Page 1 of Exile
CHAPTER ONE
SERENA
“Small Americano, banana muffin!” I call out the to-go order as I place it on the counter before turning to start the next ticket in line. It’s 7:15 a.m., deep in the morning rush of commuters on their way to work. I’ve been here since five, working the early shift before my classes start at ten. I do this five days a week, waking up at the obscenely early time of 4 a.m., so I can get in twenty hours a week while attending school full time. On weekends, I’m a waitress at a dive bar downtown and get paid under the table. The exhaustion I feel seems beyond what a twenty-year-old body should be capable of, but if I don’t work this hard then food won’t be put on the table, and there is more than a slight chance of the lights being cut off. If it weren’t for scholarships, there would be no way I could afford to get a degree, so I consider myself lucky I only have to come up with money for life, not school.
A flurry of dings from the bell over the front door signals a flood of customers. I close my eyes and take a deep breath as I wait for the milk to foam for a cappuccino, trying to keep my cool. André called out this morning, claiming he had the stomach flu. Eddie and Marge are in the back, baking muffins and making the breakfast orders that come in. That leaves only Marie and me to handle the front counter during the morning rush. This is the third time André’s had the stomach flu this month. If it weren't for Marge having a soft spot for him—because his mom’s an addict, and his dad’s out of the picture—he probably would’ve been fired months ago. Don’t get me wrong; Andre is a good guy, just…unreliable.
Brewed Awakening has been a staple in Birch Falls for nearly thirty years. Eddie and Marge opened it when they were a young married couple. There seems to be an understanding in the community that no crappy mega chain coffee shops are to encroach on their territory downtown. It probably doesn’t hurt that Eddie’s dad is the mayor. For that matter, so was his grandfather. There must be bylaws written about it, considering how there are no fewer than four chain coffee shops in the next town over, but here in good old BF, there are only Brewed Awakening and Rosa’s, a little cafe next to campus.
A sharp elbow in the ribs forces me to open my eyes and return my attention to the pitcher of milk that has nearly foamed over. Facing me, Marie tilts her head towards the register, causing my eyes to track what is happening behind her. Three of Birch Falls’ finest stand in line in their crisp, navy uniforms, waiting to place their usual orders. This trio seems to have the morning patrol shift. They come in together almost daily, smiling, turning on the charm and flirting shamelessly. I’ve been serving them coffee for the two years I’ve worked at Brewed Awakening and have built up a rapport with them. Marie is pregnant and married to her high school sweetheart, so every time they come in, she pushes me to work the register so she can live vicariously through me, since I am not above flirting to sweeten my tips.
“I’ll finish the drinks. Why don’t you go see what Officer Orgasm is drinking today?” She shoots me a wink before nudging me away from the espresso maker with her impressive baby bump. She’s only six months along but looks like she’s ready to pop. I’m very concerned about the state her vagina is going to be in once she gives birth to the baby elephant she is apparently incubating. To be fair, her husband is built like Bigfoot, over six-and-a-half feet tall, close to 300lbs and a former college linebacker. My concerns are not unfounded.
“Hello, Officers, what will it be today?” I saunter over to the register and put my hands on my hips, initiating the dance we do every morning. I ask them what they’re having, Eric pretends to flirt with me—even though he’s much older—doing his best to goad Dominick into making a move. Their partner, Dane, the youngest and quietest of the trio—a rookie, still—hangs back to let the two more seasoned cops do the talking. Dane is cute, but in a very boy-next-door kind of way that doesn’t do much for me. Dominick is older than me, but only by six or seven years, if I had to guess, and he’s handsome in a mature way that boys my age have yet to achieve.
He’s big. Not Bigfoot big, like Marie’s husband, but tall enough and broad enough to make me feel petite, even at my above average height of five foot nine. His body is well-built, like he works out and takes care of himself, but there is a slight softness to him that says he enjoys pizza and beer on the weekends. He keeps his dark beard trimmed neatly and his head shaved on the sides with just enough length at the top to run his fingers through. If it wasn’t for his police uniform, I would assume he was in a biker gang with his intimidating appearance.
However, it’s his eyes that draw me in the most. They’re such a striking silver color, you’d almost swear he was a werewolf shifter from a fantasy romance novel. They’re the kind of eyes that scare young punks into confessing their crimes and stop all logical thoughts from existing in my brain if I stare into them too long. He has an aura about him that is calm and controlled, like he has an energy that is contained but so very dangerous when unleashed. Like the eye in the middle of a hurricane.
Eric leans his elbow on the counter while biting his bottom lip, giving me a once over. For a man in his forties, he’s attractive, with salt and pepper hair, laugh lines in the corners of his eyes and a neatly trimmed silver beard, but I’m not into that much of an age gap. I know he used to work with my grandfather on the force before he retired, and knowing that puts him squarely in “old man” territory for me. There’s no way he’s checking me out because I’m hot. It’s barely past 7 a.m., and I’ve been up for three hours already; the bags under my eyes could count as carry-on luggage. I’m wearing ripped jeans and a Brewed Awakening sweatshirt, and my curly hair frizzes into a halo, barely contained by the bandana I’m using to hold it back.
He’s doing it to get a rise out of Dominick. They seem to think he has a thing for me but won’t act on it. He doesn’t seem like the kind of guy who gets told no often or is too afraid to ask a woman out, so I’m not convinced of that theory. But I enjoy Dominick’s attention, so I play along, hoping maybe one day he will take the bait and ask me out.
“Darlin’, Dane and I’ll have the usual, and our boy Dom here will have a pumpkin spice latte, extra pumpkin.” Eric winks at me when I quirk an eyebrow at Dominick for his uncharacteristic order.
“You lose a bet or somethin’?” I ask as I key in their order and fight to control the smirk threatening to take over my lips.
Dominick rolls his eyes at Eric and mutters, “Or somethin’,’’ under his breath.
Eric’s broad face splits into a smile when he leans in like he’s going to let me in on some big secret.
“You see, Dom lost a bet last night at The Sip. There was a group of cute young girls throwing darts, and he seemed to think he could challenge them to a round and win. Easy pickin’s, right?” He side-eyes Dominick pausing for dramatic effect. I can’t help but notice the slight pinkening of Dominick’s ears when he looks away, trying to ignore Eric by engaging Dane in conversation about last night’s basketball game.
“Well, these Basic Sorority Barbies kicked his ass, and the wager was if they lost, they’d have to try a round of straight rotgut whiskey, and if he lost, he’d have to drink pumpkin spice lattes every morning for a month. I’m here to keep our boy honest, because we are officers of the law, and we uphold our end of a bargain.”
I lose my battle to contain a fit of giggles over Eric’s story. Doubling over in laughter, I turn to Marie and tell her, “Be sure to add extra pumpkin spice to that latte!” Spinning back to face the three men, I find Dominick looking at me with a strange intensity I’ve never experienced from him before. It pins me in place and makes me think he probably uses this look when intimidating a suspect into confessing. My mouth goes dry, my cheeks heating under his scrutiny. The words that come out of his mouth next steal the air from my lungs.
“If drinking a daily frou-frou coffee is the price I have to pay to hear your laugh, I’ll suffer it gladly.” His voice is husky, and a shiver races down my spine as my brain struggles to process the meaning behind his words. My eyes are locked with his, but at my periphery I see Eric backing away with a satisfied smirk on his lips. Pressing his advantage during my momentary stunned silence, Dominick leans in closer and asks, “Can I get your number, Serena?”
The moment turns awkward while I take too long to respond, still too stunned to answer his question. Dominick clears his throat and looks down at the counter, almost bashfully, as if he feels like he might have crossed a line. Marie fortunately comes to the rescue with a nudging me from behind with her baby bump, starling me out of my stupor. “Reenie, don’t leave the poor man hanging. He’s clearly already suffered a pumpkin-sized hit to his ego.” Marie places Dominick’s coffee on the counter, and he gives her an appreciative nod.
“Uh…um, yeah…sure.” I nod and stand there, hands hanging limply by my side, my brain still not entirely rebooted from the short circuit his question caused. Marie takes matters into her own hands, sliding my phone out from my back pocket, swiping her thumb over my lock screen (wait, how does she know my password?) before handing it to Dominick. He shoots her a grin before taking my phone and adding in his information. I hear a ringtone sound briefly from his pocket before it shuts off, and he returns my phone to me with a wink and a nod.
Marie finishes the transaction, while I stand off to the side, my brain still struggling to catch back up. I see Eric stuff a generous tip into the jar before the three police officers retreat, making room for the next customers in line. The morning rush is still in full swing, so I force myself to put my phone away without looking at it in case seeing his number on the screen causes another full body shutdown.
Two hours later, things have calmed down, and I’m getting ready to clock out so I can head to class. I finally chance a glance at my phone, and I see an outgoing call under “Tall, Dark and Pumpkin Spiced,” along with a few unread text messages from the same contact.
Tall, Dark and Pumpkin Spiced: Can I take you out for dinner sometime this week?
Tall, Dark and Pumpkin Spiced: This pumpkin spice thing isn’t so bad. Don’t tell the guys I said that.
Tall, Dark and Pumpkin Spiced: I’ve never been so happy to lose a bet.
Biting my lip, I type out a response, hoping I can recapture some cool points I might have lost when I had my little mind meltdown earlier.
Me: Your secret is safe with me. How about Thursday night? I work evenings on the weekend.
I don’t have to wait long for his response. It comes through so fast I can’t help but feel like he might’ve been staring at his phone, waiting for me to text back.