Flavor of the Month

by Georgia Beers

  “You drink lattes now, huh?” The voice came from behind Emma, soft and familiar, like fingertips tickling down her spine. She turned to face Charlie, those hazel eyes sparkling with something Emma couldn’t put her finger on.

  “I do.”

  “You never used to like coffee. This is unexpected.”

  “People change. I do a lot of unexpected things now.”

  “True, and I’m sure you do.” A definite sizzle passed between them as they stood there, face-to-face.

  “Can I take your order?” the barista asked, his voice uncertain, as if he could see the strange connection and was hesitant to break it.

  Emma stepped aside wordlessly, but her eyes stayed locked on Charlie’s for another moment until Charlie looked away to place her order.

  Charlie looked good. Emma gave her a subtle scan. Better than the first time she’d seen her back in Shaker Falls. She’d put a little weight back on, so her face was no longer gaunt. Her cheeks had a healthy pink in them, and her eyes were bright. The ponytail was super cute, and she was dressed casually in denim capris and a black-and-white-striped tank, flip-flops on her feet. Mirrored sunglasses were perched on top of her head, and when she finished placing her order, Emma quickly took her phone back out and pretended to be engrossed. Couldn’t have Charlie thinking she was staring.

  “I’m not used to seeing you out of your clothes.”

  She looked up from the nothing she was doing on her phone and squinted at Charlie, whose eyes went suddenly wide, apparently hearing what she’d said.

  “Oh my God. Chef’s clothes. Your chef’s clothes. That’s what I meant.” She looked away, clearly embarrassed, muttered, “God.”

  “You saw me in regular clothes at Amber’s.”

  Charlie nodded. “That’s true. Still, when I picture you now, it’s in your white chef’s coat.” She seemed to study Emma’s face for a few seconds before adding, “It looks really good on you. Not that what you’re wearing now doesn’t look good on you, because it does. Really good. I just meant that the chef’s coat also looks really great, gives you an air of authority or something. Oh my God, stop talking, Charlie.”

  Emma couldn’t help but grin. She didn’t want to. She was trying hard to hold on to the distance she was attempting to keep between them. But nervous rambling was one of Charlie’s more endearing qualities, along with the deep blush that had colored her cheeks from a healthy pink to a deeper almost-red, and for a second or two, she let herself be transported back to the past, before that woman had swooped in, before Charlie had sprinted to New York and left Emma and her shattered heart behind.

  “I think somewhere in there were a couple of compliments,” Emma said. “So thank you.”

  Relief washed over Charlie’s face, and they stood there in silence until the barista slid Emma’s latte toward her. She thanked him, then whispered to Charlie, “One mediocre latte for Emma.”

  Charlie laughed softly. “Can you keep a secret?”

  Emma tilted her head. “Is that a real question?”

  “Ha. Sorry. I know you can.” Charlie glanced around as if to see who was in earshot. The answer to that was nobody. Still, Charlie stepped closer, into Emma’s space, close enough for her to smell the cherry almond body lotion Charlie had always used. The familiarity put a small lump in her throat that she tried to swallow down while Charlie spoke. “The J-Cup might have some competition soon.”

  “Really?” She felt her eyebrows rise up toward her hairline. “Explain.”

  The barista slid Charlie’s coffee across the counter, and then they walked to the door together, just as if they’d planned to the whole time. They turned right and strolled down the sidewalk toward the park as Charlie talked.

  “So, when I first interviewed at The Muffin Top, Sandy mentioned that she was interested in selling coffee because she thought she’d get a bigger early morning crowd that way. She knew I had business experience, and I guess my mom did a little cheerleading for me, so she asked me if I could look into it when I had a chance, just do some research for her.”

  Emma listened as Charlie relayed the research she’d done, the ideas she’d come up with, the empty shop next door. Again, it was as if she was transported back in time, like the door of the J-Cup had been a portal, and now she and Charlie were actually walking down the sidewalk eight or ten years ago. It simultaneously warmed her and freaked her the hell out.

  “She liked what I showed her, she’s got my numbers, and she’s going to talk to her finance person. So we’ll see.”

  “That’s amazing,” Emma said, and she meant it. Seeing Charlie so excited about an idea was a familiar sight that she’d always loved, and she decided in that moment not to overanalyze it. Charlie looked happy, and Emma could admit that it made her happy to see it.

  “I can promise you this: we will have way better coffee than the J-Cup. Way better.”

  “Well, the bar isn’t really all that high, is it?”

  “Ha! Right?” Charlie talked some more as they strolled, spoke about the possibility of roasting their own coffee beans, creating different specialty drinks.

  It occurred to Emma then that the way Charlie spoke made it sound like she planned on sticking around. And she wanted to ask about it. She really did. But fear kept the question locked inside her head. And that confused her. Because what was she afraid of? She was long past the days of shielding herself from Charlie, right? Long past.

  “I can’t help but notice, the more people we see, that we’re headed in the direction of Summer Fest.” Charlie smiled and turned sideways to allow a couple to pass. “Was that your plan?”

  Emma nodded. “I was just going to find a spot to chill out and read.” Why was it so easy to tell Charlie her plans?

  At Charlie’s light chuckle, she turned to regard her, watched as Charlie pulled a Kindle out of her bag and held it up. “Great minds.”

  What happened next was so strange and so not strange at all. Emma barely thought about it. They walked into the park, into Summer Fest. It was still midmorning, so the crowd was small, people milling around here and there, vendors opening their tents and tables for business, food trucks propping open windows and getting their kitchens up and running. Lots of strollers and people walking dogs. She and Charlie slowed their pace, strolling along, pointing things out to each other, until they found the perfect spot. A large oak tree stood tall on the edge of the park, far enough away from the main pathway of the festival, but close enough to people watch. Emma unzipped her backpack, pulled out the navy-blue and white blanket, and spread it out at the base of the wide trunk. She and Charlie sat down, and there was enough room for each of them to lean comfortably against the tree.

  Emma reached into her bag again, pulled out a baggie just as Charlie did the same thing. They looked at each other and laughed and Charlie’s eyes widened. “Are those your famous homemade granola bites?” She sounded like a little kid looking at her favorite candy and Emma grinned at her.

  “They are.” She squinted at the bag Charlie held. “And are those dried cherries, your favorite snack in all the land?” Some things you just didn’t unlearn about each other.

  “They are. And you know what they go really well with?”

  “My famous homemade granola bites?”

  “Ding, ding, ding!” Charlie pointed at her, smile wide.

  Baggies were unzipped and set on the blanket between them. They each reached into the one belonging to the other, tossed the snack into their mouths, then pulled out their books.

  Emma was surprised—but not at all, really—at how easy it was to fall into a routine with Charlie. How comfortable it was to just sit next to her and read. The silence wasn’t awkward. Charlie’s proximity wasn’t weird. In fact, this was the most relaxed Emma had been in a very, very long time.

  That got her attention.

  But when she turned to Charlie and opened her mouth, Charlie was gazing off in the distance and spoke first.

  “How do you decid
e what the special’s going to be?”

  Emma felt her brow furrow at the shift in subject—at least for her. “What?”

  “At the restaurant. How do you decide that tonight’s special will be, I don’t know, eggplant Parmesan or something.” Charlie turned to Emma then, eyes filled with curiosity. Open.

  Her mouth went dry. Goddamn it. “Been giving this a lot of thought, have you?” Good job, Em. Keep things light.

  “Maybe.” Charlie popped another granola bite and waited.

  Emma took a breath. “Well, there are a lot of factors. If one of my vendors has, say, eggplants on sale, then I might decide to make eggplant Parmesan as a special for a night or two because I can make more money. Or if I find a new recipe I want to try and it comes out good in testing, I’ll do that.”

  “In testing?”

  “Yeah. I make it ahead of time, try it out on my staff. On Sandy and her staff.” She tilted her head toward Charlie. “And I see what the consensus is.”

  “Have you ever made something that didn’t go over well?”

  Emma squinted, honestly thought about the question. “You know what? I don’t think so.”

  “Well, that doesn’t surprise me.” Charlie reached in for more granola.

  “No? It surprises me.”

  “Why? You’re fantastic at what you do. You always have been. You’re the only person I’ve ever met who found their calling as a kid.” The way Charlie spoke was almost dreamy. Filled with admiration. It made Emma feel warm.

  “Really?”

  Charlie scoffed. “Name somebody else who did.”

  She wrinkled her nose, racked her brain. She had many friends who were happy in their careers, but she couldn’t think of one who’d discovered their passion in junior high. “You may be right.”

  “It happens once in a great while.” A faraway look parked itself on Charlie’s face then.

  “What happened, Charlie?” The question was out of Emma’s mouth before she even realized she was thinking it, but her voice was soft, gentle. Hurting Charlie didn’t even cross her mind, nor did reveling in her pain. She simply wanted to know.

  Charlie turned to her, and suddenly, her eyes clouded, shadowing the curiosity and the openness from earlier. So many alarmingly clear emotions: sadness, pain, regret. She took her time inhaling, then let it out just as slowly. “You really want to know? I’m sure it’ll make your day.”

  The words weren’t exactly sarcastic, but they held an element of embarrassment. Of shame. Part of Emma took a sliver of pleasure in that, she could admit it, but only for a moment. A larger part was sympathetic, and that shameful expression on Charlie’s face made her feel bad that she’d even asked. She lifted one shoulder. “I mean, you don’t have to tell me. It’s really none of my business.”

  “No.” Charlie laid a hand on her forearm. “No. I don’t mind.”

  Their gazes held, and Emma saw so many things whip across Charlie’s face then, most of them too fast for her to identify, but that connection was there. Again. That same damn connection they’d always had from the very first time they’d met. The one Emma loved when they were together and despised when they’d split, because it felt so permanent, like a tattoo, a part of her she could never get rid of. She’d fought with it. Ignored it. Cursed it. And she realized right then that, while she’d been able to tamp it down, to put it in a box on a high, high shelf, it was still there. It was always there, and it probably always would be there.

  “You were right.” Charlie said it factually, with a shrug, doing her best to be nonchalant about something that Emma could see she felt anything but nonchalant about.

  “About what?”

  “About Darcy. She just wanted to get in my pants.” Holding up one finger, she continued. “I did last longer than any of the past girls, so I do think she had feelings for me, but…” Again with the nonchalant shrug. “Somebody better came along.”

  Emma’s first reaction, her instinct again, was sympathy for Charlie. Empathy. Sorrow. “Oh, Charlie. I’m sorry.”

  “You are?”

  “Of course I am.”

  Charlie popped some granola into her mouth, chewed thoughtfully as she watched a woman pushing a double stroller. “I was waiting for you to say I told you so.”

  “Well.” Emma playfully bumped her with a shoulder. “I mean, I did tell you so.”

  “There it is.” But Charlie laughed and the sound was achingly familiar. And wonderful. And Emma felt herself being tugged in a direction she’d refused to even look in for years now.

  What the hell?

  Before she could analyze—or try to avoid analyzing—any further, she heard her name called and could see Danielle walking toward them. She wore denim shorts and a white sleeveless top, and her red curls were pulled back from her face. To her credit, her smile only faltered slightly when she saw who was sitting next to Emma. If Emma didn’t know her so well, she’d have missed it.

  “Hey,” Danielle said, standing in front of them with her hands parked on her hips. “What’s up?”

  Emma shook her head. “Not much. Just hanging. You remember Charlie?” She turned to Charlie. “This is Dani. You met her at Amber’s.”

  “Right, right. Of course.” Charlie smiled up Dani. “Good to see you again.”

  “Same.” Danielle set down her bag and sat on the edge of the blanket facing them. “I thought you were just hanging alone this morning.”

  She didn’t hide the implication very well, and Emma felt the air around Charlie shift just slightly.

  “I was,” she said, injecting her voice with as much cheer as she could. “We ran into each other at the J-Cup and just ended up sort of wandering in the same direction. We had the same idea.” She pointed to Charlie’s Kindle where it sat on the blanket as if to say, See? I speak the truth.

  Dani nodded, then stretched her arms out behind her to brace her weight and crossed her legs at the ankles. It was a pretty clear I’m going to hang right here, and it irritated Emma, though she didn’t want to analyze why.

  And then, in true Danielle Schwartz extroverted fashion, she started talking. “Remember the dude from that bar in Clifton I was telling you about?” She launched into a story about a man Emma was vaguely familiar with, a man Charlie would have no clue about. Then she told another story, then another, always adding something like Remember when we went there? or We had the best time.

  To her credit, Charlie stuck around for a good fifteen minutes before, during a lull, she began gathering her things. “I think I’m going to wander a bit. It’s been a while since I hit Summer Fest.” She stood up and smiled down at Emma. The smile was uncertain. “Thanks for sharing your blanket and your granola.” She turned to Dani. “It was good to see you again.” She shouldered her bag and walked away, Emma’s gaze following her, watching the familiar gait, the gentle sway of her hips.

  She turned back to Dani, spoke a tiny bit more harshly than she’d intended. “What the hell was that?”

  Dani’s eyes widened, seemingly in innocence, but Emma knew better. “What was what?”

  “What you just did. Sitting down, chatting away to me about people and inside jokes that Charlie would have zero knowledge of. You purposely left her out of any and all conversation.”

  Dani opened her mouth to speak and must have thought better of it. She closed it again and looked down at her hands.

  “You made her feel like an outsider.”

  “She is an outsider,” Dani snapped. “And she broke your fucking heart, yet here you are, all cozied up on a blanket under a tree sharing coffee and breakfast.”

  Emma flinched at the tone. Dani didn’t yell, didn’t even raise her voice, but her tone was almost harsh. She simply blinked at her in surprise.

  Dani sighed. “I’m sorry. That was…a lot.”

  “You think? Jesus.”

  Dani’s position shifted so she was sitting next to Emma and leaning against the tree. Dani put her hand on Emma’s knee, squeezed it. “Look,
it’s just…” She stared off into the distance as if searching for the right words. “You’ve told me so much about what you went through with her, how hard it was when she moved to New York and left you and your relationship behind. How she didn’t answer your texts or calls. How heartbroken you were. I know I wasn’t around then, but I am now. And she’s here, and I don’t want to see all of that happen to you again. You know?”

  Emma saw the sincerity in her blue eyes, heard the gentleness in her voice, and knew that one of her besties was simply looking out for her. While she didn’t like the approach, Emma understood the point.

  “I know. I get it. I do.”

  “Yeah?”

  “Yes. And it’s fine. Really.” She glanced down to grab some granola, noticed that Charlie had tucked her dried cherries next to the bag, couldn’t help but grin. “We were just hanging out. It wasn’t planned. We ran into each other and just ended up walking in the same direction. It was no big deal. I promise. I have no desire to get sucked into anything with Charlie Stetko again. Trust me.”

  But even as she said it, her brain was remembering how familiar, how natural, how comfortable it had been to stroll along the sidewalk listening to Charlie talk about her new business venture, how much Emma had always loved the excitement, the sparkle Charlie got in her eyes when she was pumped about something new. And as Dani began to talk about a new vodka her company was selling, Emma kept picturing Charlie in her enthusiasm. Dani’s voice faded a bit until all Emma could hear were her own thoughts.

  Well, just one thought.

  I’m gonna be in trouble here, aren’t I?

  Chapter Fifteen

  Morning had morphed into afternoon, and that was hurtling toward evening. Charlie hadn’t planned on staying at Summer Fest so long. Not even close. She was going to read for a bit, drink her coffee, do some people watching, check out some of the vendors, and then head home to spend the rest of her Sunday either in the backyard or vegging out with Netflix. Like she was middle-aged. God, her life was riveting.