Puck: 1-9 - S. G. Ricketts (cat reading book TXT) 📗

here. Honestly, only a mink looks good in a mink coat.” I smirked but didn’t look at him. To look would admit defeat. I had to at least try and maintain some semblance of pity for her, even if she was a bitch. Carefully, I wiped up the droplets of coffee from the counter. “Rebeeeekkah,” he sang. I sniggered. “Girl, seriously? She’s a Queen B for bitch, and we both know it. So, cut the crap and let’s celebrate!”

I spun around and pointed a finger at him. “If anyone asks, this was your idea.”

He grinned impishly. “Agreed. Now… what shall we add whipped cream to, m’lady?”

“How about…” My mind stuttered even as my eyes scanned the freshly-baked goods. “How about...” I tried again. My mind refused to move forward. Blue eyes. Whipped cream. “Joe.”

“Rebekkah.” He glanced up from his own masterpiece: a whipped cream chocolate cookie sandwich with white chocolate syrup. White chocolate syrup. He licked a finger and quirked an eyebrow. “Do we need another cup of coffee, dear? You’re lookin’ a little blank.” He waved his hand in front of my face.

I shoved it away and he shrugged, picking up his creation and sliding the whipped cream can to me. By reflex, I grabbed it. “Joe. Do you really believe in ghosts?”

His green eyes widened and he nearly choked. I noticed that, amidst his choking, he was very careful to set the cookie mess down on a plate for further attentions. “Ghosts? Beks, when did you have a change of heart?” he teased, gulping down water. Still, I could see the seriousness in his eyes.

“I…haven’t.” His eyebrows disappeared into his hair. “I haven’t,” I said again, defensively. “I just… I had a dream last night that seemed really…real,” I finished lamely.

“Uh-huh.” He leaned against the counter, eyes narrowed. “And what does this have to do with ghosts?” He folded his arms. “I thought you were ‘twenty-five and didn’t have time for stupid stories.’”

I winced. “Then explain it for me. Last night, I had a dream than an incredibly hott guy came to the shop and—” I caught the glimmer of interest in Joe’s eye and flapped a hand at him. “Let me at least finish the story, and then you can quiz me on his details.” He huffed but stayed quiet. Taking a deep breath, I started again. “It was so real, Joe.” I frowned. “I mean, I was cleaning up, the storm was coming, and you know how it is just when it’s time to close. The coffee shop prayer, right?”

He smiled at that. “Dear Lord, help no one to come in after 8:55.”

I nodded, amused despite myself. “I kept thinking that in the dream, and a minute – a minute – to closing, someone walked in. He was too gorgeous to refuse.” I heard Joe mutter “bitch, makin’ me wait,” but pressed on, determined to get it out. Of anyone, Joe would be the one to make sense of it all, sarcasm or not. “So, I made him a 20 oz. white chocolate latte. He tipped me crazy well and said extra whipped cream would make us even.” Joe nodded in understanding, eyes flicking to the whipped cream can. Yet again, I found myself grateful for a smart sidekick. “Anyway, we started talking and everything was pretty normal, minus his gorgeousness.” That elicited another “bitch” from Joe and I grinned. “I mean, gorgeous. If you’d been here, your cover would have been totally blown. God, Joe, his--”

“Aw shuddup, Beks, and get on with it,” he said, rolling his eyes dramatically.

I shrugged. “If you insist.”

“I do.” He stuck a finger in the whipped cream and ate it, giving me a freezing look.

I bit back a smile. “Then, it started to get weird. He started asking me weird questions, like what day it was and if I knew who Puck was.”

Joe sat straighter and pulled his finger out of his mouth. I could see his mind already working. “Yesterday was November 5th, and isn’t Puck that guy from Shakespeare? The little fairy that messes with everyone’s love lives in A Midsummer Night’s Dream?”

I nodded and pulled out a piece of pumpkin bread for myself, slathering it with whipped cream. Hell, to get through the rest of the dream, I’d need all the hydrogenated fat I could get my hands on. I broke off a piece and popped it in my mouth. “That’s what I said too. He didn’t like that so much. Said Shakespeare made him look like a pansy.” I swirled my finger through the white goodness. “But… he seemed so honest. It didn’t seem like the easy flower-poking, mischief-making stuff that Shakespeare plays it off to be with him. And I believed him. He said… oh, what was it.” I took another bite, trying to think. Cinnamon and nutmeg and pumpkin filled my senses. “Damn you and your amazing cooking skills, Joe.” He bowed slightly, eyes still on my face. “Oh! That’s right! He said “If I were Puck, I’d be a man about it and do it myself. I’d tear them apart with my own power rather than lay that responsibility on some inanimate object. Love isn’t something to be easily divided, let alone accidentally destroyed or mistaken.’” I felt my voice deepen to mimic his, the rich timbre of his own filling my memory. I shivered. “I mean, seriously, what kind of downer dreams am I having? Right?”

Joe frowned, cookie concoction forgotten on the counter. “Beks, are you sure that was a dream?”

I rolled my eyes and finished off the pumpkin bread. “Of course I am! What else could it be? My other option is just plain craziness. I mean…” I trailed off, my words stuck in my throat. “I forgot to take out the trash.”

He stopped and looked around, confused. “What?”

I pointed a shaking finger at the trash can beneath the counter. A lonely paper cup sat inside, “James” scrawled across the side. “Holy hell, Joe. Oh my god. It… It was real!” I stared at him in amazement. “Gorgeous men really do exist outside of Hollywood!” I laughed in manic delight, all while the voice inside demanded to know what was going on. “I suppose I couldn’t get sane and hott, but hott’s alright, right Joe?”

His adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed. “Your dream was real.” I shrugged, staring at the cup with a dumb smile plastered on my face. “Oh shit,” he said. I glanced up at him. “It was…” His eyes grew wide. Joe grabbed my arms, staring down at me. I felt all the fear and confusion from last night return. “Did you see the shimmer?” He shook me slightly, urgently. “Rebekkah, did you see the shimmer?”

 

 

 

 

Reality

I tried to shove his hands off, surprised. “Ow, Joe, that hurts. Let go!”

He shook me again. I met his gaze and sobered. He looked pale as a ghost. Ironic, that. “Did. You. See. The. Shimmer?”

The door chimed as someone came in, and Joe dropped my arms. White pressure lines lingered on my skin and I rubbed them in irritation. “God, why’d you have to do that?” He ran his hand through his hair, making it stand up in brown spikes. I shot him a shaken look and tried to get myself under control. “How did you know about that anyway?” I demanded.

“Oh God.” Joe sank onto the nearest stool, eyes glazing over. “Aw shit, Beks…” He stared at me in horror. I felt the panic rise again.

“Um, excuse me? Sorry to barge in on your love scene, but I need some coffee here.”

My brain ground to a halt, Joe’s momentary break-down forgotten while my nerves finished their last kamikaze acts. Gritting my teeth, I turned to face the register. Sure enough, my nemesis stood on the other side, casually inspecting her ever-so-perfect manicure. She flipped that perfectly-curled blonde hair off her coat and flicked the snow off like it was bird poo. The devil in me kicked into high gear. Hell if I’d pass up a chance to torment Martha the Obnoxious. The devil in me grinned from ear to ear. Delicious.

I glided over to the register, the most genuine look of concern I could muster plastered across my face. “Oh Martha! I didn’t think you’d come in today!”

She looked down her nose at me. “Why the hell not, Rachel?” She flicked something from under her nail, returning to ignoring me.

I ground my teeth into a smile. 1st grade. Only, what, 19 years in the same town and she insisted on getting my name wrong. Every. Fucking. Time. “I’m so glad. I mean, I was so worried…” I let the words trail off. My eyes lingered on her bare left hand.

Those baby blue eyes followed my gaze. Her cheeks flushed. She shoved her hand into her pocket. Ding ding ding. Point to Rebekkah. I hid my smirk as she glared at Joe. Joe stared blankly at me. I forced myself not to look at him. He was being a total buzz kill. “I see word travels fast. Just make me my usual and we’ll make this as painless as possible.”

I nodded in faux sympathy. “Of course, Martha. One triple espresso caramel latte coming right up!” I tsked lightly. “I’m sure you would want today to go smoothly. Last night must have been so horrible!”

Her eyes narrowed. “I’d prefer not to talk about it.”

I ignored her, blithely going on with making her coffee. The skim milk splashed a little as I talked. I flicked it off my wrist, “accidentally” hitting her with some. “My God, to think you were just going over to care for him, and he did that to you! And with Alicia Hartwood, to boot!” I poured the foamed milk into the cup and pressed the espresso button. I could feel the anger coming off her in waves. Good. Bitch deserved it. Carefully, I finished off her latte, a beautiful concoction with swirls of caramel and an extra topping of whipped cream. I slid it across the counter. “Here you go, Martha.” I summoned all my acting skills and looked her in the eye. “I hope you have a good rest of the day. You deserve it.”

She flipped me off. “Fuck you.” The door slammed open and shut, and within moments her Porsche was screaming away from the shop.

Finally, I let out the giggles I’d been struggling to hide. “Good lord, Joe, did you see her face? Ah! After all these years, she finally got what was coming to her.”

“Rachel-”

I wiped off the espresso machine, reveling in the memory. “I mean, seriously, I thought she was going to explode. Or maybe implode.” I shook my head, laughing. “Either way, that felt good. Serves her right to lose Ben after she stole him from me.”

“Rachel!”

“Gah! And with Alicia. Alicia! The girl’s the sweetest thing to come to this town since… since… God, since I don’t know what! I didn’t know she had it in her. I guess Ben really was in it for the money.”

“Rachel! Shut. Up!”

My mouth snapped shut. Joe stood slowly, using his full 5 foot 10 inch frame on me. I withered before him. “I, uh… I didn’t realize you felt that bad for her,” I said.

He sighed in exasperation. “Dammit, Beks. I made a friggin’ cookie sandwich in honor