She’s My Kind Of Rain (Rawlings Ranch #1)

Chapter 5

5

DAISY - MAY 10, 2004

This last week with Mom has made me realize that we’re more similar than I ever perceived. She paces around the kitchen while I pace around the rest of the house, anxiously collecting her things and stopping to laugh once she realizes we are both doing the same thing. Unplugging the new flip phone I convinced her to get—so that I can call her anywhere at any time— she verifies my number again as a taxi pulls up outside. We embrace each other in a tight hug, this farewell much different than all the rest, because this is the first time it will be a while until we see each other again. She kisses my cheek and warmth fills my heart. I really lucked out with a mom as amazing as her. Her love truly knows no bounds.

Opening the door, the taxi driver grabs her bag and they both head down the sidewalk to leave. I brush a single tear from my eye before she notices and wave until she’s out of sight.

Closing the door, I check the clock, noting that I have a little over half an hour before my shift at the coffee shop. I look over the notepad sitting on my counter, each step of my to-do list checked off, including updating my information with Telluride. I ponder the conversation I had with the secretary who let me know interviews would take place in a couple of weeks and that they would leave a message on my answering machine if I made it to the next round and wasn’t home to accept the call. Excitement takes over at the idea that one day soon I could find myself back in an A&R position, making singers’ dreams come true, while simultaneously doing the same for myself.

Southern Sip is the cutest and most laid back work environment I’ve ever gotten to be a part of—not that I have a lot of work experience outside of W.M.G. and a very uptight ice cream shop when I was fourteen. The fact that Kaylee, the owner, is close to my age probably has a lot to do with that.

I peer over at her as she readies the coffee urns with our daily blends .I consider asking her what that means, however I do my best not to look incompetent. I want her to like me, and I also don’t want to lose my job for simply being clueless about coffee since my mom always wakes up before the crack of dawn to make it.

I admire her long, nearly white blonde hair. Today it’s up in a ponytail with two pieces hanging out around her face. Random sections throughout are crimped and she has a few bright pink clip-ins. I have never been adventurous with my hair, but maybe with all the changes I have been making I might add this to the list. She also has her nose pierced. The thought of a needle coming at me like that makes me want to pass out, but it really does look cute.

Her wardrobe from the couple of times I’ve seen her outside of work reminds me of a pop star, though at work she usually sticks to low-rise jeans and a polo. She wears a smokey eye and light pink, frosty lip gloss. She’s the exact definition of a cool girl and the complete opposite of me.

I walk around the shop, appreciating the timeless aesthetic she chose for the decor. The muted blue walls are covered in artsy photos of coffee cups, and besides the napkin holders placed on the espresso-stained wood tables, there is not much clutter. I wipe down each of the surfaces I pass by, though not necessary, and push in the chairs as I go. The entire place has a very clear contrast to her colorful style, but I assume that is most likely done on purpose to appeal to all ages.

Next, I reach for a bag of ground coffee, trying to help ready another pot for the customers who will surely be in within the hour. I pour two heaping scoops into the top of the machine and then second guess if it will be enough based on the size of the pot that sits below. I make four more scoops, shut the lid and click the OFF button to ON.

Once the coffee is done brewing, I pull it off the burner, noticing a filter placed to the side of the pot. My god, what was I thinking? Clearly nothing . I forgot the filter. The coffee itself is filled with grounds and is a much thicker and darker consistency than any coffee I’ve ever seen. My heart sinks, and a sense of dread creeps along my spine. I blew it. Like, majorly blew it. My excitement to help made me miss a very obvious step and now I’m going to look stupid. I can hear Kaylee approaching from behind and I worry that I won’t be able to explain myself out of the embarrassment I’m about to feel for messing up a simple pot of coffee.

“Tansy Bay must not have been known for its coffee shops, huh?” Kaylee jokes, setting down a coffee she made for me. “I hate to say it, but it seems like you were never even introduced to a basic coffee pot. Maybe not even instant coffee. I probably should have asked about your experience before I hired you, but I figured most people have that skill set long before many others.” Even though the words come off as a bit harsh, her tone is teasing, her eyes bright with amusement.

“You’re not wrong.” I laugh in response. “We only have one, and I don’t know what it’s more limited in. Selection or flavors.” I shrug, meeting her stare. “I don’t think I have ever had a decent coffee until now.” I reach for the coffee she made me, lifting it in silent cheers. “But, just because I don’t know how to make good coffee, doesn’t mean I can’t learn,” I add, my last words ending on a hopeful note. I take a sip of the coffee she made me, which she does every shift. Today’s brew of choice she calls a hazelnut blend with sweet cream creamer, and I officially wouldn’t mind knowing how to recreate it every morning for the rest of my life.

“I don’t think any of the customers will be ordering sludge.” She takes the carafe and dumps it over the sink into a little basket that looks like a filter, preventing the coffee grounds from going down the drain. “Let’s just have you run the register for now because I know this is not your calling.” She laughs as the basket fills with all the grounds I accidentally brewed directly into the pot. “Most people who end up here from a little ol’ nowhere have much bigger plans than making café mochas anyways. So tell me, what’s the real reason you came here to Nashville?”

“First off, the sludge water I just made might be the best sludge you’ve ever tasted. How would you know without taking a sip?” I tease. “Second, the dream is like everyone else who ends up here. I want to work in the music industry.”

“Eh, most people dream of singing, or playing more so than working with those who can, but I get it. What did you do before you got here?”

“Yeah, that’s probably correct. I honestly came here on a whim with no actual plan after the small record label that I worked for decided to sell to a bigger label. I don’t know if or when they will reopen, so now felt as good as any to take a chance on something new. This,” I motion with my hands broadly meaning this town, not the coffee shop we now stand in. “ Nashville was my Dad’s dream that shifted into mine after I lost him. Music was our thing, and, I guess in some ways, now it’s not since he’s gone.”

Kaylee’s cheeks blush, and she dips her head. Is she embarrassed? Regretting asking me after I word vomited my entire life story to her? But then she looks up at me and says, “You know what? I like you. Your bluntness is refreshing. Most people would just keep it simple and lie so that they don’t fear me firing them from this little hole in the wall, but you didn’t, and I like that.” She seems to contemplate for a moment. “Let’s be friends.”

I open my mouth to respond, but words just won’t come out. I’m sure I look like an idiot, but this is the first time anyone has ever just outright asked to be my friend. And though it’s a bit forward and strange, I’m honestly really happy she did.

Kaylee continues, ignoring my silence. “I know it’s a weird way to become friends with someone, but I like your vibe…and your hair.”

I blush, scrunching my nose at the compliment.

“Unlike all you music peeps, my dream has always been to open a little coffee shop, and here we stand. One dream complete, now on to yours,” she says with a grin. “So if you don’t want to actually be up at the mic, what job are you scoping out?”

“Since this entire experience is about trying new things, I’ll take you up on your offer. You’re a bit odd ,and I think that’s kind of fun.” I smile, poking fun at her. “Telluride Records, head of A & R. That’s the dream. At least, that’s the dream as of right now.”

“Well, that’s sick. I can respect a creative mind. I hope that you get a chance to do whatever feels good to you.”

She re-brews the coffee I messed up and starts working on a coffee order, though no one is even here, and then like clockwork, the door chimes and a well dressed man walks in. He has peppered hair and a black suit.

He’s hanging up the phone as she hands me a coffee. “This is for him. It’s a Campfire latte. Light on the white chocolate and cinnamon, the way he orders every single Thursday. Do me a favor and deliver it to him so I can get the rest of the drip coffee ready before the morning rush.”

I grab the coffee and head in his direction. He swiftly turns to head to the counter and runs directly into me, the coffee spilling over the both of us. I gasp, embarrassment washing over me.

“I’m so sor-” I stop short of my apology. I’m starstruck by him. His caramel brown eyes are so warm and welcoming, and he has a smile to match.

“Oh no, you’re fine, miss. I wasn’t paying attention, and look where it got me.” He smirks, gesturing to his coffee-stained suit.

Time feels like it has completely stopped, as I stand here, infatuated with the beautiful, yet older, man who stands in front of me. I realize I’m just making myself look even more clueless, and right before I begin to speak, Kaylee steps out from the counter with a new coffee in hand, ready to handle the situation herself. “I’m so sorry, Blake, here is one on the house. And next week’s is free too.”

“Oh, not necessary. Luckily, I have backup suits at the office. This isn’t the first time I’ve gotten coffee on myself, though it is the first time someone else was holding the coffee.” He chuckles. “Have a nice day, ladies.”

I turn to Kaylee, mortified. “I will pay for the coffee and I will never do that again. Please don’t hate me.”

She laughs. “The only person who’s gonna hate you, is you.”

“Why?”

“Because that, my friend,” she gestures towards the direction the man had headed, “was Mr. Montgomery, the owner of Telluride Records.”