Espresso Espionage

Excerpt

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Chapter One

“Ready all? Row!” I read the morning episode of Aunt Maxi’s article in the newspaper called the Daily Siftings. “It was a sheer delight sitting in the cox box of the shell with the megaphone during one of the collegiate rowing practices yesterday on our very own Lake Honey Springs.”

“She did what?” Bunny Bowowski asked as she moseyed, and I mean moseyed, on over from the Help Yourself Tea station at the far end of the counter. Her thick soled orthopedic shoes squeaked across the freshly cleaned floors of the Bean Hive Coffeeshop.

“She reached out to one of the teams in the competition and asked if she could do an article on them and the competition for her article,” I said and held up the copy. “I even got to go along and take a photo with my new camera Patrick gave me for Christmas.”

I was by far not a photographer, but I did enjoy trying to figure out how to use the new fancy camera with the several attachable lens he’d also gotten me. Since I wasn’t able to use it much, I thought the big collegiate rowing competition taking place on Lake Honey Springs would be a great time to try it out.

The weather had turned full on spring and Mother Nature was showing off her gorgeous touches to our Kentucky Foliage.

“See,” I continued to hold it up for Bunny to see. “I even got how gorgeous the lake looks this time of the year.”

As Bunny walked closer, she reached for her rhinestone reading glasses that were dangling from the chain around her neck and put them on.

Her silver-gray, steel-gray, cut to chin length, framed her face while she eyeballed the photo.

“She looks pitiful sitting up there,” she snorted. “Why does she do that to her hair?”

“What?” I turned the paper back to me. “Her pink hair? Or all the Aquanet hairspray that holds it up like that?”

“Yeah,” Bunny tsked. “I don’t know why she is always doing that with her hair. Crissy Lane outta be ashamed doing that to Maxi. It’s gonna fall out one day.” Bunny turned to walk off. “That’ll learn her.”

“She’s always been this way,” I looked closer at the photo, and then brushed off Bunny’s observation. It wasn’t like I’d expect any different. She and Aunt Maxi had never been each other’s favorite. But Aunt Maxi had always been my favorite. Hair and all.

“But it’s a good photo right?” I questioned about my photography work. Or lack thereof. “I mean Lake Honey Springs?”

“Mmhmm,” Bunny waved a hand as she made her way back over to the tea station where she continue to pour real cream into the ceramic cow pitchers.

“Now, I had originally planned to observe from the safety of the dock, wearing a tasteful linen ensemble and offering moral support from a respectable distance. However, when one of those darling young athletes looked at me and said, “Ma’am, would you like to sit here?” well, I knew immediately that leadership was being requested of me.” I continued reading the article.

“I thought you said she contacted the team?” Birdie called from behind the counter where she was taking the freshly homemade dog biscuits off the cooling tray and placing them into the dog treat jar for our special four legged friends.

“Yeah, she lied,” Bunny said, and when she looked over to me, she spilled some milk on her hand. She rubbed her hand down the polka dotted apron she’d brought from home, while the rest of the staff, me included, wore an apron with the Bean Hive logo.

“She’s writing an article,” I shrugged and made all the excuses for her. “It needs to be a little, um, flowery.”

“Is that what we call lies nowadays?” Bunny asked, but didn’t want an answer.

“That is how I found myself seated in what they call the cox box. Let me tell you something, there is nothing “box” about it. It is a position of authority. A throne, if you will. A place where decisions are made and destinies are shaped,” I continued to read of Aunt Maxi’s adventure. “They placed a megaphone in my hand. And just like that…I was in charge.”

Bunny harumphed and excused herself. Birdie glanced at me and smiled. She’d had many a front seat views to Aunt Maxi and Bunny going at it. Mind you, it was all words, but still, it made for pure enjoyment.

I waited until she was through the swinging door of the kitchen and the coffee shop before I continued to read more out loud.

“Now, I will admit, the terminology took a moment to settle in. But as someone who has chaired more committees than I can count (and improved every single one of them), I picked it up with ease,” I said and continued. “Ready all, row!” That, dear readers, is how you begin. And begin we did. Those young people moved as one, slicing through Lake Honey Springs like a well-organized church potluck line.”

Birdie and I both busted out laughing at Aunt Maxi’s words that did seem to tickle our insides. She might’ve embellished a little, but it was good and very entertaining. While I continued to read the rest of the article, Birdie had come over and joined me, bringing with her a fresh cup of coffee she wanted me to try.

“It’s what I’m calling Coxswain Cortado,” she said with a smile.

I picked up the mug and took a sip.

“Okay, hear me out,” Birdie said, not even waiting for me to answer. “The coxswain is the one steering the whole boat, right? Where Aunt Maxi is sitting.” She pointed to the photo I’d taken that was in the article. “They don’t row, but they’re in charge of everything.”

“Just like Aunt Maxi said in her article,” I said and pointed to the photo.

“So this is like that,” she continued. “It’s small, but it’s strong. You don’t need a giant drink when you know what you’re doing.”

I raised an eyebrow. “You’re comparing coffee to leadership now?”

“I’m comparing it to control,” she shot back. “The espresso is the power, the milk smooths it out so it’s not too harsh, and the honey vanilla gives it just enough sweetness, so people don’t make a face.”

“And the cinnamon?” She pointed at the top of my mug. “That’s the part that makes people remember it.”

I took another sip.

“Well?” she asked.

“I like it.” I nodded slowly. “That’ll sell.”

“Yes! It’s basically the boss of the menu.” She grinned and then looked at the article while I continued to drink the Coxswain Cortado.

“You really took this photo?” she asked.

“I did,” I nodded and hide my smile behind the cup because the limestone-rich soil had really brought out that faint blue tint in the grass that gave Kentucky bluegrass its name.

In the photo, you could see the island in the middle of Lake Honey Spring where the Bee Farm and the Bee Happy Spa were located.

Trees that had stood stripped through winter now pushed out new growth, their branches dotted with swelling buds that slowly opened into leaves the color of soft lime before deepening into a brighter green that gave the perfect background to the rowing team’s boat and Aunt Maxi in the back with her bright pink hair and that megaphone up to her mouth.

“You got the perfect photo of the dogwoods and redbuds,” Birdie pointed to them in the photo.

Their blooms added touches of white and rosy, purple that a bit more color to the already colorful photo.

If someone were to look a little closer, they’d notice daffodils in shades of yellow, pink, and cream, while crocuses pushed up in small clusters of purple and gold. Wildflowers filled in the spaces between, lining trails and lake edges with color.

But truly it was Aunt Maxi who had taken the limelight of the photo and that was exactly why I’d taken it.

“Oh, there she is,” Birdie said and pointed out the window, down the boardwalk. “Louise said she’d be here right at opening.”

“With the new adoptee?” I asked, since I’d yet heard what the new pet of the week was. With Louise, you never knew what was going to come in the coffeeshop doors.

Recently, since Birdie Bebe had become my manager, I’d let her take charge of the Pet of the Week program.

The program started as one of those ideas that felt small at the time, but it didn’t stay that way for long. Louise Carlton and I put it together after I adopted Pepper from Pet Palace. She ran the local no-kill shelter, and I owned the Bean Hive, so it made sense to work together. The goal was simple. Get the animals out of the shelter for a few days and let people see them in a real, everyday setting.

I had always believed animals showed their true personality when they felt comfortable, and there wasn’t much more comfortable than the coffee shop. They curled up in a cozy bed near the fireplace or climbed onto the cat tree by the windows, and before long, customers were stopping mid-sip to reach down and pet them. Conversations started over coffee and somehow ended with someone asking about adoption paperwork.

It hadn’t been easy getting it approved. The health department had made sure of that. I filled out more paperwork than I cared to remember and agreed to every rule they gave me. The biggest one was that no animal ever stepped foot in the kitchen. Not once. I didn’t bend that rule, no matter how tempting it was when a puppy came trotting in with those big hopeful eyes.

Louise handled the logistics. She brought a folder for each animal and kept it behind the counter. It had everything in it. Medical records, background, adoption forms. All anyone had to do was ask. And right next to the register sat the donation jar with the sign that read, Help Pet Palace, Every Dollar Helps. People dropped money in there without thinking twice.

What I hadn’t expected was how well it would work.

Every single animal we featured found a home.

Pepper had been the start of it all, even if I hadn’t known it at the time. Then came Sassy, who Patrick swore he wasn’t going to adopt until he did. Clyde, the bright green parrot who had been waiting at the shelter for five years, finally found someone who saw past his attitude. Camey and Walker adopted Felix for their granddaughter. Espresso, a cinnamon-colored ferret with more curiosity than sense, didn’t stay long either. Sweet Pea strutted through the Pawrade in a sunflower tutu and won over the entire town. And Norman, a white pug with more stomach problems than patience, somehow ended up living with Sheriff Spencer Shepard.

The Bean Hive wasn’t just a coffee shop anymore. It was a place where people came to slow down, to talk, to connect. And sometimes, to take something home they didn’t plan on.

Birdie walked over to the door, flipped the sign to OPEN, and then unlocked it, letting Louise along with a little carrier inside.

“Hi,” she greeted us, stepping inside like she’d just come from a Southern boutique catalog instead of a rescue run, her sleek silver bob sitting just right despite the early hour. Her bracelets chimed softly on her wrist as she balanced the carrier, the light catching the large, jeweled ring on her finger. “I’m sorry Lollipop and I are here early, but I’m going to Lexington for a couple of rescues and I thought I’d get her here first.”

“A bunny?” Birdie bent down to look into the cage and squealed.

Louise smiled, that calm, polished way she had about her, and set the carrier gently on the floor. The moment Birdie unlatched it, a pair of long, velvety ears lifted up like they had their own personality.

“Well now,” Louise said, crouching beside her. “This here is Lollipop.”

The little rabbit didn’t rush out right away. She sat there for a second, nose twitching fast as she took in the smell of coffee, pastries, and people. Her fur was the softest shade of caramel with patches of creamy white along her chest and paws, like someone had dipped her in sweet cream and stopped halfway. Her ears were long and slightly darker at the tips, drooping just enough to give her that gentle, sleepy look, though her bright little eyes told a different story.

From across the room, I heard the soft thump of paws hitting the floor. Pepper had jumped down from his spot on the couch near the unlit fireplace, his ears perked and tail already wagging as he made his way over. He slowed when he got close, lowering his head just a little, curious but polite, like he knew this was someone new.

Lollipop froze for a second, her nose twitching even faster as she studied him.

Pepper gave a small, hopeful wag and leaned in just enough to sniff, careful and gentle.

“Well, look at you,” I said under my breath at the precious bunny.

“She’s a Holland lop mix,” Louise said, watching the two of them with a smile.

“About six months old,” Louise explained, reaching in to stroke between her ears.  “Sweet as she can be, but a little cautious at first. Once she warms up, she’ll follow you around like a puppy.”

Lollipop finally hopped forward, one careful step at a time, her tiny paws barely making a sound on the floor. She paused again, lifted her head, and gave a small sniff in Birdie’s direction.

Birdie didn’t move.

“I think she’s judging me,” she whispered.

“She’s deciding if you’ve got snacks,” Bunny said from behind the counter.

“She does love a good treat.” Louise laughed. “Fresh greens are her favorite, but she won’t turn down a carrot if she thinks you’re not looking.”

Lollipop gave one more cautious hop, then another, her little cotton tail barely visible as she moved. She stopped right at Birdie’s shoe, stretched her neck out, and nudged it gently.

“Oh my gosh,” Birdie gasped and scooped Lollipop up.

“That’s it,” Louise said. “All her paperwork is in here.” She pulled out a folder from her bag and handed it to Birdie. “Do y’all need anything from me?”

“I think we are good,” I told her. “Let me get you a coffee to go.”

“I’ve already got it for her,” Bunny said and held up a cup at the counter, where she was planted and not going to make the walk over to Louise.

“Thank you,” Louise said in a grateful tone, and she walked over to Bunny, along with Birdie who was still snuggling Lollipop.

“Two bunnies?” I asked, glancing between the little one in Birdie’s arms and the one standing behind the counter.

Bunny didn’t miss a beat. She planted her hands on her hips and looked right at me.

“Well, I’ll tell you this,” she said. “At least one of us is house-trained.”

Birdie snorted.

I took a slow sip of my coffee and shook my head.

end of excerpt