Coffeehouse Angel (28 page)

Vincent stretched out his long lean legs. "You know, we're going to have to get used to this."

"To what?"

"To us going out with other people."

"I know."

"It can't always be us two."

"I know." I looked up at the winter sky. "Do you think it's weird that we're not in love with each other?"

"No. I think it's perfect."

"Me too." I scooted closer and rested my head on his chlorine-scented shoulder.

W
ell, the story's not quite over. Here's what happened after the Winter Solstice Festival.

A
Nordby News
reporter broke the story about Mr. Darling's generic coffee, calling it a "scandal." Turned out that when the crane driver pulled the Buick out of the sinkhole, a certain crumpled piece of paper fell out the window and landed at the reporter's feet. Yes, indeed. The uproar was huge. The town council voted Mr.

Darling off all committees and the police department looked into possible charges of consumer fraud. The Organic Coffee Coalition threatened to sue on behalf of consumers everywhere.

Mr. Darling packed up and left town, abandoning his coffeehouse and his offer to buy the building. Heidi and her mother stayed, however, which was great because Heidi became a changed person overnight. Her father had been the one pushing all those extra activities. She stopped doing all that school spirit stuff and focused all her energy on the swim team. She and Vincent ended up getting back together and I got used to having her around. We solved the whole movie theater thing by having him sit in the middle. You can get used to anything, if you put your mind to it.

Ratcatcher's fame grew. Thanks to Elizabeth's marketing genius and Web connections, Nordby became the Loch Ness of Washington State, with "rumored sightings" of a giant mutant rat that lived in the bay. Some thought it was the dead rat's mourning mate. The Emporium sold tons of custom-made stuffed black-and-white cats and stuffed rats. Elizabeth created a coloring book and Elliott worked an afternoon a week as our accountant. They started going out. Elliott put on ten pounds right away, which is really easy to do if you hang out with Elizabeth.

What about Anna's Old World Scandinavian Coffeehouse? Well, we moved right into Java Heaven's space. We bought some of the equipment from Mrs. Darling, who was happy to get rid of it. Along with fancy organic coffee drinks, we continued to serve the old-fashioned stuff. The laptop crowd shared the space with the retired crowd, and those sardine sandwiches became one of our most popular items.

Irmgaard became the manager and kept making soup and krumkakes. She let her hair grow and though she remained a woman of few words, the words she chose were worthy of a place in this world.

Grandma Anna recovered, but she cut way back on her hours and started some new hobbies. She learned how to play Hnefatafl. She went on a Mexican Riviera cruise with the ladies from the shoe shop. She raised money for the cardiac wing of the hospital by hosting a neighborhood garage sale, which included all the junk from my Closet of Failure. Her heart beat steady and strong.

Me? Well, I focused on my grades at school, because my new goal was to get an MBA, which is a master's degree in business administration. I decided to become a venture capitalist. That's a fancy title for someone who risks their money by helping other people start up businesses. Seemed I had a knack for something, after all.

But that's still not the end of the story. There was a little something to do with that third coffee bean.

What I had desired on that night as the winter wind whipped past, was for Malcolm to get his promotion. But I had no way of knowing if my wish had come.

Until I took out the recycling one Saturday morning in March.

I had a bin of papers from the Emporium that I needed to leave beside the Dumpster.

In my part of the world, mornings are still dark in March, so I turned on the yellow alley light. And there he was, sitting on a pile of crates, wearing a khaki kilt and my grandfather's white sweater. His satchel was slung over his shoulder and he grinned like a kid. I dropped the bin. "Malcolm?" I couldn't believe that he was sitting there. I hadn't stopped missing him, had hoped every day that maybe he'd have another message to deliver in Nordby. That maybe he'd show up in the alley again.

He didn't say a word. Just walked right up to me and this is what he did. He slid his arms around my waist and kissed me. My face didn't liquefy. No singed flesh, no smoke. The kiss still felt electric, but in a non-life-threatening way. Then I pulled away. "What...?"

"I got that promotion," he said with a blinding smile.

"You did?" Something had changed. I sniffed. Where was that Highland smell?

Where was that cloud of tropical air? I put my hand to his cheek. It felt cool.

He held out his satchel. The words
Messenger Service
were gone.

"You got that promotion." I said the words slowly, the truth filling me with fear. "Oh no, this is my fault. I did this to you with my wish. I'm so sorry, Malcolm." I stepped away.

"Why are you sorry?"

He was mortal. I had made him mortal. "I didn't realize that the promotion meant you'd become...Oh God, Malcolm, will you ever forgive me? Because of me you're going to--"

"Live. Because of you I'm going to live." He smiled again and held out his arms. "It's exactly what I longed for, Katrina. It's everything I always wanted. It's the highest honor an angel can achieve."

"It is?"

He pulled me close. "Do you know where I can get one of those photo albums? So I can start a record of my life?"

"We have some in the Emporium, if you don't mind one with a giant rat on the cover."

We went into the coffeehouse, and as the busy morning flew around us, customers finding seats, engaging in conversation, clicking on laptops, milk being steamed, coffee being ground, people starting their day, Malcolm and I shared a krumkake at the corner table as if the world had actually stopped. He stared into my eyes and just like before, that feather duster feeling swept over my entire body.

So go ahead and take a picture of that and stick it on a postcard.

Nordby is based on the quaint town of Poulsbo, Washington, not far from my home. If you get the chance to visit Poulsbo, you won't be disappointed. It's a delight. I wrote much of this book there, while sitting in one of my favorite coffeehouses, Hot Shots Java. I'd like to thank its staff for supplying me with great coffee and the perfect place to write. And those little dark chocolate sticks are always appreciated.

And again, I'd like to thank my writers' group for their fastidious attention to the first draft: Anjali Banerjee, Carol Cassella, Sheila Rabe, Elsa Watson, and Susan Wiggs.

I'm still blessed to have my agent, Michael Bourret, and my editor, Emily Easton.

Thanks to the entire staff at Walker Books for Young Readers.

I always love to hear from my readers, so please write to me. You can visit my Web site at www.suzanneselfors.com.