About This Book
Four-thirty in the morning was an ungodly time of day in mid-February. It was dark. It was cold. There wasn't a single, solitary person on the road apart from an occasional drunk or delivery man…and Randy. As assistant manager, she was on her way to open up the local coffeehouse. It was the place where the early risers, the ones who desperately needed a cup of coffee to jump-start their day, would congregate. Randy's car was particularly persnickety that morning. After the initial click-click-click, the motor turned over and she cranked up the heater, even though she knew it would never actually heat up the car more than lukewarm. She really needed a new a new car and it was on her agenda: after she paid this semester's college tuition for her son, patched the roof on her 150 year-old house, paid off the new water heater… Yes, she really needed a new car. Randy was always baffled that anyone would want to brave the cold and snow just for a cup of coffee. Personally, she would have preferred to stay nestled under a cozy, warm blanket in front of the wood stove at home. She knew that for some of the customers, the coffeehouse culture had little to do with coffee. Coffee was just a secondary benefit. It was the atmosphere of urbanity and sophistication that the twenty and thirty-somethings craved. For the mere price of a cup of coffee, albeit an expensive one, they could feel like they were transported to a New York City café, hobnobbing with famous writers and theater people. One by one, the baristas and customers would come and go, each revealing the shades of their own different and unique lives for any coffee-loving person to share.
