Page 7 of One Chance to Stay (Bears of Firefly Valley #4)

She moved between the grinder and an espresso machine like a boss. Pounding down on the grounds, she slid it into place and flipped a lever. Without looking, she grabbed a metal cup and spun it in her hand before setting it down. In went the milk and next the frothing.

“You’ve tended bar,” I said.

She grabbed a coffee cup, tossing it behind her back and snatching it out of the air.

It had taken me months to learn this level of flair while she made it look effortless.

Dropping the mug on the counter, she dumped in the espresso.

With a deft hand, she poured in the milk, leaving a perfect foam leaf on the surface.

“Bartending Champion two years in a row. Name’s Rita.” She shot me a wink as she slid the cup in front of me. “You caught me in a mood.”

“A good mood, by the looks of it.”

I handed her my credit card. Others might give her a smile and leave it alone. I needed to know. Caffeine would fuel my body, but the soul needed a good jumpstart as well.

“So, Rita, why the good mood?”

“My twin called this morning. She’s coming to town for the bonfire. I haven’t seen her in almost a year. The honeymoon is finally over, and she’s coming back to reality. She loves small-town shenanigans.”

She couldn’t stop beaming an infectious energy. I smiled at her good news.

“Is the bonfire a big deal?”

Her face went blank as she returned my credit card. “Dear. You’re obviously not from a small town.” A simple question outed me. “ Everything in Firefly is a big deal.” Hearing Jason and Jon talk about whatever event the town had planned, I believed her.

“Duly noted.” I held up the coffee mug, smelling the wonderful liquid energy. “Thanks.”

I took a seat in the coffee shop. It was down to me and an older gentleman in the corner reading the paper. As I tried to place his face, he looked up and gave me a slight nod. Older, I couldn’t identify him, but something seemed familiar. I chalked it up to Firefly’s tiny population.

As I sipped, I swear I could feel the warmth spread through my body.

I wiped the foam from my mustache. The coffee shop was exactly what I expected in a small town.

A single proprietor was behind the counter and only a handful of tables.

If twenty people descended on the rustic shop, there’d be standing room only.

I assumed with the snowfall, the residents hid inside their homes, cozying up to their fireplaces.

Not that Bangor was a huge city with constant excitement, but it didn’t have the relaxed vibe of Firefly. As I savored another piping hot sip of my latte, I thought about the bar. I’m sure Sammy covered my shift with his usual flair. After all, I had trained him.

Unlike me, he loved the showmanship of being a bartender. Sammy loved the chemistry of cocktails and finding the perfect blend. Where he focused on his craft, I focused on the people. At the heart of this turmoil storming in the back of my head, the love of people, the answer rested with them.

I loved my job. I didn’t love the job. That always stuck in my head.

The highlight of my nights was the people rushing to the bar.

Some blurted out that they celebrated a birthday or an engagement.

I’d slide them a cocktail on the house, and then we’d begin the usual conversation.

They were always fun, but it was the silent people sitting in the corners that drew my attention.

The reluctant talkers were often the people who needed a little bartender magic.

The gentleman folded the paper, setting it on the table before picking up his coffee. He wore an insulated military jacket, but he lacked the buzz-cut or rigid posture. I’d place a bet that he hadn’t served, which left me wondering why this particular?—

“Mind if I have a seat?” He didn’t wait for a reply as he walked over, claiming the seat opposite me. Tipping an imaginary hat, he reached across the table, offering a hand. “Logan,” he said.

I grabbed his hand. Firm grip and coarse hands that reminded me of Seamus. “Of Logan & Son?”

He nodded. “That’s me.” Then it dawned on me. My eyes widened as I realized the connection. I had never seen him in person. However, the calendar that hung on the wall at the bar sported the man. All of him.

Logan laughed. “Is there anybody who hasn’t seen my willie?”

“That’d be a Texas-sized no,” the barista shouted.

He snickered and shot me a wink. “Well, I hope you enjoyed the show.” I don’t know how Jon roped the men of Firefly into that calendar.

Bribery? Blackmail? Now that I thought of it, it wouldn’t take much more than a please and thank you, and I’d drop my drawers.

It served me well in the tip department when bartending.

“I don’t think I’ve seen you around here before.” Anywhere else, the question might be innocent. Two grown men exchanging pleasantries, but I had heard the stories. He served as an agent of Firefly, gathering intel to report back to home base.

“I won a raffle for a week's stay at Valhalla.”

“Evelyn’s a good woman. Folks were worried about a Bostonian moving into town and setting up shop. Don’t get me wrong, worried is a strong word, but?—”

“Flatlanders,” I said. “I get it.”

He chuckled. With a single word, I entered into a bond with Logan.

Not that we didn’t like outsiders. Vacationers were the lifeblood of Maine, but we had a special kinship with our own people.

It said we understood the difficulties of harsh winters and the collective dislike for mosquitoes.

I’m sure Logan already tried tracing my heritage.

If we worked our way up the family tree, we probably shared a relative or two.

I had passed the test, and now we were destined to be best friends. His entire demeanor relaxed as he brought the coffee cup to his lips. We were no longer strangers. “What brings you to town?”

“Didn’t want the raffle to go to waste.” Partial truth.

“What’s the real reason? Nobody just comes to Firefly.”

He had a gruff, almost abrasive delivery. I imagined that when Seamus came to work, the two exchanged nothing but grunts. They’d recount their days with eyebrow movements and long sighs. They weren’t so different from the men at Spectrum. That usually ended in grunting as well.

“Do you want the straightforward answer or?—”

“You know the rules.” He raised his cup.

Only in Maine did people ask a question, anticipating the story to come.

I couldn’t help but smile as I took a sip.

After using the same tactic with patrons over a martini, it shouldn’t surprise me that my innate ability to read folks came from being a Mainer.

“Ever sit down and think about where you expected life to go?”

He only answered with a nod of the head. Who was I kidding? My new best friend thought about life plenty.

“I have a great job. I love the people. But…”

“Wondering ‘What if?’”

I nodded. “I’m starting to wonder if this is where I want to be in ten years?”

“Ten years is a long time.”

He spoke just enough to move the conversation along. Logan had done this before. When his eyes dropped, I could almost see his thoughts written on his face. His lips curled, and the lines around his mouth deepened. He had a story of his own.

“Twenty years ago, I opened the hardware store. Junior had been deployed overseas, and I just… I wanted him to have something when he got home.” The jacket made sense.

With a smile, the fatherly pride beamed through.

“I went from working construction full time to putting those years of experience into the shop.”

“You just upped and changed everything?”

The question hung in the air, and I realized I had found the barrier that prevented me from moving forward. Fear. For four letters, they were like a wall, barriers that stilted momentum. Somewhere deep down, I had known this, but as I told my patrons, talking it out helped the process along.

“Not quite,” he admitted. “I went part-time for almost a year. Long nights, you know? My body didn’t have many years left in construction. It wasn’t easy, but it was worth it.”

“What did Junior say about it?”

“Junior? Even a thousand miles away, he’d say, ‘It’ll be worth it, Pops,’ and just like that, I knew he was right.”

I held up my coffee cup in a salute. “The definition of bravery. Both of you.”

“Got something on your mind?” Crafty and insightful. This is how small towns roped you in. How could you deny their sincerity? He didn’t ask the question for any other reason than being neighborly. Mostly. I’m sure he’d still report back to the collective.

“Not sure,” I said. “I want a change. I think I need a change. To what? I don’t quite know.” Something quieter? Something more real? I didn’t need a full answer—just a direction.

He slammed back the rest of his coffee. Getting up, he zipped up his jacket, signaling we had reached the end of the conversation. He wouldn’t leave, not yet. I’d drop a twenty betting he’d have a last bit of?—

He rested a hand on my shoulder. “You’ll get there. It doesn’t happen overnight. When you figure it out, you’ll make it happen.”

“How can you be so certain?” I barely knew this man, and yet he acted as if he had seen to my core.

“Easy,” he said, with another pat on the shoulder. “You’re a Mainer.”

He laughed as he headed for the door. As he exited, a gust of arctic air filled the coffee shop.

Logan gave a wave through the glass. I wanted to scoff at his statement.

I had heard the non-answer from people my entire life.

He might as well have said, “Pull yourself up by the bootstraps and make it happen.” Somewhere, it had an edge of truth.

We had a knack for figuring things out and making them happen.

I might not be enlightened yet, but his encouragement meant the world to me.

It wouldn’t happen overnight, but the gears were turning. There was change in the air.