Chapter One
It was one of those mornings when the sound of Millpond
waking up was better than any music or news playing on the radio. After so many
months of operating her coffee truck, Monica Brown, the owner of Brown’s
Grounds, had developed a morning routine. Today, it went off without a hitch.
She’d ground her beans the night before and had them in sacks for today’s
customers. Willie had prepared her daily order of sweet rolls at the bakery,
along with a couple new pastries to try out. They’d been at the door, ready for
her to grab and go. She had tried to resist them, but the mini éclairs he’d
added to her order looked too good not to sample. So, she ate one and vowed to
get a dozen more for her own private consumption. Her chalkboard displayed her
special flavors for the day. By the time she officially opened for business,
she was hearing birds from the park behind her, the roll of traffic, music from
some of the stores across the street, and foot traffic. It was a symphony, and it
made Monica feel like she was really in the middle of life. So much hustle and
bustle meant business. Business meant money. Money meant she was keeping her
head above water. The wolf might have been outside her door, but it was still
outside.
Monica was feeling so good, she didn’t even bother cracking
open the latest romance novel she’d started reading. Sure, the damsel on the
cover looked adequately tortured over her feelings for the fellow who was
holding her tightly in his strong arms, his shirt torn and his hair flowing
behind him, but the real world had her in its grasp. People-watching was the
name of the game this morning, and perhaps, if she remained in this good mood
all day, she might treat herself to a burger from McDonald’s on the way home.
“Good morning, Monica,” she heard a familiar voice say.
“Hello, Mary Anne. How are you today?”
“Well, I’m alive. I stayed up last night watching a
documentary on Larry Robinson, who set out to discover if Zachary Taylor was
murdered with arsenic.” Mary Anne’s eyes boggled.
“Who?” Monica loved seeing Mary Anne every day. The woman
was a font of weird facts and interesting experiences; once again, on this
beautiful morning, she didn’t disappoint.
“Zachary Taylor. Our twelfth president. He was not murdered,
but the tests that Larry Robinson developed to figure this out were
fascinating. It was such an interesting story all around,” Mary Anne gushed.
“But now I’m back on books. I’ll have a few new ones for you at the end of the
week.”
“Great. I’m running low,” Monica said and smiled before
asking Mary Anne if she wanted her regular coffee or something more exotic.
“Do you have a green tea? I’m thinking of improving my diet.
I’m not getting any younger and, well, why not? I’ve tried haggis. How bad can
a little bit of exercise and clean eating be? Ohhh, what are those?”
Mary Anne pointed to the mini éclairs in the display case. Monica laughed and
told her about Willie’s newest creation.
“Just give me one and the green tea. It’s a start!” She
winked at Monica.
Mary Anne was not a stereotypical beauty, but since Monica had
gotten to know her, she’d learned to recognize how she shined from the inside
out. She was full figured and had a long face with a big nose. Not what the
magazines would pin as attractive. But Mary Anne spoke intelligently, had a
sense of humor, and laughed more at herself than at anything else. Her smile
was contagious, and a warmth emanated from her whenever she spoke. Monica had learned
all about how Mary Anne had travelled the world, spoke several languages, and
had even gotten engaged four times but had backed out of each one. Monica hoped
someday she would share why.
They chatted for a few minutes before Monica looked up and
grimaced. Coming down the sidewalk was Eric Hinkle, the mailman.
“Ugh,” Monica grumbled. Mary Anne looked casually in the
direction Monica was looking and chuckled.
“Oh, so I see you’ve gotten to know the mail carrier around
here. ‘Ugh’ seems to be everyone’s response when they see him coming.” Mary
Anne took her to-go cup and éclair.
“Wait. Where are you going?” Monica asked and smirked.
“He makes his rounds at City Hall. I’ll be seeing enough of
him when he brings us our mail. I don’t need an appetizer.” Mary Anne chuckled
before heading to work.
“Thanks. And I thought we were friends,” Monica
called after her as Mary Anne waved and left. The only thing that made Eric
Hinkle seem tolerable today was that he might be carrying a substantial refund Monica
was expecting from a vendor who had overcharged her for some supplies. Sure, it
wasn’t enough for her to consider early retirement, but it was money she wasn’t
expecting. That was always a good thing.
“Good morning, gorgeous.” Eric Hinkle had an odd appearance.
Monica could say with certainty he wasn’t an ugly man, but he wasn’t good-looking,
either. Eyes set too close together over a bulbous nose, and a weird waxiness
to his complexion took the attention from his athletic build and neatly cut
hair. Plus, he was in his fifties and always ogled the younger women as they
walked by, including Monica.
“Morning,” Monica said politely. “What can I get…”
Just as Hinkle stepped up to the window, there was the sound
of brakes, a loud clunk!, and the sound of cracking plastic. Monica
looked up and witnessed the aftermath of a fender bender right in front of her
truck. She hurried outside and ran to the front as both drivers got out.
The person who was rear-ended was a middle-aged woman wearing
big round sunglasses. The man who hit her was much younger, maybe just over
eighteen. He also had one distinctive feature that Hinkle jumped on right away.
“Oh, good luck getting money from that one,” he hissed.
“Boys from the hood ain’t gonna pay The Man for insurance.”
Monica didn’t know what was more astonishing—the accident or
Hinkle.
“What?” she gasped.
“Come on, you were thinking it, too. I’m surprised he didn’t
just speed away. If she calls the cops, he will.” Hinkle seemed very sure of
himself as he handed Monica her mail and stared at the accident.
The woman and the young man spoke. No one raised their
voice. There were no threats or symptoms of road rage on display. The young man
took out his phone and took pictures as well as gave the woman his information.
She did the same in return. Ignoring Hinkle, Monica walked to the edge of the
sidewalk.
“Are you guys okay?” she asked.
“Yeah,” the young man said sadly.
“Yes. Thank you. Just not the way to start a morning,” the
woman replied. She seemed nice enough, and the young man looked apologetic.
Monica didn’t loiter. Instead, she took her mail into the truck and dealt with
Hinkle through the window.
“Yeah, he’s being polite now because he knows people are
watching. If this was any other time in any other part of town, he’d be
handling it a lot differently. Believe me. That’s how those people are,” Hinkle
continued.
“Are you for real?” Monica asked.
“What?” He looked at her like he was daring her to
contradict his deeply held beliefs about the man and “his kind.”
Monica didn’t have time to reason with him. First, she
needed to get her mail. Hinkle came across as the kind of guy who might lighten
his load by tossing important pieces of mail in the trashcan if he didn’t like
someone on his route—like reimbursement checks from vendors. Second, it was
obvious he was set in his ways. There was nothing that could be said to a guy
like him that would change his mind. It was best to let him roll around in the
mud of ignorance than get down there in it with him and try to clean him up.
Monica shook her head. “Can I get you something?”
“Yes,” he replied, sounding satisfied that he’d somehow won
that small interaction. “Be a good girl and give me one of those double
espresso things. And don’t skimp on the cinnamon sprinkles.”
Monica wanted to tell him what he could do with his cinnamon
sprinkles but instead, she bit her tongue. Her day had started with such a nice
morning, with beautiful sounds and the smell of fresh pastries. Just so many
things to be thankful for. She couldn’t let one jerk ruin her day. In just a
few more minutes, he would be on his way to bother someone else. Finally, she
was about to hand Hinkle his drink when he shouted.
“Hey there, Constable! You coming to get some coffee?”
“Yes, I am, Eric. Good morning,” Nate replied. Nathan Thomas
was there to save Monica’s day, and not for the first time.
“Let me tell you something. I don’t think most women can run
a business. But this little lady does a fine job with the coffee, when she
remembers to add enough cinnamon,” Hinkle said as he took his drink from her.
His index finger accidentally brushed against her pinky, making her skin crawl.
She felt like she needed to scrub her hands with Comet Cleanser.
“Take it easy, Eric,” Nate replied while looking at Monica.
“I’ll take it any way I can get it,” Hinkle said and chuckled.
As he walked away, he took a sip of his drink and shook his head. Without a
second thought, he tossed it in a City of Millpond trashcan.
Monica wasn’t sure what upset her more: the comments he made
or the fact that her good espresso had gone to waste. She shook her head as if trying
to shake all fragments of Hinkle free and finally focused on Nate.
Nathan Thomas was the sheriff of Millpond and one of the
most handsome men Monica had ever laid eyes on. Although she’d never tell him
that to his face.
“How can you stand that man?” Monica asked before Nate could
order his coffee.
“What? Eric? He’s harmless. A lot of hot air, that’s all.”
“Do you know what he said?”
“I’m sure it was something offensive,” Nate replied with a
roll of his eyes.
“It wasn’t just one thing.” Monica chuckled as she repeated
what the mailman had said.
“I’m going to be honest with you, Monica. Some guys don’t
know how to act when they see a pretty woman that they might be interested in.
They say stupid things trying to be charming and they end up coming across more
offensive than had they slapped on cow manure for aftershave. That might have
been Eric’s best attempt at a come-on.”
Monica looked blankly at Nate for a few seconds before
laughing. “You mean like the little boy who pushes the little girl off the
swing at the playground because he likes her?”
“Yeah. Just like that.” Nate lifted his chin and crossed his
arms over his chest. That small action made Monica laugh even harder as she
poured his usual large coffee.
“Or…maybe he’s just a horse’s aaaa…”
“Uh-oh. Language, Miss Brown. This is supposed to be a
family business. Let’s watch our tongue, shall we?”
Monica pulled herself together then narrowed her eyes as she
studied Nate. “Wait. Why do I have to watch what I was going to say, but you
don’t have a problem with what Hinkle said? I can’t believe you’d have such a
double standard.”
“First, I didn’t say I didn’t have a problem with what he
said. Second, I don’t have a double standard. You were about to use a
profanity. He voiced an opinion. A wrong opinion. A narrow-minded opinion. But
an opinion free of obscenities. That’s where the difference lies,” Nate said
and winked. Monica could tell he was enjoying each stroke that ruffled her
feathers.
“I’ve never heard you use dirty words. I hope I never do. It
just isn’t you.”
Monica tried to shake the annoyance creeping under her skin.
Nate seemed to have two separate sets of rules. One for her, and another for
the riffraff. But he’d also offered her a sweet compliment and a very
interesting signal. If he’d learned that using profanities wasn’t her style, what
else had he learned from observing her?
