free of her soul—but comprehended, deep down, those feelings were there to stay.

But she's your nemesis! Every fiber of her brain attempted to counter the surge of sentiments coursing through her mind. She hugged me...and I enjoyed it...and wanted...more.

She stole your customers! Her rational intellect provided unsolicited input, aiming to sway herself in the direction of logic. They went of their own choice.

She seized all your vegan organic gingerbread! Mel felt this to be an honest mistake, really. Abigael hadn't known. She couldn't have, being a newcomer to Spruce Hill Village just as the holiday season had barely begun. All alone, too—

10:10 am, Outside Pleather Pop-Up Shop, Spruce Hill Village

And what was that Macy mentioned earlier about proposing a partnership? Herself, Melonie Vera, working together with Abigael Jameson-Caine? Collaborating like colleagues? Mel read through the first line, its Century Schoolbook typeface more satisfactory than Cavolini, but somewhat tongue-in-cheek...and naughty, besides. Mel wondered if the woman within derived sensual pleasure from student-teacher roleplay, hence the choice of font, but decided it wasn't her place to judge, as she certainly had a rolodex of...imaginings, herself.

"HELP WANTED—MANAGERIAL" the flyer spelled out. "Inquire within—and bring a test recipe."

10:20 am, Café SM, Spruce Hill Village

Instead of pushing through the likely crowded interior of the pleather pop-up, Mel found herself back in her own café, Abigael's coffee thermos set upon the counter. Perusing the various cookie recipes she'd stored earlier on her phone, Mel wondered whether she ought to pair the batch with a Gingerlady latte, or a Coquito cocoa, but felt simplicity would be preferred.