Hunting Human - Amanda E. Alvarez [6]
She had the look and disposition of a firecracker.
Disapproval flared across her face. “You look terrible. Is it too much to hope you were out late painting the town red with some mysterious man whose name you can’t remember?”
Despite herself, Beth laughed. “Rough morning already, Angie?” she asked, tying an apron around her waist.
“Just the usual trouble with Joe. I order blueberries, he sends cranberries. Late, I might add. I don’t know why I put up with him. I’d never have these problems if I went through one of those fancy wholesale suppliers.” The lines near Angie’s mouth and eyes became more pronounced as her temper simmered.
“You keep him around because he supplies the best produce from the local markets, which pulls people into the café. Besides, I think you like yelling at him.”
Angie shot a glare over the top of her glasses. “I can’t imagine where you’d get such an idea.”
“Marianne thinks you’re having a torrid love affair with him. She insists all that pent up tension is fueling wild sexual debauchery in the storage room.”
Angie’s neutral expression surged to stormy in a heartbeat. “Marianne is a ridiculous busybody who wouldn’t recognize wild sexual debauchery if it bit her on the ass.” She was also Angie’s older cousin who hadn’t had the stomach for retirement and instead spent her days gossiping at the café and driving Angie nuts.
“If there’s tension between us it’s because that man is constantly undermining my business. I’ve got to change my morning specials from blueberry to cranberry-orange. The entire flow of my day has been compromised!” Angie yanked open the drawer by the sink and started slamming wooden spoons and spatulas on the counter.
Beth carefully edged past her toward the door. “Okay. I’ll just go take the chairs down.”
“After which you’ll sit your bony butt in one and have something to eat! You still look like shit!”
***
Braden Edwards shifted the bouquet of flowers as far away from his nose as possible. He sneezed. Again. The pollen was wreaking havoc with his senses but he couldn’t afford to toss them. He was counting on them to take the edge off Angie’s aggravation at his having been out of Portland for more than a month.
Glancing both ways, Braden stepped off the curb, crossing the street with long strides, a sentimental smile tugging at the corners of his mouth as he made his way toward the café. He loved this area of town, had grown up here in a way, and Angie’s place held special significance for him.
His family had been in Oregon for over a hundred years and in Portland for nearly fifty. His grandfather had moved to Portland with little money, no friends and a relentless work ethic. He’d gone from construction hand to business owner. Thanks to him, the Edwards name was known throughout Portland as the best in commercial and residential restoration and renovation. Angie’s café had been the first project Braden had worked on during the summer he turned sixteen.
Braden stepped into the café, sending the little bell above the door jingling. No matter how many times he walked in The Morning Grind, he was always momentarily thrust back into one of the best summers of his youth.
Sofas were reupholstered, new curtains hung on fancy rods and, at some point, Angie had repainted the bookshelves that were now bursting with everything from old copies of National Geographic to abandoned textbooks. Tables changed, dishes were broken and replaced. The little changes never bothered him; he always focused on what remained the same.
He remembered hanging the blue door with its stained glass inlay. As he inhaled, he swore he could still smell the varnish and seal he had used on the hardwood flooring which he worked