All of that was true. The slower pace was what I’d longed for. I changed from high gear to low, and instead of tearing around corners with two wheels in the air, I was chugging along, admiring the view and breathing fresh air. “People chat to one another on the street and there’s hardly hardly any traffic. Three cars is considered a traffic jam.
“I remember.” Abrar was a city guy. Small towns made him uncomfortable, thinking everyone knew his business. “Okay.” He didn’t sound convinced. “But one word from you and I’ll bring you back.”
“Not gonna happen, but thanks anyway.”
“Actually,” he said, “if you’re looking for a little excitement…”
I cut him off. “Please don’t tell me a group of criminals is heading my way ‘cause I don’t need that type of thrill.”
“Nope, no bad guys.”
“Nanny hasn’t run away from home and is trotting along Main Street, is she?”
He snorted, and I imagined him peering over his shoulder. “I hope not.” G once told me the boss wasn’t a huge Nanny fan after the goat had eaten his shoes.
“I give up.”
“How would you like to be on TV?”
My first thought was someone was making a documentary about the guys who caught up with Elliot and almost cost me my life. Warning bells clanged in my ears and I thought about hiding under the table. “I don’t want to relive that experience, Abrar. I see it in my dreams and that’s enough.”
I’d discussed it with my therapist, and since I’d moved away, we had online sessions. We’d examined it from every which way. I didn’t need a microphone shoved in my face while some idiot asked dumb questions about how I felt.
“I wouldn’t do that to you.”
I exhaled. “Okay.”
Four
Chet
Adorable didn’t even begin to describe the town. It was like a postcard from the past, only come to life. They even had cobblestones down Main Street...cobblestones.
I’d driven in ahead of the crew, wanting a small break from the hustle and bustle of work. Taking in the town just as it was, that was a bonus I was going to enjoy.
My room at the B&B was nice enough. It was a comfortable hodge podge of furniture and linens, and there was a comfort to it I enjoyed. But Ms. Bea recognized me and I wasn’t a fan of that. She was nice about it, but it made for some awkward moments.
“Not staying for breakfast?” She asked as I reached the bottom of the staircase.
“I’m really not a breakfast person,” which I had told her when I came in. Mostly so she didn’t try to fancy things up as a way of getting a mention on my show. I mean, I was going to mention her, of course. This episode was going to be as much about the town as it was about the coffee. It had to be.
When I convinced Glenn to give the place a go, I’d not realized that the new location had been an issue with the town being the first chain there. Goodness, they didn’t even have any golden arches. The town had not been pleased based on the records I’d been able to dig up on Google.
But something had changed. Somehow the café was now part of the community, not an outsider or something intrusive as the documents had indicated. The café stood there, completely blending in with the rest of the shops, and even Ms. Bea mentioned how amazing it was. And that was my story.
“Maybe tomorrow?” she asked expectantly. Shit. I was going to need to eat here before I left.
“That sounds delightful,” I lied. I truly wasn’t a breakfast person, especially when I was on display, and unfortunately with her, that was going to be par for the course—at least for the first few days.
I gave her a half-wave and stepped out onto the giant wraparound porch and inhaled the fresh air. It was going to be a stunning day.
Café Om was a brief walk from the B&B, but I opted to take a small walking tour of the entire town before heading in to sample the food and coffee and get a feel for the place. It didn’t take long to cover the town, even with my detour through the adjacent neighborhood.
Café Om was so unlike the others I saw online. They all had a set style, and if you knew the brand you could see them a mile away. This one? This one you had to know was there. Even their signage was half-hidden, their facade blending perfectly, even their curb appeal was spot-on. Abrar, the owner of the chain, nailed it, which probably explained a bit about how the town embraced them more than I’d originally feared.
I opened the door, an old-fashioned bell jingling as I walked in. The place was adorable, which probably wasn’t the look they were going for, but it was the word that came to mind the second I stepped inside the quasi time capsule.
Signs and decorations from multiple periods, local photos and documents, and even an old-fashioned espresso machine. Even the paint color felt like a step back in time.
The aroma surrounded me, the coffee blended with the smell of things baking almost magically. The place had a few scattered guests, but no one at the counter. Technically, I was between times for a coffee shop, past breakfast, but before lunch, so it made sense, but I had hoped to blend into the crowd as I scoped the place out and got my first feel for it. Oh, well.
“Welcome to Café Om. How may I help you?” a man said from the counter, and I took a few steps closer so he no longer needed to project his voice.
“I’m not really sure.” I couldn’t help but notice how attractive the omega was now that my full attention was on him. He had to be close to my age, and his eyes...a man could get lost in them. But I wasn’t there for that. I needed to check out the food and drinks and go back to my room to make a plan for the show. Lusting after the counter help would do no one any good. “What do you suggest?”
“The boiled peanut butter cookies are a favorite.” He tilted his head in the direction of their small bakery display case.
“Aren’t boiled peanuts Southern fare?” I’d never seen boiled peanuts anywhere but the south and had never had a cookie made from them.
“They are, but that doesn’t mean they aren’t yummy in the North. And…” he leaned in closer, his scent all cinnamon and clove wanting me to close the distance between us. “They call them boiled cookies here, but everywhere else calls them no-bakes.” Which I should have been able to see from looking at them. Duh. Some world traveling food guy I was.
He took out a plate. “Here. Try one on me. I’m sure you’ll be back at the counter to grab some more on your way out.”
Great. For a hot second I thought he hadn’t recognized me and that his smile was there just for me. But now he was plying me with food, a sure sign he wanted them featured on the show. Oh well.
“And for my coffee...hmmm...I think I would like the best bean you have, and I’m thinking a pour-over with just a dash of heavy cream to cool it off enough to drink.”
“Do you prefer your roast dark or light and how do you feel about flavored beans? That will determine which is best for you. They are all amazing.” As were his eyes. Not going there. Nope. Not going to.
“I prefer a dark roast and like my coffee without additional flavorings.” He went to work straight away making my coffee, taking the temperature of the water as he did so. He knew what he was doing, that was for sure.