Callan
“Just get a coffee at the cafe,” I muttered to myself as I headed toward my truck, repeating the words my brother had said to me over the phone only an hour ago. “It’s quick and easy.”
I had run out of coffee at home, which I never let happen, so I’d headed to my parents’ house at Bottom of the Buckle Ranch without it. Figuring I’d just pour myself a cup there, I’d come to find, to my utter disappointment, that their coffee machine broke this morning.
Go figure.
So I’d called Lennon, my oldest brother, and he’d suggested Bell Buckle Brews. I stayed the hell away from cafes because the coffee was too damn fancy. Americano, espresso, latte, cappuccino, a fucking puppacino. All I wanted was black. Plain black coffee. Not some fancy shit with foamed up milk and syrups.
I loved my mom and little sister, Lettie, but even their hazelnut and caramel creamers made my nose sting.
I’m all for sweets, but drinking it in the form of coffee? That’s where they lost me.
Today was the first and last day I’d braved the coffee shop. It wasn’t the woman’s—Sage, according to her nametag—fault, but I didn’t want to be bombarded by chaos before I’d had any sort of caffeine. Though, her green eyes had been bright enough to pull me out of my exhaustion for a moment, her soft, pink lips a distraction from the craving of rich coffee.
Regardless of that, by nature, I was the nicest out of my four siblings, but that was only after coffee.
I was also typically a pretty patient person—I had to be with my job of teaching kids and teens how to ride horses. But it wasn’t even nine a.m., and I’d already been put through the ringer in a wild horse chase of trying to find a cup of joe, so when I’d stood behind the register for all of two minutes waiting for an employee, I took it into my own hands to go find them.
For all I knew, they were in the back smoking or something.
Then Sage had rammed into me, shattered an entire decanter of coffee, bumped heads with me, and refused to clean her cut, and my nice guy attitude snapped. I felt bad, and honestly, I should have walked back in there and apologized, but instead, my hand grabbed the handle of my truck and yanked open the door.
I drove in the direction of the small grocery store in town, hoping that they had coffee machines in stock. I wasn’t in the mood to drive back to my house with a new bag of coffee beans, make a cup, then head back to my parents’ ranch for work, so I was buying them a new machine.
A few minutes later, I pulled into the parking lot and pulled the keys out of the ignition with a bit too much force. I sat back against the seat, inhaling deeply to steady my racing heart.
It wasn’t the lack of coffee making me this irritable. It was being out in town.
I didn’t just overthink fancy coffee orders, I overthought everything. Every person in every store, if I should wave the guy ahead at the stop sign or go first, how easily accessible the parking lot was at any place.
Being home and on my parents’ ranch was where I felt most content, so I didn’t see the point in leaving either place often. Aside from groceries, the occasional visit to the bar, and diesel for my truck, I had no desire to be out in town. I loved helping my mom with events for her horse rescue, Bottom of the Buckle, but that was about as far as my social skills took me.
This may not be a popular opinion, but kids were easy to talk to, which is what made me love teaching them to ride. Every kid was always so overjoyed to sit on a horse, and I loved being the one to elicit those smiles on their faces.
On the contrary, attempting to make an adult smile was like pulling teeth, which was probably why my other brother, Reed, was so closed-off from everyone. Sure, I was caring and would do anything for those that I loved, but that held an expectation for me to be charismatic, too.
So often, I’d swallow down the anxiety that would crawl up my chest, land like a rock in my throat, and beat the hell out of my heart.
Smile and wave, isn’t that what they say?
It was basically my life motto at this point.
“Just one more store and you can go home,” I told myself before opening the truck door and heading inside the market.
“Good morning, Callan,” the lady behind the counter greeted as I tugged at the bottom of my shirt. It didn’t need fixing—my hands just needed something to do.
As small towns go, everyone knows everyone, but not me. With my rare appearance in town and mindset of get in and get out, I didn’t memorize people's faces. But people memorized mine, being a Bronson and all.
“Good morning,” I said back, to be polite. “Do you have any coffee machines by chance?”
The gray-haired woman nodded, the end of her short ponytail getting caught on her shoulder with the movement. “We actually have a few of the Keurig Elites if that’s what you're looking for.”
What the fuck was a Keurig?
“Yep, that’s the one. Which aisle is it down?” I asked.
“I’ll show you.” She came around the counter, leading me down an aisle that smelled similar to the cafe. “Right here.” She pointed to the boxes on the bottom row.
I bent, picking one up.
“Do you have pods for it?” she asked.
Pods?
“Uh, no,” I replied. What the fuck was a pod?
“I personally like this flavor,” she said as she reached for a bright blue box on the shelf.
“That’ll work."
“Did you have any other shopping to do?”
“Nope, just this.” Please just get me out of here.
She turned, heading back to the register. My thumb fiddled with the bottom corner of the box as I followed. She scanned the two products, then read off the total. After paying, I balanced the two items in my hands, thanked her, and headed for my truck.
“A Keurig?” a familiar voice asked from behind me as I was setting the boxes on the passenger seat in my truck.
