COOL BEANS (7 page)

Funny, Lord.

Sometimes, I find God’s timing to be the most hysterical thing on the face of the earth.

“Two weeks, huh?”

“Yep. He’s starting as the head of the Neonatal ICU. Isn’t that exciting?” Pride rings in Mom’s voice, and I catch a little tiny stab of jealousy in my lower abdominals.

Jealousy or pain. Those scissor crunches will kill you.

“Cool.”

“I think this is wonderful. Both of my kids back in California! We can all have dinner together every Sunday night again!”

I feel bad that Mom’s so excited and I’m so not.

Now I’ll have to feel inconsequential and awkward every single Sunday night.

Whoop-de-do.

“Okay, well, I just wanted to let you in on what is going on. I love you, sweetie. Have a good day!” She hangs up.

I turn off the TV and go to my room. Grabbing my Bible, I flounce on the bed.

Okay, Lord. I’m sorry I feel like this, but I don’t know how to stop it.

I flip open the Bible and turn to 1 Thessalonians. “Rejoice always.”

I know, God. But good grief! Travis and Zach in one week? Couldn’t we space out the men who make me nuts coming back into my life?

“Pray without ceasing; in everything give thanks.”

I reach for a sticky note.

Every Wednesday night, the college/young singles class has a Bible study that meets at Cool Beans. We close early, which doesn’t mean much because we do way more business with the college group than we ever do on a normal weeknight at nine o’clock.

Andrew always shows up a few minutes early and moves the chairs and sofas into a huge circle. Sometimes I help. Sometimes I just watch. Like tonight.

“That looks more ovally than circley.” I say this sweetly, a half-dried huge ceramic coffee mug in one hand, a towel in the other. I’m standing behind the counter in my brand-new work shoes that are killing my feet.

“Only people who help get a say in what shape the chairs are in,” Andrew retorts, nudging another chair into the circle with his shin. “Can I get my usual, Maya?” He Frisbee-throws me a Visa.

I barely catch it. “Decaf or regular?”

“Regular. It’s a long lesson.”

“Swell.”

“Don’t sound so excited, Maya.” Andrew grins at me and comes over to watch as I start steaming a bucket-sized mug of
what will soon be a cinnamon vanilla latte.

I smile. “Lots of foam or only a little tonight?”

“Happy medium.”

“I don’t do that.”

“Make an exception, Maya. This is the clergy talking.”

“Did you join the pastorate just for the handouts?” I accuse.

He thinks about it for a second. “Pretty much, yes.”

“So much for me believing you were called to this.”

“All illusions dissolve eventually.” He accepts his drink with a nod. “Thanks, Maya, this is perfect. I especially like the sunflower mug,” Andrew says, rolling his eyes. “Maya, I have to preach on the Bible tonight. Who will take me seriously with this mug?”

“I’ve wondered that for a very long time.”

“Not my
face,
you idiot.” He starts laughing.

I grin. “I couldn’t resist.”

Andrew’s still chuckling.

Liz Chapman walks in then. She’s twenty-three, a fifth-year senior getting her degree in mathematics, and is not-so-secretly in love with Andrew.

Andrew, on the other hand, claims he’s waiting for the human version of post-fins Ariel on
The Little Mermaid
— because she was silent.

I told Andrew he shouldn’t have any trouble because he talks too much to let anyone get a word in anyway.

He just rolled his eyes and ignored me.

Anyway, this scene takes place every single Wednesday night, and it hurts my heart. Liz always comes early so she can see Andrew before anyone else gets here.

“Hi, Andrew,” Liz says, flirtatiously tossing her long, gorgeous red hair. Liz is extremely attractive. She’s tall, and while
she’s on the thinner side, she definitely has curves that I envy. She has crystal-clear, creamy skin, emerald green eyes, a great sense of style. And she’s brilliant. Makes me wonder why she’s going after an overgrown, sarcastic Viking like Andrew.

“Hey, Liz, how’s it going?” He keeps setting up chairs, and she sways over to help him.

Andrew has to know Liz is nuts about him. It’s fairly obvious.

“Good,” she answers. “How is your week going?”

“No complaints yet.” He responds in a cheerfully yet completely blasé voice.

I sigh silently. I put away the clean mugs I’ve finished drying and go find Jack in the back room, where he’s locking up the cash and making a supply list for Alisha.

“Hey, Pattertwig, how many gallons of milk did we use today?”

I check the fridge in the back, trying to remember how many are still in the small refrigerators under the front counter. “About five, I think.”

“Okay.” He makes a little note on the clipboard he’s holding. Then he looks up at me. Jack looks tired.

“You okay?” I ask him.

“I’m exhausted. I stayed up most of last night studying for a mammal behaviors exam, and it was at seven thirty this morning.” He yawns, blocking it with the clipboard. “If I skip Bible study, do you think you can close without me?”

“Yeah, definitely. Go home and sleep. Between Polly and this, you haven’t gotten much lately.”

He groans. “That’s another thing. Polly’s owner called, and they’ll be gone another week.”

“Sorry, Jack.”

He gives me a small smile. “Not your fault, Nutkin. Anyone here yet?”

“Andrew and Liz.”

He grimaces knowingly. “Got it.”

“Andrew knows she likes him, right?”

Jack shrugs. “Maybe. Sometimes Andrew’s not the most observant, you know?”

“Maybe his hair gets in the way.”

He laughs. “That’s a good possibility.” Jack sets the clipboard down and slings an arm over my shoulders, yawning again. “I’m tired.”

“Go home.”

“Okay.” He follows me out to the counter. There’s a happy chatter coming from the main room. About fifteen people are milling around, settling on couches, staring tiredly at the fire flickering in the fireplace, or squinting at the menu, deciding what they want.

My heart suddenly decides it likes skydiving instead of beating, and I smack my chest to remind my heart of its position in my life.

Jack runs into the back of me, since I stopped with no warning.

“Ow,” he mutters. “Pattertwig?”

I bite my lip. Travis Clayton is grinning widely at Jen not more than ten feet away from me.

“Oh.” Jack apparently follows my gaze.

I turn around and look up at Jack. “This is weird,” I whisper.

He gives me a comforting smile and follows it with a hug. “Try not to worry, Maya. God has the best in mind for you, right?”

“Wight.” I nod, my voice muffled in his apron.

He pushes me back a couple of inches, smirking. “Sorry.”

I look up at him and smile. “It’s okay.”

“Maya?” Rachel Townsend is standing at the counter. “Can I get a large mocha?”

“Sure,” I reply, cheerful barista voice back in place. “Anything else?”

In all, Jack and I make six mochas, five lattes, seven cups of decaf, three teas, and four MixUps for four very confused people who don’t know that you don’t order frozen coffee drinks after October 1.

Andrew waits for the guy in line to get his caramel MixUp before starting announcements. “Miniature golf on Friday night, Sunday school on Sunday morning . . . uh,
duh . . .
and we’ve got a service project at a local food-distribution center on Monday evening for whomever wants to come help sort food for the hungry.”

Jack and I are busy cleaning up the back area during this time. We can’t do a lot of cleaning, but we can do enough to make the cleanup after Bible study a lot shorter.

Travis is sitting next to Jen, balancing a straight-up black coffee on his leg.

“Let’s go sit,” Jack whispers in my ear.

“I thought you were leaving,” I whisper back.

He shakes his head. “I’m fine.”

Something you should know about Jack Dominguez: He’s too nice for his own good. I immediately feel bad because I know he’s staying just for me.

Maybe someday I’ll learn to keep my mouth shut.

I pat his arm and whisper, “Go get some sleep. You don’t have to stay for me.”

“I’m not. I’m staying for the lesson.” He goes around the
counter and falls into an empty chair on the back side of the oval before I can say,
Liar!

A sweet one though. I smile and pull my Bible from below the counter, going over to sit next to him.

“Continuing our study in Proverbs …” Andrew says, plopping his thick leather-bound Bible open. “Proverbs 9, please.”

There’s the quiet sound of Bibles opening and pages flipping.

“We’re going to cover verses 10 through 12, so, um . . .” Andrew looks around, and his eyes land on Nathan, a music major who can pick up any instrument and play it as if he’s been playing for years. Impressive? Yes. Irritating to the less musically talented? Yes.

“Nathan? Could you read those verses?”

“Sure thing, Andrew.” Nathan clears his throat and starts reading. “‘The fear of the LORD is the beginning of wisdom, and the knowledge of the Holy One is understanding. For by me your days will be multiplied, and years of life will be added to you. If you are wise, you are wise for yourself, and if you scoff, you alone will bear it.’”

“Thanks, Nathan.”

“No problem, Andrew.” Nathan leans back in his chair. It would be a lot easier to be jealous of Nathan if he weren’t so darn nice.

“So, this begs the question: Where do we get wisdom?” Andrew looks around the room.

I fidget. Is he asking, or is this a rhetorical question?

“Any thoughts?”

The answers start popping up.

“Bible.”

“Parents.”

“Pastors.”

“Holy Spirit.”

“Friends.” Jack pauses. “Not the TV show.”

Everyone grins.

Andrew is doing the continuous pastoral nod. “Good, good. Sweet answers, everyone. Okay, let’s chat for a minute about them.”

“Seek out wisdom,” he finishes up forty-five minutes later. “Whether that’s parents, an older sibling, or a friend, listen with the ears of the Holy Spirit inside you. Let’s pray.”

He does, and after he says amen, the room erupts into chatter.

Jen comes over, trailed by Travis. “Hi, guys.”

“Hi, Jen.” Jack smiles tiredly. “Hi, Travis.”

“Hey there … Jake, right?”

“Jack.”

“Got it.” Travis looks at me. “Hi again.”

“Hey.”

He’s got to recognize me. I don’t understand this at all. It’s not like I had multimillion-dollar plastic surgery like those creepy Hollywood stars who are always in their twenties.

Just a haircut and a dye job. Less makeup, fewer inches around the midsection. Not anything drastic. Probably a better sense of style, but it’s not like you’d notice that in my jeans and black T-shirt for work.

Travis smiles one of those polite but completely not emotionally engaged smiles at me.

He used to smile that exact same way toward the end of our relationship. If I’d been paying attention — which I wasn’t — I would have been able to see it coming.

“I think we’re going to head out,” Jen says. “See you at home in a little bit?” she asks me.

“Yep.” I nod.

Jen gives Jack a hug, and then she and Travis leave.

Jack turns and looks at me. “You’ve got to tell her, kid.”

My stomach hates the thought of that. It feels like I swallowed a paper shredder and it’s busy working on my esophagus.

“Yeah.”

“Soon.” Jack is stern. Then he pulls me into another hug.

“Hey, let’s finish cleaning so we can get some sleep.”

“I got it.”

I know he feels like he should stay, but he still looks relieved when I say that. “Really?”

“Go home, Jack. Sleep.” I pat his shoulder. “I’ll see you Friday.” We’ve both got tomorrow off.

“Okay. Night, Pattertwig.” He leaves, yawning.

Everyone slowly trickles out. I finish behind the counter, mopping the tile, disinfecting the countertops, and running the cleaning cycles on the coffeemaker and espresso machine.

Liz and Andrew are the only ones left by the time I’m done. Liz is happily chattering, following Andrew around as he puts all the chairs back where they belong.

“So, anyway, I think Sparky will be okay because he was eating normally again today,” she bubbles on about her dachshund.

“That’s good to hear,” Andrew says mindlessly.

I sigh as I watch them. Poor Liz. Andrew obviously either (a) doesn’t care or (b) doesn’t have a clue.

I’m voting for choice
b.
Andrew’s too nice to let a girl pine after him without addressing the issue.

I reach for a sticky note from under the counter.

I drag the vacuum over to where we just met. “Sorry, guys, it’s loud,” I apologize before I turn on the machine. It sounds like the Hulk gargling a couple of prairie dogs.

Liz tries yelling the rest of her story but eventually gives up. Everyone gives up on conversation when we pull the Hulk out. It’s a pain for talking, but fun if you want to sing without anyone being able to hear you.

She waves cutely at Andrew, smiles sweetly at me, grabs her purse and Bible, and leaves.

I want to yell after her to stop wasting her time on such a clueless Viking, but I don’t.

Andrew is still pulling one of the couches back in front of the fireplace. I push the vacuum over there and suck up every microorganism hiding out in the carpet.

I finally turn off the vacuum.

Andrew rubs his ears. “Dang, that thing is loud.”

“Sorry.”

“Did you build it or something?”

“What?”

He sticks his pointer finger in my face. “Don’t apologize for something that’s not in your control, Maya.”

“Sorry.”

He grins. “Where’s the monster go?” He hefts up the vacuum.

“Back room, closet on the right.”

He disappears. I turn the fireplace off and yawn.

“So, Maya,” he says, coming back into the room.

“So, Andrew.”

He’s scratching his long blond hair. “I have a question for you. And maybe this is just me being male or clueless or too — what’s the word? — egotistical, but — ”

“Yes, Liz likes you.”

His hand drops. “Really?”

This isn’t said with a tone of incredulous joy. Maybe incredulous, but no joy.

I roll my eyes and flop on the couch he just moved back into place, leaning back against the armrest, toeing off my shoes, and pulling my knees to my chest. “Don’t take this the wrong way, but I think you got hit in the head with a puck too much. It’s ridiculous how obvious she’s been.”

Andrew joins me on the couch with a sigh. “Swell.”

I hold my tongue for all of about ten seconds. “You don’t sound so happy.”

“Oh, don’t get me wrong; Liz is great.”

“Well, so are instant pasta dishes. What do you mean?”

A slight smile curls his lips. “You know what I like about you, Maya Davis?”

“What’s that?”

“You can always get humor in a conversation.” He grins fully now. “That’s a talent, and don’t you forget it, missy.”