Kiss and Spell

The memory of it was hazy, like it was something I’d dreamed rather than experienced. “Well, it wasn’t really a formal proposal. More a suggestion. I think I said something about my job hunt, and he said if I married him, I wouldn’t have to worry about it.”

She fluttered her hand against her chest. “Be still my beating heart. How did you not swoon and fall at his feet?”

“Shut up!” I scolded her, even as I couldn’t help but grin at her theatrics. “I think he was raising the topic. Who proposes out of the blue without having discussed anything about marriage ahead of time? I’m sure the real proposal, when it comes, will be very romantic.”

“Yeah, he’ll tell you you’re a failure, but he’s willing to support you.”

“That’s not what he meant,” I insisted, my cheeks flaming. “And I have no intention of letting him support me, but it might be nice to have the pressure taken off the job hunt and to have more time to work on my résumé and go on interviews.”

“You’ll get the time if the store closes, though that probably won’t ease the pressure.”

“The store’s not going to close,” I muttered, returning to the classifieds. And would marrying Josh really be that bad? He was smart, attractive, successful, and he was a decent guy. Heart-stopping romance was the kind of thing that only happened in movies. And in coffee shops, I thought, remembering the moment that morning when time had stood still as I looked into those dark blue eyes and felt like destiny had caught up with me.

*

Contrary to Florence’s fears, nothing much seemed to change after the sale went through later that week. There was a memo from the new owner saying it would be business as usual for the time being, and life went on. Josh didn’t bring up the topic of marriage again, so I started to think it must have been a joke or an offhand remark, not something I should take seriously. And that meant I really needed to find a job.

I was going through my ritual of reading the classifieds during a mid-morning lull while Florence took a break when a voice said, “Job-hunting?”

I looked up to attend to the customer and had that same time-standing-still feeling when I looked into his deep blue eyes. Was he the guy from the other coffee shop? I couldn’t even remember his face, so I couldn’t be sure. It wasn’t a good sign if I was swooning over every pair of blue eyes that crossed my path. I knew that should probably tell me something, but I preferred not to think about it. “Can I help you?” I asked, dropping the newspaper.

“How’s the coffee here?” He must have noticed my hesitation because he grinned and said, “And be honest.”

“Well, it’s not really to my taste. It’s kind of, um, strong.”

“Burnt?”

“Enthusiastically roasted.”

“What about the tea?”

“It’s actually pretty good, but it’s in bags so you have to brew it yourself. We don’t brew tea here. You can see the kinds there in the rack.”

“Then I’ll have a tea.”

While I filled a cup with hot water, he leaned against the counter and said, “I thought books and tea went together, and you know, I can’t think of a bookstore that sells real tea in their café. It’s just tea bags.”

I handed him the cup and he selected a tea bag while I rang him up. “If we upgraded the tea, we’d have to upgrade the scones, and where would that leave us?” I quipped, then realized a second later that I was probably speaking out of turn. I shouldn’t be criticizing the merchandise I was selling.

“The scones aren’t good?” he asked, raising an eyebrow.

“It’s not that they’re bad. They’re just, well, probably better for keeping the tables level than for eating. I suspect the bakery sends us their day-old stuff and figures we won’t notice.”

“Then I think I’ll skip the scone today,” he said as he paid for his tea. He nodded toward my newspaper, with several jobs circled in red. “Are you trying to flee the bad coffee and scones?”

“It’s not that. It’s just that this was supposed to be a temporary job while I looked for a real job in my field. That’s taken a bit longer than I planned.” I squinted at the newspaper as I had the sudden feeling that there was something odd there. Was the newspaper classified section really the best way to find a professional job?

“How much longer?”

I snapped back to the present, blinking. “Nearly a year. I gave myself a year, and I have three weeks left.”