Searching For His Omega - Harper B. Cole Page 0,4

push for your cross-country tour.” Given an entire season, it could be fun.

Three

Stan

I sat in a corner of the coffee shop and sipped the flat white I’d made myself. It was just before six and the shop didn’t open for another hour. The kitchen was humming with activity but the front of the house was empty. Some of the staff wouldn't arrive for another few minutes while others would come just prior to opening.

The first two months as manager of Abrar’s latest Café Om had come and gone, and it had been a huge learning curve, not only for the newly hired staff, but also for me. Living in a new town and settling into my apartment as well as hiring and training staff had been challenging, but I relished it.

My life had been upended moving to a small town, but it was my choice, and after having a criminal knock you unconscious, this was a tiny blip. A blip I was so looking forward to. Some of the locals had been wary having heard a coffee shop chain was leasing space in their oldest building in the center of town.

But Abrar’s designer had worked magic. He’d scoured local secondhand shops as well as online antique sites. Battered old signs that read, ‘Coffee,’ ‘Coffee Shop,’ and ‘Fresh Brewed Coffee’ adorned the walls while the original door handles and light fixtures added to the old-time feel. The guy had also discovered the original front doors stored in what was to become the Café Om kitchen.

The town’s inhabitants had been invited to send photos and other memorabilia of the building over the decades and we’d displayed them on the walls.

I'd had to do a lot of PR convincing the community that their beloved town wasn’t going to be taken over by conglomerates with strip malls being built along its main street.

The members of the town council were invited to a pre-opening event where we’d plied them with coffee and sugary treats before sending them home with goodie bags. And we’d had an open day of sorts for the general public where the crowd had sampled cookies and pastries and thimble-sized coffees.

Abrar made sure we had the most up-to-date shiny equipment, but just as in the original Café Om, he’d bought an old-fashioned espresso machine so customers could experience the ‘whoosh.’

We’d introduced a tasting menu which was a new concept here, but it was getting more popular. Everyone liked the suggested pairings of which baked goods to have with particular coffees.

I cast my gaze around the shop landing on the chalkboard which displayed the menu and daily and weekly specials. After running my eyes down the list that included red velvet cake, pecan pie, fruit cobblers, icebox pie, and sugar pie, as well as the usual assortment of cookies and pastries, I was satisfied everything was in order.

A metal something crashed to the kitchen floor, followed by a curse, but I resisted the urge to help out. They’d deal with it, and if not, they’d come get me.

Without thinking, I ran my finger over the table top and checked for dust. It was a habit of a lifetime, especially after working in a grimy city.

Closing my eyes, I ran over the list of things to get done today, starting with the daily staff prep talk before we opened. I wouldn’t get back to the apartment until after the café closed but having it upstairs was a Godsend. No commuting.

The only downside was not having made any meaningful connections, apart from the staff. I missed doing volunteer work and grabbing a beer after work with friends. But hopefully that would happen eventually. There was a community center that held exercise, dance, art, and creative writing classes, so that was a way to meet people, and members of a book club met at the library once a week.

I suppose part of me was reluctant to meet new people. Getting peppered with questions as to what prompted me to move to their small town made me anxious. Fibbing wasn’t an option and telling the truth might make people suspicious, thinking I associated with criminals and therefore potentially was one.

After glancing at my watch, I got up to finish my coffee on the patio out back. It looked onto a rose garden but there were no flowers as yet. The local library had photos from a hundred years ago showing the different-colored roses tended by the building’s owner. Not being much of a gardener, I’d researched online