The Weird Sisters - Eleanor Brown [82]
Cordy and Dan closed the Beanery at five, though no customers had come in since three, and they had long since finished all the cleaning and restocking, and Cordy had even been reduced to scraping the gum from the underside of the tables in a desperate attempt to find something worthwhile to do. The storm that had been threatening for days finally broke, sending cascades of rain sweeping down the street in tidy sheets, pushing leaves and occasional trash along the gutters.
“You want a ride?” Dan asked, emerging from the office. Cordy had finished wiping the counters and was sitting in one of the aged brown chairs, her legs hooked over the arm, staring at the ceiling. She was fairly certain that, at one point, it had been stamped tin, but the years of careless paintwork had rendered it merely lumpy and noncommittally white. She had in her hand a yellow plastic Barrel of Monkeys that she shook periodically, like a cheap maraca.
Looking out the window at the Ark-tic flood (did we warn you about the puns or did we not?), Cordy nodded. “That’d be nice, if it’s not out of your way.”
“Nothing in Barnwell is out of the way,” Dan said. Which was patently untrue. He lived on the east end of town, past the dorms, in an apartment building only slightly too pricey for the college students. Research at the Barnwell Historical Society had informed him that it had once been given the grand name of The Theodore, though now it was more often referred to as Old Yeller, since some well-meaning landlord had decided to paint the entire exterior a rich butter yellow that gave off a near-radioactive glow in the sunlight. But still, it would take him five minutes to drive Cordy home, and then another ten to get back. An eon in Barnwell time.
“Thanks,” Cordy said, and then pointed up at the ceiling. “You ever think about cleaning all that crap off? I bet the ceiling’s really nice under there.”
“In all my imaginary spare time? Yeah, I could do that.”
“How come you don’t live upstairs?” Upstairs was a wide, roomy apartment with scuffed wooden floors. Cordy vaguely remembered a beer-soaked party her freshman roommate had dragged her to. It had been loud and sticky, the hallmark of all college parties, but mostly what she remembered is how the scent of the Beanery downstairs had overwhelmed even the scent of the beer and she had felt all night as if she were covered in coffee grounds. But it hadn’t bothered her. When her freshman-year roommate had gone out of town, Cordy would make coffee in the pot just to let the smell cover the room, like the other students on the floor did with incense.
“I could. It would cut down the commute, that’s for sure. But then I’d be here all the time, you know? Never getting away from work.”
Cordy shrugged, lazily pulling her legs back over the chair as Dan shut off the machines behind the counter. “How far are you away from work anyway?”
“Good point,” he said. He pulled up the hinged counter and came out in front. “Hey, it looks great in here,” he said. Cordy had straightened the puzzles, games, and magazines littering the tables, and swept the dust from the corners of the tired floor.
“Slow day,” she said.
“When the kids come back, you’ll be wishing for this,” Dan said. He pushed in a couple of chairs and went to lock the front door, pulling down the heavy green shades. He turned toward Cordy. “You are staying, aren’t you?”
“For a while, yeah,” she said.
“Good. I’ve gotten used to having you around,” he said. “You’re far more interesting than the average worker.”
“That’s just because I’m far older than your average worker.”
“That too,” he said. “And better-looking.” He shot her a wink, his dark, thick lashes casting shadows on his cheekbones in the fading light.
Cordy narrowed her eyes at him. Was he flirting with her?
More importantly, did she mind?
They headed out the back door, leaving the darkness of the Beanery behind them, and sprinted across the