Cafe Owner - January 1st, 2018

It was the first morning of the new year, and my brain felt rusty. The wind was howling against the tin roof, making the whole trailer groan. In the big oak bed, I was a lump under the blanket.

A groan, followed by a series of breathy moans hit my ears. I didn't even need to open my eyes. Katrina was always so damn dramatic about waking up.

"Kat," I grunted, still thick with sleep. "Quiet down."

Her groaning stopped, but it was followed by an annoyed huff of air.

"It's called stretching," she shot back. "It's good for you."

I grunted again. I just wanted another ten minutes. Maybe twenty.

I felt a tug at the foot of the bed, and felt the blanket slowly being pulled off of my body. I let it happen for a second thinking it would stop, but the instant the cold air hit my bare legs, my eyes snapped open.

She stood at the foot of the bed, in her black silk robe, holding the blanket like a trophy. A smug little smile played on her lips. Her hair was a mess, a dark cloud of waves spilling over her shoulders.

"Katrina," I warned.

"You gonna get up, old man?" she teased.

With a growl that was more frustration than anger, I lunged at her, my bare feet finding purchase on the cool sheets. She let out a surprised yelp, trying to scramble backward, but she was too slow. My hands closed around her waist.

"Raj!" she laughed, the sound cutting through the morning gloom.

I pulled hard. She tumbled onto the bed, landing right beside me. I immediately rolled, using my weight to pin her beneath me.

Her laughter was warm against my neck as she struggled playfully, eventually her body yielded. "You brute," she breathed, but there was no heat in it. Her hands came up to rest on my shoulders, her fingers tracing the muscles there.

I finally propped myself up on my elbows, looking down at her. Her eyes were sparkling, her cheeks flushed from the brief struggle.

"Told you to be quiet," I rumbled, my mouth hovering just above hers.

"Or what?" she whispered, her lips parting slightly.

I lowered my head and kissed her. Her response was immediate, her arms wrapping around my neck, pulling me closer. Her tongue met mine, a slow dance that tasted of sleep.

Her fingers tightened in my hair, a soft gasp escaping her lips as I shifted my weight, pressing her more firmly into the mattress. The silk of her robe had fallen open, revealing her chest.

"Mm," she murmured against my lips. "Wait."

I buried my face in the crook of her neck, nuzzling the skin there, letting my beard scrape against her.

"Stop," she said, a little more firmly this time, though her hands betrayed her. "We have to open, and I still need to shower."

Reluctantly, I rolled off her, the cold rushing back into the space between us. She was right. Damn it.

She sat up, clutching her robe closed. "It's the first day of the year. Everyone's going to want a 'fresh start.'"

I grunted. I pushed myself up, swinging my legs over the side of the bed. The floorboards were cold under my bare feet. I stood, running a hand through my messy hair, trying to kickstart my brain.

"I'll cook breakfast," I said, my voice still rough. "You go get pretty."

She leaned over and pressed a quick kiss to my shoulder.

I watched her walk toward the bathroom, the sway of her hips under that silk robe made me want to jump her again. The bathroom door clicked shut, and a second later, I heard the hiss of the shower starting.

I padded over to the kitchen and made my way to the old gas stove, twisting the knob until blue flames flicked to life. From the fridge, I grabbed a carton of eggs, a package of bacon, and the half-empty jar of her homemade mango chili sauce.

The bacon sizzled, popping and curling into perfect pink ribbons. I cracked the eggs into the hot grease, listening to the satisfying sizzle as the whites set. I was cooking them sunny-side up, just how she liked them. A couple of slices of sourdough went into the toaster. I scraped the eggs onto two plates, added the bacon, and slathered the toast with butter. A generous dollop of her mango chili sauce on the side of her plate.

I was just pouring the coffee into two ceramic mugs when the bathroom door clicked open again. I listened to the soft pad of her bare feet.

I turned and looked at her.

The sleep was gone from her eyes. She'd put on makeup, something, or other done to her eyes, but my eyes were drawn to her full lips look even fuller. Her hair was pulled back into a bun.

She'd changed into a pair of high-waisted, navy pleated pants that showed off her long legs and a sleeveless knit top that clung to her curves.

"Someone's gussied up," I grunted, pushing a plate and a mug of coffee across the small table toward her.

She slid into her chair. "First impressions matter."

"First impressions for who? We know everyone." I took a seat opposite her, digging into my own plate of eggs.

"For the tourists," she said, picking up a piece of bacon. She took a bite of her bacon, her eyes closing in appreciation. "This is perfect, by the way."

I just grunted, chewing my own food. We ate in comfortable silence for a few minutes, the only sounds the scraping of our forks against the plates and the howl of the wind outside.

"Maya and Rohan face timed at midnight," she said, breaking the silence. She took a sip of her coffee, her eyes watching me over the rim of the mug.

"They did?"

"Mmm," she hummed, setting the mug down. "Wished us a happy new year. Maya was heading to a gallery for some event. Rohan was at some frat party, I think. He kept trying to turn the camera away."

I grunted, finishing my bite of bacon.

"They asked where you were," she continued.

"It had been a long day, Kat."

"Oh, I know," she said, her smile widening. "You were snoring by eleven. I had to roll you off my arm."

"I don't snore," I grumbled, stabbing at my eggs.

"You do," she insisted. "Like a bear."

I just shook my head, a faint smile touching my lips. I finished my eggs, washing it down with the last of my coffee. The caffeine was starting to kick in, pushing the fog out of my brain.

"Kids are good, then?" I asked, standing up and taking both our plates to the sink.

"They're good," she confirmed. "Said they'd try to visit in the spring. Maybe bring a friend."

I turned on the tap, the hot water steaming in the cold air of the kitchen. "A friend?"

"That's what they said," Katrina replied, coming to stand beside me, leaning her hip against the counter.

I rinsed the plates. "As long as they're not bringing any trouble."

"When have they ever brought home trouble?" she asked, nudging my shoulder with hers.

I grunted. "Don't jinx it."

She laughed. "Come on, old man. Let's go to work."

The second I stepped outside the trailer, after showering and getting dressed, the wind hit me right in the face. It stole the warmth right out of my jacket and bit at any exposed skin.

I walked around to the passenger side of my beat-up truck, and yanked the door open as Katrina slipped in, perching on the worn leather seat, her long legs tucked in. She'd thrown a wool coat over her outfit, and a bright red wool hat pulled down over her ears.

I walked over to the driver side, opening the door, getting in, and slammed the door shut, the whole frame moving. The key slid into the ignition as I gave it a turn. The engine sputtered, coughed, then roared to life.

I put the truck in drive and eased us out, the tires crunching on the gravel road. The drive into town was short. The world outside was a monochrome painting of grey and white, the evergreen trees heavy with snow.

We pulled up behind the café, parking in our usual spot. The back door was covered in a thin layer of frost.

Katrina was already out of the truck, her red hat a bright splash of colour against the grey. She fumbled with the keys, her fingers stiff from the cold, before finding the right one and shoving it into the deadbolt.

She flipped a switch, and the single bare bulb in the back hallway flickered on. I watched her disappear inside, her movements already purposeful. She knew this routine better than I did.

I followed her in, letting the door slam shut behind me, the sound echoing in the empty space. I shrugged off my coat, hanging it on the hook by the door, my boots tracking a fine layer of snow. Katrina was already at the service bar, her coat gone, her fingers flying over the controls of the La Marzocco. The machine sputtered and groaned, then let out a hum as it began to heat up.

"Office," I grunted.

She looked up, a stray lock of hair escaping her bun and falling across her cheek. She pushed it away with the back of her wrist, her hands already dusted with coffee grounds. "Don't get lost in there," she said. "We've got paying customers to impress."

"I'll just be a minute," I rumbled, turning away.

The door closed behind me with a solid click. The walls were lined with shelves overflowing with spare parts, invoices in mismatched folders, and a collection of mugs from places we'd never visit.

I sank into the creaky leather chair, the springs groaning in protest. I pulled the keyboard closer, the plastic cool under my fingers. The monitor flickered to life, casting a blue glow on my face. A spreadsheet was already open, the numbers of two years were neatly arranged.

Two years.

It felt like a lifetime and a blink, all at once. I remembered the night she brought it up. We were sitting in the living room of our Vancouver house. The twins had just left. Rohan for Stanford, Maya for some art college in London. Her friends aunt, some woman I'd met twice was selling a café in a town called Fernie.

"It's a sign, Raj," she'd said, her eyes bright with a desperate energy I hadn't seen before. "We can't just… stay in this big, empty house. We'll be those people."

"Those people have a paid-off house, Kat."

"We can sell it," she'd insisted, stopping in front of me, her hands on my knees. "We can buy the café. We can start something new."

So I sold my half of the construction company I started with one of my friends. We sold the house. We packed up our lives and drove ten hours east into the mountains.

I stared at the spreadsheet. It was always tight. There was always something that required a lot of money to fix, or didn't bring in enough money. A leaky pipe one month, a slow tourist season the next. The worst of all was the kids tuition. We were haemorrhaging cash.

Through the thin walls, I could hear the hiss of the milk steamer, the grind of the beans. I could hear her moving. I'd done this for her, and I think she was happy. That was enough for me, most days.

I ran a hand over my face, the beard rough against my palm. I could hear the front door of the café open, and a cheerful greeting from Katrina.

I pushed myself out of the chair, and ran a hand through my hair, trying to make myself look presentable. I unlocked the door and stepped back into the warmth of the café.

The rich aroma hit me immediately. The main floor was still empty, the morning light weak and grey as it struggled through the front windows. Katrina was leaning against the service bar, a warm smile on her face.

Standing in front of her, shrugging off a coat, was Sophia.

"Honestly, this place is my lifeblood," Sophia was saying.

Katrina laughed. "You're a dramatic one, you know that? And it's your day off."

Sophia tossed her coat onto the back of a nearby armchair. "I came for a fix. And to see my best girl, of course."

She stepped forward, wrapped her arms around Katrina's neck, and kissed her.

I just stood there by the office doorway, my hands shoved into my pockets.

Sophia's gaze shifted over Katrina's shoulder, landing squarely on me.

"Well, well," she purred. "Speak of the devil and he shall appear grumpy."

Katrina turned, her smile softening as she saw me. She gestured for me to come over. "He was just in the back."

Sophia arched an eyebrow. "All that brooding just to stare at a screen? What a waste."

I grunted, walking the few steps to the bar. "It's how we keep the lights on."

She leaned her elbows on the counter, propping her chin in her hands. Her sleeve of flower tattoos shifted with the movement. "But do you have to look so serious while you're doing it? It wrinkles your handsome face."

Katrina rolled her eyes, but she was smiling. She reached under the counter and pulled out a small cup. "Ignore her. What do you want? Your usual?"

"Please," Sophia said.

Katrina tamped the grounds, locked the portafilter into the machine, and hit the button. A rich stream of espresso began to fill the cup.

"So," Sophia began, turning her attention back to Katrina. "How was your New Year's?"

"Raj was asleep by eleven, I had a quiet celebration."

Sophia let out a laugh. "Poor thing. All that man and no stamina."

"He's got stamina," Katrina said. "Just not for watching the ball drop."

Katrina finished the Americano, sliding it across the counter to Sophia. She took a sip, her eyes closing in appreciation. "Perfect. As always."

A gust of cold wind announced the arrival of our first customers. The bell above the door jingled, and two snowboarders, bundled up in their gear, stomped inside, their boots leaving wet tracks on the floor.

"Mornin'," one of them said, pulling off his beanie.

Katrina's entire demeanour shifted. "Good morning! What can I get for you two to warm you up?"

I watched her work. She took their order, her smile never faltering, and turned back to the machine.

I pushed myself off the counter. I had my own work to do. "I'm going to the store," I grunted to Katrina.

She glanced over her shoulder. "Grab the list from the back. We need more oat milk, and the cinnamon is almost out."

I nodded, grabbing my coat from the hook. I heard Katrina laughing at something one of the snowboarders said.

I pulled open the door and stepped out into the cold.