Coffee and Calicos

by Rosie Pease

  Copyright © 2019 Rosie Pease

  www.rosiepease.com

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means including information storage and retrieval systems without permission in writing from the author. Book reviewers are the one exception to this rule—they may quote short excerpts in their reviews.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents within this book are either products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously.

  Coffee and Calicos

  Paisley Press Books

  Edited by Jes Ekker and Word Whisperer Literary Editing

  Cover design and formatting by Paisley Press Books

  For Zöe, the best calico cat I’ve ever had.

  Table of Contents

  Copyright Information

  Dedication

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  About the Author

  Chapter 1

  “Just don’t do anything to burn the house down while I’m gone, okay?” I asked with my hand on the cut-glass doorknob of the front door for my apartment. “I’d like to get that deposit back next year when I move out.” If I moved out. If I really liked the place, I’d stay until graduation, but that was a decision for another day.

  “Yes, yes, dear. You know this is more smoke than fire, right?” Gram said as she waved her hand over a bundle of sage leaves, sending the smoke out into the corner of my beige-colored living room. Her beaded stone bracelets clinked together with each movement. She never took them off, said they kept her “energy aligned,” whatever that meant. She’d been new-age since before that’s what it was called.

  “Joanie, you really should learn a bit more about this,” my mom added. She waved the sage smoke out an open window that looked down on the two-lane road below and the house across the street. Two streets beyond that was the beginning of Providence Harbor, but I couldn’t see it from the window.

  “I think I’ve seen all I need to see to know what you’re doing.”

  Mom closed the window and shivered, a common reaction when one stood by an open window in January, but it had helped to cut the acrid scent of the burning sage. “You don’t even know what it’s called.”

  “You’re saging or whatever it’s called, I don’t know.” I shrugged, my hand still on the knob. “To keep the bad spirits out.” I knew they meant well, but I didn’t care what they called it or what it did as long as it kept them happy and out of the boxes I still had to unpack. If they got their hands on them, I wouldn’t be able to find anything until it was time to pack everything again.

  I sighed. “Okay, well, don’t set off a smoke alarm, please? I’ll be home soon. I just need to go to campus and get some stuff.”

  After getting mere grunts from Mom and Gram in acknowledgment, I pulled open the door leading into the hallway. This was my first time ever living alone. For the past two and a half years, I had lived in college dorms, and before that it had been Mom and me in my childhood home. Now it was just me in my one-bedroom apartment, but there were five other units in my building. Most, if not all, of the other tenants were students at the nearby college.

  “Hey, did either of you put a paper bag out here?” Sitting in front of me was a large plain brown paper bag, the kind people get when they order Chinese food or sandwiches. I had become very familiar with this type of bag during my time at school so far, but I hadn’t ordered any food yet today. That was the plan for when I got back. It was well past lunchtime, and I was way too tired to cook after loading mom’s station wagon last night, driving with her and Gram the four hours it took to get here from home, then unloading everything. Mom and Gram had helped me load the car—just as they had two weeks ago when they helped me move out of my dorm—but once we got to the apartment, they were done after the first trip up. I couldn’t say I blamed them. They weren’t used to all the stairs.

  “No, dear, not me.” Gram cast a quick glance over her shoulder before returning to her—

  “Smudging! That’s what you call it.” The term had finally come to me.

  “Very good, dear.”

  “Mom, did you?”

  “Not me,” she answered, not even bothering to look. She’d moved on to the open doorway between my living room and the kitchen. Mom was just as new-age as Gram, if not more so, although Mom didn’t wear bracelets like Gram did. She said they got in the way and instead wore rings and necklaces. Mom didn’t understand how I wasn’t more like the two of them. That sort of stuff wasn’t my thing, although I’d helped Gram countless times with whatever it was she did. She called them rituals or even sometimes spells, but I think the spell part of it anyway was just to make it more fun for me and my cousin, who also helped sometimes. Beyond what she’d tell me to hold or where to stand, I’d never paid too much attention to what she’d done, but as a kid, I always thought the stones and feathers she used were pretty.

  “Well, I’m going to set it inside right here,” I said, pointing to a clear spot on the floor. “I’ll deal with it when I get back, I guess.” I picked it up. The weight shifted, but barely, and whatever it was wasn’t that heavy. Maybe it was a housewarming present from one of my new neighbors. I gave it a quick sniff. At least it didn’t smell. There were certainly worse things it could have been.

  “All right,” they said in unison, dismissing me without looking.

  I stepped out into the hallway that separated my apartment from my neighbor’s, closing the door behind me. I’d have locked it, but I figured I didn’t need to with Mom and Gram inside. We never locked our door back home, but I’d heard stories while living on campus that quickly broke me of that habit.

  I walked to the central staircase that wound its way down to the first floor. I’d lose the notorious freshman—and an additional sophomore—fifteen in no time with having to walk up and down three flights of stairs every time I needed to go in or out of my apartment.

  “Now, let’s see how fast I can get to campus and back,” I said to myself as I took my gloves out of the pockets of my peacoat and slid them on. I wanted to get back into the warmth of my apartment as fast as I could.

  Campus had been advertised as being a ten-minute walk away from my apartment, which described itself on the flyer I saw as being in a “prime location for student housing.” We’d see about that. Today was a good test because I only needed to pick up the materials that were required for my Savory Bakes 304 class, which was starting in a few days. I was studying sweet pastries for my major in baking and pastry arts, but it wouldn’t hurt to learn more about the savory side of things too. I liked having a wide foundation of knowledge. I never knew when I might need it. And what if I ever had to—or chose to—branch out?

  January Term, the name given to three of the five weeks between semesters and referred to as J-Term throughout the college, was probably the best time for me to take the extra class. My schedule during the rest of the school year was already crowded with my attempt to take business prerequisites for my eventual master’s degree. I planned to get one after I graduated with my bachelor’s in a year and a half. I needed it. Someday, I’d open my own bakery in some small town. I’d grown up in one. Its winter population was 1,208 and grew to just over 2,100 in the summer. After living in a city now for a few years, I knew they weren’t for me. They were too big, too crowded, and too anonymous. I liked the idea of knowing everyone and being able to walk everywhere I needed to go to. There was just something about the small-town vibe that made even a day like today—freezing with a blowing wind—that much more bearable.

  As I scurried down the si
dewalk toward campus, doubt crept into my thoughts. I couldn’t believe I had moved in between semesters. As if I didn’t have enough to do with January Term starting in a few days. Either one—moving or the class—alone I could handle, but between the unpacking, the intense study, and the requisite baking for three weeks to pass the class, I wasn’t sure if I would manage. How was I supposed to practice my recipes for class? My kitchen wasn’t even set up properly. I was glad to finally have my own, though, so that was something, at least. Plus, moving was a better option than the alternative of staying in my dorm for a few reasons, and once my kitchen was ready, there’d be nothing stopping me from working my kitchen magic.

  It wasn’t real magic, of course, although several of my friends said that’s how good my cooking and baking was. Gram regularly called me a kitchen witch too.

  Magic.

  If only.

  Now that would be a unique way to market a bakery.

  I laughed out loud at the absurdity of my thoughts, and the cold air nearly took my breath away. I pulled my hood tighter around my head and quickened my pace. Campus was just around the corner.

  Chapter 2

  After a brisk ten-minute walk, I arrived on campus. It probably would have taken me fifteen at a normal pace, but I hurried because the wind off the water was making it even colder. From the campus entrance, there was a short paved path cutting across the quad to the bookstore and the promise of coffee at the student-run café next to it. No way was I going to go back out there without warming up some first.

  Campus was almost eerily quiet. I shouldn’t have expected anything less since it was between semesters. I was surprised anyone was around at all, but I knew there had to be others like me who would soon be taking a J-Term. They likely hadn’t all returned after going home for the holidays. After all, most didn’t have to move before classes started.

  The door to the central building automatically slid open as I swiped my student ID card at the security box. I rushed inside, grateful for the burst of hot air from the vent directly overhead. If it wasn’t for the threat of the door opening again and letting a gust of cold wind through the glass vestibule, I would have just stood there basking in the warmth.

  “Hey,” the clerk behind the checkout counter greeted me as I entered the bookstore, giving me a polite nod before brushing his shaggy blond hair out of his eyes with both of his hands.

  “How are you?” I asked with a smile as I breezed in and headed to the premade supply kits in the back corner. The special baking kit had been put together by my professor, a chef who specialized in savory pastries. Chef Patterson had been the executive chef at the restaurant he’d founded, Patterson’s, for years before stepping down and entrusting his prodigy with his legacy. I promised myself it was where I’d like to go to celebrate graduating with my master’s in two and a half years from now. Distance wasn’t an issue, it was only a short bus ride into the city away, but it might take me that long to have been able to afford it. Now Chef Patterson taught Savory Bakes 304 and a couple of other classes in the major, which gave him more time to spend with his family. Word across campus was he’d recently had a second grandchild and that she already had him wrapped around her finger.

  I looked at the premade kit and gasped at the price tag. College was not cheap. Although I didn’t need a ton of books, now that I’d finished my general education requirements, I couldn’t escape a semester without a heavy credit card charge from the bookstore. The kit would double several of the supplies I already had, but this was more convenient and ensured I had everything. Paying for this kit was a better option than tearing through my still-boxed kitchen goods and checking items off the supply list as I found them. That would have been too much to deal with. I already hated the idea of having to unpack everything, and it’s not even like I had a lot of stuff. All of it could fit into my mom’s car, aside from the furniture I’d bought before break and had delivered shortly after we got to the apartment. Thank goodness we hadn’t hit traffic. What a pain it would have been to reschedule the delivery if I hadn’t been able to meet the truck. Most of what I had was kitchen or food related. Besides, it wasn’t like everything I was getting in this kit wouldn’t come in handy eventually. This was what I was going to school for. Baking would be my career. If I didn’t need it at home someday, the bakery I dreamed of opening likely would. It was an investment, or at least that’s what I told myself to feel better.

  I took the kit up to the guy at the counter. He was wearing a baggy sweatshirt and jeans, which would have broken protocol had he done so during the semester.

  He noticed me looking and offered an explanation. “I asked first. Since there aren’t classes yet, I don’t have to be in my uniform.” His answer sounded rehearsed, making it seem like he’d given the same statement several times today.

  During the semester, everyone had to wear their checkered pants and a white chef jacket, with a colored collar attached to tell everyone what majors we were taking. Green for baking and pastry, blue for culinary arts, yellow for nutrition. Teacher’s aides wore red. We even had to wear our chef hats unless it was windy or raining.

  I blushed and placed my kit on the counter between us. “I wondered. What are you taking?”

  “Straight culinary arts. Not pastry or anything like that.” He smiled and brushed his hair out of his eyes again, but it immediately fell back into place. I bet he did that often. It would have driven me crazy if my hair were like that. As it was, I almost always had my brown hair tied back into a ponytail. He likely had to wear a hair net or gel it in addition to having his chef hat on when classes were in session. “What about you?”

  “Pastry.”

  “You like it?” He rung up my kit, whistling at the price.

  “I’d sure hope so.” I chuckled and handed him my credit card. “I’m going to open my own bakery someday. You?”

  “Barbeque food truck.” He swiped my card through the register, then passed it back to me.

  “Oh, fun.” Those had gotten huge in the city during my two and a half years here. That was one of the positives of living in the city—the variety of food. Food trucks were no exception. There were even french fry and grilled cheese trucks. They frequented campus on a regular rotation. Many of the owners were graduates from the school. “I don’t think I’ve seen one of those yet around here.”

  He placed my kit in a bag and set it on the counter for me to grab. “If all goes as planned, I should be the first in the city this summer.”

  “Good luck,” I told him as I took my kit and turned away from the counter.

  “You too.”

  I gave him a quick wave over my shoulder as I exited the bookstore and made a beeline for the coffee shop.

  I’d never been much of a coffee drinker before college, but I had definitely changed my ways once I got here. It fueled me, keeping me upright on some days, giving me a chance to socialize now and then, and warming me up like it was about to do today. The freshly ground coffee bean aroma smacked me in the face as I stepped inside, rejuvenating me a little just from the scent. I was grateful for it being open. The barista, who was in her chef uniform with a red apron emblazoned with the coffee shop logo over it, was equally happy to see me.

  “Joanie!” Meredith waved. “How goes the move?”

  “It goes. I’m going to have to get used to walking up all those stairs, though. Definitely going to miss living on the first floor in the dorm.” That was probably the only thing I’d miss, minus the few friends, like Meredith, I’d made in my wing. “Quiet day?”

  “It’s been dead in here. I don’t know why they insisted we be open.” She sighed. “Probably because this is a franchise.”

  Despite it being a college-owned franchise, it was completely student run, but they still had rules to follow. I had at one point contemplated getting a job here, when I saw how much the coffee was cutting into my budget, and had read all about it.

  I nodded in agreement and looked up at the menu board.
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  “Jess was here earlier, but she only had a half shift. So jealous.” I could feel her studying me as I thought about what I wanted. It didn’t make deciding any easier.

  “Do you still have the eggnog mocha or was that only a December thing?”

  She pivoted and looked at the pump bottles of different flavors behind her. “Let me check if we still have the syrup in the back. It was wicked popular,” she said, using the word Rhode Islanders—and many New Englanders—substituted for very or really. She was local to here, born and raised.

  Meredith darted through a swinging door behind the counter and reappeared moments later with a container full of translucent-beige liquid. “Last one. I just need to attach a pump, and one eggnog mocha will be coming right up. What size?”

  “Grande, please.”

  “You got it.” She unscrewed the cap and twisted on a pump. “So, I know I’ve asked this already, but tell me for real. How goes the move? I’m going to miss you on the floor, but I totally understand the allure of getting your own place.”

  Meredith had lived across the hall from me in our dorm. I couldn’t tell her the real reason I had moved. I’d learned that lesson. Meredith thought I’d only moved so I could be on my own and have my own kitchen—that I was that serious about my studies. I was, but I’d made do with the communal kitchens for two and a half years. I could have survived if not for the other issues.

  As she made my coffee, brewing a fresh pot to keep me talking longer, I filled her in on the layout of my new apartment—a central kitchen separating the living room from the bedroom. She laughed at my predicament of having so many stairs to climb but agreed it was a good way to get in shape. Being on the first floor of the dorm had made getting places so much easier, but that didn’t outweigh the biggest issue it had.

  “Here you go.” Meredith handed me my eggnog mocha with whipped cream on top.

  I bit the peak of the cream and smiled. “Thanks.” I handed her my student ID card that was preloaded with dining money able to be used at any of the campus eateries. We had amazing food here, unsurprising for a college known for its culinary arts program.