Cup of Joe

by Teri Wilson

  “You know I’m here if you ever want to talk. About him. Or about anything. Capeesh?”

  Her heart almost leapt out of her chest. Capeesh had been one of her grandfather’s trademark phrases. He’d picked up the Italian slang word while he was stationed in Europe with the Army. She couldn’t remember hearing anyone else ever use the word. Somehow, it seemed fitting for Joe to take up the tradition.

  Goldie nodded her agreement and answered back, just as she did with Grandpa. “Capeesh.”

  “Let me take this for you,” he said as he reached for her empty coffee cup. “It looks like Bliss might be running out of steam.”

  Goldie scooped the spaniel into her arms. “She just needs a little cuddle.”

  Java poked Joe’s leg with one of his big paws and woofed. When Goldie and Joe responded with laughter, he barked even louder.

  Joe wagged his finger at the Husky. “Don’t even think about it. You’re too big to be carried.”

  They fell in step with one another again, and not until Goldie’s senses became enveloped with the rich aroma of coffee, did she realize they were once again right around the corner from the shop. “We’ll let you get back to work. Thanks for the walk. And the coffee.”

  Joe paused. He raked a hand through his windblown hair, still tinged with salty crystals. Java’s gaze flitted back and forth between Joe and the coffee shop, as if he were trying to figure out why they weren’t already inside. “Um, Goldie?”

  “Yes?” Something in his tone and the way he shifted his weight from one foot to the other caused a swarm of butterflies to take flight in the pit of her stomach.

  He cleared his throat and continued, “Are you busy this Saturday?”

  Oh. My. Gosh. Joe the Coffee Guy is asking me out.

  Goldie froze for a moment, unsure how to answer. The flutter in her belly told her she certainly wanted to go out with Joe. But, was it too soon? Was she even thinking clearly?

  Then she looked at Joe and remembered who he was. He was still the same Joe. The Joe who played checkers with her grandfather. Grandpa had adored Joe. He would have probably been thrilled to see her go out on a date with him. Especially now. What was her problem? Of course, she would say yes. Maybe she would even say capeesh. Yes, that would probably make him laugh. That would be her answer. Capeesh. “No, not really. No plans.”

  “Oh, OK. Well, I was thinking you might want to bring Bliss to a dog training class. Java and I go every Saturday afternoon. Would you like to come along?”

  It took every ounce of strength Goldie possessed to keep the smile on her face intact. She was mortified to her very core. He wasn’t asking her out on a date. He was inviting her to a dog training class. A dog training class! And here she was, planning a witty, flirty dialogue about their non-date. Emphasis on the non. How on earth had she misread the signals?

  Horrified, she nodded and tried to force out an answer. “Uh, sure. That sounds great.”

  She listened and commented in what she hoped were all the right places as Joe explained all about the training class. All the while, she clutched Bliss closer to her chest like a life preserver.

  “OK, I’ll see you Saturday.” Joe winked and walked backwards, his gaze never leaving hers until he’d disappeared inside the shop.

  Goldie spun on her heel, still holding Bliss in her arms, and headed for home. Growing wearier with each step, she forgot all about the library. She just wanted to get home, crawl back under the safety of her covers and forget she’d ever stopped at Joe’s Coffee Shop. She knew it would be difficult, however, with the sweet taste of caramel still lingering on her lips.

  ef

  “So, did you ask her out?” Cinnamon swirled her straw around in what Joe thought was a vanilla latte. He still couldn’t keep all the new drinks straight. When he’d asked her to develop a few new menu options, it had been akin to unleashing a dragon.

  He rubbed his temples and glanced up at the chalkboard. Overnight the number of offerings listed there had tripled. Yep, he was actually going to be forced to study his own menu to get it all straight.

  “Hello? Joe?” Cinnamon’s distinct note of impatience brought his attention back to her interrogation. “Are you paying attention? What happened on your walk? Did you ask her out?”

  If Cinnamon ever grew bored of her career as a barista, she had a brilliant future as a detective. Or private investigator. Pretty much anything that involved large amounts of questioning. And snooping.

  She swirled her straw again and took a giant sip of her latte. The slurping noise echoed off the empty walls of the coffee shop. Joe wagged his finger at her. “Don’t slurp.”

  “Can’t help it. This is so good. Do you want me to make you one?” Cinnamon’s words came out in rapid machine gun fire and she hopped from one foot to the other. “Hey, you’re changing the subject. You still haven’t answered my question.”

  Joe grabbed the large, empty cup from her hand. “That’s it. I’m cutting you off. Clearly, you’ve had enough caffeine.”

  Cinnamon shrugged, but Joe noticed her gaze followed the empty cup as he pitched it in the trashcan. “Hey, it got super-busy in here while you were out. I had to keep up somehow. But don’t feel bad about leaving me here by myself during the rush. It was all for the sake of true love.” Cinnamon plopped her elbows on the countertop and rested her chin in her hands. She fluttered her eyelashes and sighed. “So, did you ask her out or what?”

  Joe shot an envious glance at Java, snoozing away on his dog bed. Anything to avoid looking Cinnamon in the eye. Or nose ring, for that matter. “No.”

  “No?” she shrieked. “What do you mean no?”

  “You don’t understand. It’s not the right time.” He’d wanted to ask her out. No doubt about it. Then again, he’d wanted to ask her out for the better part of a year.

  “Are you crazy? Of course it’s the right time.” She drummed her shiny orange nails on the counter. Their pounding hammered her words into his head.

  “And how would you know that? You’ve known Goldie for all of five minutes.”

  “I’m a woman. I can tell.” She said it with an air of confidence that belied her young age.

  “Is that so?” Joe doubted she possessed any special insight into Goldie’s emotions, but hope tugged at his heart ever so slightly. “How can you tell?”

  “Easy. She was wearing a scarf. Didn’t you see it?”

  Of course, he’d seen it. It wrapped around her ponytail in three precise loops. The silky ends played with her mass of curls, slipping in and out of the blonde ringlets with every subtle movement of her lovely head. He couldn’t hide the smile that played on his lips as he remembered it. “Yes. I saw the scarf.”

  “So, she’s ready.” Cinnamon announced, as if the matter could be settled that easily, by the mere presence of a silky wisp of fabric in Goldie’s hair.

  “The scarf could mean something. I’ll admit that,” Joe conceded. “But it doesn’t necessarily have anything to do with me. She’s probably feeling better about things; that’s all.”

  Even as he spoke his words of doubt, he secretly prayed. Dear Lord, please. Please let it have everything to do with me.

  Cinnamon heaved an enormous sigh. “Boss, you can’t be serious. Are you blind? She wore her trademark scarf for the first time in over a week to your coffee shop, to see you, with the dog that you gave her.”

  When she put it that way, he almost dared to believe it. Could it be that after all this time, with a few simple acts of kindness, Goldie had finally noticed him? “You do have a point.”

  “So what are you waiting for?”

  It was a legitimate question. What was he waiting for? “It’s complicated.”

  Cinnamon rolled her eyes. “How so?”

  “Bob, Goldie’s grandfather, was a friend of mine. I made him a promise. A promise I intend to keep.”

  Cinnamon’s face fell, a look of horror coming over her. “Oh no. You didn’t promise him you would never date his granddaugh
ter, did you?”

  Joe chuckled. “Good grief, no. That’s not it at all.” Hardly. In fact, now that he thought about it, he supposed it probably would make Bob rather happy if he and Goldie ended up together.

  Cinnamon let out a puff of breath. “Then what was your promise?”

  “I promised him I would always look after Goldie for him once he was gone.” Overcome with reverence for his pledge to Goldie’s grandfather, Joe lowered his voice. “That’s easy to do so long as I’m her friend.”

  “And even easier if she’s…”

  Joe leveled his gaze at Cinnamon and spoke his secret hope, his dream, aloud for the first time. “…my wife.”

  Cinnamon gasped. “You really love her, don’t you?”

  “I do.” Choked with emotion, Joe cleared his throat. “But don’t you see? If she’s not ready, if I push too soon, things could get very awkward. She might not even want to be my friend. Then how could I watch over her, as I promised?”

  Cinnamon pondered this for a moment and answered him in a way he never expected. “Boss, where does your God fit into all this?”

  The question hit him like a slap in the face. He gave himself a moment to recover before responding. “I’m rather surprised to hear you talk about God, Cinnamon. Pleased, but surprised.”

  She shrugged her shoulders and peered at him with wide eyes. Joe could scarcely believe it, but she looked almost bashful. “I’ve been thinking about everything you said the other day and how you believe that He answers prayers. If you truly think He provided Bliss for you to give to Goldie, why don’t you believe He’ll show you the way to keep your promise? Why don’t you trust Him with your feelings for Goldie?”

  Joe ran his hand through his hair, still damp from the salty ocean breeze, and paused. He couldn’t answer the question. She was right. This girl, who readily admitted she wasn’t sure she even believed in God, had somehow spotted his lack of faith where his romantic feelings were concerned.

  Forgive me, Lord. Forgive me for not trusting in you and for being a bad example for your child, Cinnamon. She’s searching for you, Lord. Help me help her.

  “You really have been thinking about God a lot, haven’t you?”

  She gnawed on the corner of an orange fingernail. “A little.”

  He wished he knew a way to be a better witness for Christ. Unsure what exactly to do, he said, “That invitation to church is still good, by the way.”

  Cinnamon grinned, and turned to him, the diamond stud next to her nostril shining like a beacon. “I’ll make you a deal, boss.”

  “A deal?”

  “Yep.” She shoved her hand toward him and nodded, as though she wanted a handshake. “If I go to your church, you will agree to ask Goldie out on a date.”

  “Are you serious?” Joe was skeptical. It seemed wrong, almost like a bribe. But, then again, maybe God didn’t care. Maybe this way he and Cinnamon both would be following His plan.

  “Yes sir. Completely, one hundred percent serious.” She clicked her heels together and saluted him.

  “OK.” He stuck his hand toward hers, but then drew it back. “But you have to come to church first. Then, afterwards, I’ll do it. I’ll jump in with both feet and ask Goldie out.”

  “Great. It’s a deal.” She took his hand in hers and pumped it up and down in a vigorous shake.

  “Deal.”

  As Joe stood there in the coffee shop, shaking hands underneath the chalkboard with Goldie’s name winking down at him, he thought once again about the scarf. What did it mean? He imagined touching it, feeling the delicate silk between his fingers. He dreamed of unwinding it from Goldie’s thick tresses and letting her curls fly free in the salty wind.

  And he wondered how many Sundays he would have to wait for Cinnamon to come to church.

  Cup of Joe

  Inspirational romance, Christian romance, Christian fiction, romance novel, christian romance novel, teri wilson, white rose publishing

  Cup of Joe

  Chapter Five

  “Goldie Jensen, you are the next contestant on Name that Price!” The familiar baritone voice of the announcer boomed in Goldie’s ear and she momentarily panicked. How could she possibly run down all the steps to the stage in her clumsy, pink fuzzy slippers? She hiked up the hem of her Sponge Bob pajamas and somehow found herself behind a microphone. Cary Andrews, the studio audience and all the viewers at home watched and waited for her to say something.

  “Hi Cary,” she muttered, casting furtive glances at the other contestants. Why was she the only one wearing pajamas?

  “Good morning, Goldie,” he gushed. “Are you ready for the next item?”

  “Yes.” Goldie nodded, with no small amount of hesitation. “Yes, I am.”

  Cary beamed at her, flashing polished white teeth that seemed even brighter than they were on television. “Then let’s Name that Price.”

  Cary swept an arm toward the bright orange set, where a slender model with impossibly thick, frosted hair stood before a closed curtain. Every eye in the studio was fixed on that curtain, waiting for it to rise. What hid behind it? A pair of his-and-her motorcycles? A bicycle built for two? Perhaps a trip to some exotic location? Or, one could only hope, a new car?

  The model swirled her wrist and, as if by magic, the curtain slowly began to rise. Goldie wondered if she learned that move in some sort of game show hostess school. If so, she must have gotten an A-plus.

  Around her, the audience let out a collective gasp as the curtain rose to reveal sparkly gold letters above an enormous photo of Goldie, walking arm in arm with a handsome young man. Goldie blinked. What was her photo doing there—on the set of a game show? And who was that in the photo with her? Was that Joe? Coffee Guy Joe?

  The announcer’s voice boomed again. “Our next item up for bid is a new life for Goldie Jensen.”

  The audience oohed and aahed while the announcer went on to explain that this wonderful new life included a fulfilling job, an up-to-the-minute fashionable wardrobe, loads of exciting experiences, a doting boyfriend and all sorts of fabulousness she had never before imagined.

  Goldie stared at the giant picture. It was her, but at the same time wasn’t her. The photo-Goldie glowed somehow. She looked the same, but happier. Blissful, even. And the way photo-Joe looked at photo-Goldie, with such tenderness and longing in his gaze, made regular Goldie’s throat go bone dry. This was a man who wanted to do more than just attend dog training classes together.

  “Goldie Jensen!” Her name rolled off Cary’s tongue with dramatic flair. He waved his note cards at the smiling couple in the enormous picture. “That looks like quite a prize. Tell us, what price tag do you put on this thrilling new life?”

  Goldie stared at the photo again, transfixed, and found she couldn’t speak. She was physically incapable of uttering a single word.

  “C’mon now Goldie,” Cary urged. “You must name a price. What’s it going to be?”

  She struggled to say something, anything at all. Cary, the audience, even the model with the graceful wrists waited for her to come to her senses. Finally, she managed to squeak out two words. “Too high.”

  It was too much. The stakes were too high. More than mere dollars, the price included such intangible things as her pride, humiliation, hope. And perhaps most importantly, faith. Faith in a God who she’d given up on in recent days.

  No, it was too much. Too much for her to even dream about.

  Cary stood before her, squinting behind his black-rimmed glasses. He wasn’t smiling anymore. In fact, he looked pretty grim. “Goldie, time is running out. We need you to name your price.”

  “Too high. I can’t,” was all she said.

  ef

  Goldie blinked at the television screen, confused by what she saw. No orange shag carpeting. No skinny models showing off fancy items. No bonus round. No showroom shootout.

  “What is going on?” she muttered.

  At the sound of her voice, the orange and white ball of fur
in her lap twitched to life. Goldie squinted at the television screen again while Bliss’s tail thumped against her thigh. The spaniel looked up at her with sleepy eyes.

  Dramatic music pulsed from the T.V. speakers in a familiar one-two beat that could only mean one thing: Law & Order.

  Goldie flew off the sofa, sending Bliss tumbling to her feet, all flailing paws and flying ears.

  “Sorry, puppy.” Goldie scooped the dog up in her arms as she scurried to the bedroom. “But, we’re late. Late, late, late.”