Chapter 7 -Lottie

Today is my third day living in Snowberry, and I've decided I want to take a look around. When Ginger gave me her tour, I saw a few stores that looked appealing, especially the secondhand/antique store. I'm ninety-five percent sure I saw instruments in there, and I would pay anything for a guitar right now. Strumming fingers are good in a pinch, but nothing can replace the sound of an acoustic guitar.

After burning my coffee and toast and settling for a cold bowl of cereal, I decided my first task would be to hunt down real coffee in the local coffee shop, The Ugly Mug . The bakery across the street also has coffee but focuses on baked goods like pastries, cakes, and cookies. It serves only basic brewed coffee but a wider variety of teas, or so Ginger told me. whereas The Ugly Mug apparently makes all and more than a Starbucks.

Parking in the lot next to Dottie's, I take off on my adventure to discover more of the town and find the heavenly bliss that is espresso. I really need coffee; I don't feel like myself without it. With my trusty Polaroid hanging on my shoulder, I straighten my spine and, with my head held high, walk confidently toward the smell of roasting coffee beans.

The Ugly Mug is the coolest coffee house I've ever been in. Nothing matches— at all— and I love it. The chairs don't match the tables, and the tiles lining the half wall surrounding the brewing area are different from each other, creating a chaotic but somehow cohesive design.

At least a hundred mismatched mugs hang on racks along the wall leading to the order counter. Above the first rack are painted instructions reading: Pick a mug and a bean, then take a seat and let it steam.

I suppose a good portion of them would be considered "ugly" by normal standards. Even though I think they're all rather amazing. There's one shaped like a donut with a hole in the center. One with tentacle legs that look like the mug would balance on them when sitting on a tabletop. One that has to be hand-painted by a toddler of what looks like people. Then I spot the one I'll be using today, a pink dinosaur with gold stars for spots on its spikey body. I think it's a T-Rex, but like a squatty chunky one. It's molded so the body of the dino is the majority of the cup. If I set it down on a table, it would look like it's sitting on its butt, the tail curling around to form the handle and a cute, rounded head protruding from the opposite side of the rim. It's perfect.

Picking my perfect "ugly" mug, I walk up to the order counter and slide my pink dino over to the guy behind the register. He picks it up and inspects it with a soft smile.

"This is a good one. If I remember correctly, it's from the Natural History Museum in London."

"What? Really?"

"Yeah, I'm pretty sure." The man looks at me, and his grin grows into a wide beaming smile. "You're the new girl in town. Lottie, right?"

Wow. Ginger was right. Word spreads fast here.

"Yup, that would be me."

"Well, welcome to Snowberry and the Ugly Mug , where every mug is an adventure. Each mug we have is unique and was collected from all over the world by the owner. When his collection grew too large, he decided to put them to good use by creating a coffee shop. Because no mug should go unused."

The boyishly handsome barista, who looks to be around my age, gives a flourishing wave of his arm to the coffee shop around us with a megawatt smile that should be on a toothpaste ad. The white apron looped around his neck is painted across the front with his name in a very colorful and intricate pattern spelling out Tobias. It looks hand-painted, and when I glance at the other employees behind him, theirs are different and specific to them as well.

"That's pretty amazing. I've never seen such a place like this before. And if your coffee tastes as good as it smells, I'll probably be here every single day."

"Well, we look forward to seeing you every day. My name is Tobias, and I'm pretty much always here or at my husband's family greenhouse. If you're in need of the most beautiful flowers you've ever seen, you should check out Daisy's . Or if you just want to take a stroll through the gardens, you're welcome to do that as well."

Is this a normal small-town thing to be so friendly and open, or is it just a Snowberry thing? Either way, I am loving Luna more and more with every moment I spend here.

"A nursery with gardens? Wow. I didn't know this town had something like that."

"Absolutely. Daisy, my sister-in-law, runs the greenhouse and nursery. She has a literal green thumb. If you ever have a free afternoon, swing by and check it out."

It's been so long since I've taken a stroll through a public park or garden that I can't even remember the last time I did so. There were perfectly manicured lawns and flowerbeds behind the mansion back in L.A., but even there, I had someone watching over me like a hawk. Security guards posted at either end, seemingly for my protection from outsiders getting in, but it always felt as if my mother had them there to make sure I couldn't get out.

Now, however, that isn't the case. I make my schedule, and it's wide open.

"All my afternoons are free. So, I most certainly will. Now, about this amazing coffee I keep smelling."

Making friends is definitely on my to-do list, but coffee is number one. After I'm well caffeinated, he is more than welcome to tell me his life story.

"Of course. Let's see what we have."

Tobias picks up my mug and inspects it between alternating glances my way. He seems to be figuring something out. I have no idea what he's doing but wait until he's ready to take my order. Which if he doesn't do soon, I might die.

"This is a good pick. You know you can tell a lot about a person based on the mug they pick."

"Really?" I ask. I didn't know mug divination was a thing.

"Absolutely. It's like a window into a person's personality and mood. For instance, this is my first time ever meeting you, but based on your cup choice, it is a great one; by the way, I can tell you're in a good mood today. That you're artistic and creative, have a silly sense of humor, and like pretty things just because they're pretty. You also like animals of the unusual or extinct variety."

I laugh because he's pretty dead on with his assumptions. Even though I haven't had a pet since I was a child, I've always loved animals of all kinds.

"You're really good at that. Is it a skill you were born with or learned?"

He shrugs and grins, his dark emerald eyes sparkling. Again, with the sparkling? I wonder if he's related to Becca over at Dottie's. Maybe it's a family trait.

"A bit of both. It's not as good as my ability to discern exactly what coffee you need."

"Need?" I question with one raised eyebrow.

I mean, I completely agree that I need coffee to function, but how would he know what I need ?

"Yes. Although everyone has their signature coffee order, that's not always what they need ."

There's something about Tobias, such as his relaxed posture and knowing gaze, that makes him appear wiser than any barista should be. It is as if he has aged wisdom gained through years of life experiences. Making him feel like a man far older than the mid-twenties he looks.

Curious to see if his coffee-discerning abilities are as on par as his mug divination, I give in and ask the question I know he's waiting for.

"Okay, I'll bite. What do I need today?"

Tobias squints his eyes and pinches his lips as he contemplates with a perceptive glint in his eye. "Today, you need something familiar but with a little extra sweetness to go with that pep in your step. A hot coffee to match the warmth already settling in your chest. You need something cozy but fresh. A latte with skim milk and a drizzle of caramel."

I'm stunned momentarily silent. No one has ever pinpointed what I needed so accurately. Everyone always focused on what others wanted and demanded, not what I needed. It may only be a coffee order, but Tobias has paid more attention to me in these five minutes than my mother has in the past ten years.

Trying to keep myself from crying like a lunatic because of a coffee order, I force a light laugh and smile, shaking away the weird sensation of finally being seen so that I can refocus on placing my drink order.

"Holy shit, you're psychic."

"Not psychic, but I do what I can."

The aged wisdom appearance transforms back into his boyish demeanor, and he once again becomes the perky barista he first was when I entered.

Setting my pink T-rex mug next to the espresso machine, he rings me up, and I pay.

Standing at the pick-up counter, I wait for this magical latte, watching the few patrons enjoying their own magical coffees. When Tobias hand delivers my pink T-rex mug, he stands waiting for me to take my first sip. When I do, I think my brain shuts off. It's that good. He gives me an I told you so wink and grin before returning to the register to help a waiting customer.

My pink T-rex mug and I take a seat at a table by the window with a view of the street beyond. I take a Polaroid of my T-rex coffee sitting on the colorful little table and add it to my growing collection in my notebook. Thumbing through the ones I've taken along this crazy journey into independence.

Considering all my recent experiences, I feel a little guilty about abandoning my fans, but I know if I were to tell any of them why I left, they would agree with me.

One of the photos stands out among the stack. One with a creature that should appear fearsome but only looks curious and a bit cuddly. I stare at it far too long as I sip my coffee. Wondering where he came from and why he was so docile and friendly. Maybe he's been around the town for years and grown familiar with humans? Even knowing he could possibly be a violent beast that could easily tear my throat out, I still want to see the wolf again. His fur was soft and blacker than a starless night. The picture doesn't do him justice; I need to take another one. Closer up to get the distinct brightness of those sapphire eyes against his black fur.

Finishing my coffee, I return the mug and wave goodbye to Tobias as I exit the coffee shop. My insides are nice and toasty, warm from the latte and the new friend I made. Crossing the street, I pass by Sticky Buns , the bakery that smells sweet enough to give me a cavity just from smelling it, and then Tall Tail Books , which also has its own unique smell of leather and paper. A store for another day. Finally, I make my way to Another Man's Junk on the other side of one empty storefront.

The bell overhead jingles and announces my entry when I step through the front door. The store is filled with a plethora of unique furniture laid out to create a pathway around the store. Sturdy wooden shelves hold a plethora of objects. Items ranging from ceramic figurines and dolls to Tiffany lamps and all manner of nick knacks, and to my great pleasure instruments.

"Hello and welcome to Another Man's Junk ; how can I help you find your treasure today?"

I'm greeted by a middle-aged woman with a large smile and a cardigan made up of crocheted squares with fish and shell patterns. Her chestnut hair is neatly braided and hanging long down her back.

"Hi. I was hoping to find a guitar if you have one."

"Well, of course, I have a few. Come on back this way, and I'd be glad to show you."

She waves for me to follow and starts twining her way through the store.

"I don't recall ever seeing you in town before. Are you new?"

Are strangers in town really that unusual? Do these people all have eidetic memories or something? Next, I expect to hear "I never forget a face" out of someone's mouth.

"Yes. just got here a few days ago."

"Well, that's wonderful. Do you plan on staying long?"

I have a feeling I'm going to repeat myself a few times before the day is over. It seems like every person I meet is going to ask me this. So, I decide to just get all the info out at once and avoid the back-and-forth.

"A few months. I'm renting a cabin from Ginger, or I suppose Hunter, actually. I'm Lottie."

"It's nice to meet you, Lottie. I'm Shanna. I am the owner and know every single item in this store. So, if you need anything, you just ask."

"Will do. Thank you, Shanna."

She continues chatting about the things she has in the store that I might be interested in, but my attention isn't on her words. Shiny objects catch my eye as I pass by displays, but none more interesting than the beauty of a holy grail sitting perched on a stand in the corner.

Surrounded by two other far less interesting guitars, the object of my every musical wet dream stares back at me, and I think I may be dreaming right now because there's no way one of the most sought-after guitars in the world is sitting untouched in a store in the literal middle of nowhere town. Although, that could very well be exactly why it is here.

"Is that . . . a pre-war Martin?"

The words barely escape my mouth, and I am in utter shock and disbelief. I must be hallucinating. Tobias must have slipped something more than just caramel into my latte. If this is what I think it is, this guitar is worth thousands of dollars—at an auction with the right bidders, possibly more.

"You have a good eye. That it is. Nineteen thirty-seven, to be exact. Only ever had one owner."

My feet carry me towards the Martin and as I get closer, I notice the intricately carved designs on the neck and head that I've only ever seen in photos. I wanted to purchase one in the past but just never got the opportunity.

"Can I touch it?" I ask like a child not wanting to get my fingerprints on a freshly cleaned glass window.

"Of course, you can. Take it for a spin. I make sure to keep all my instruments cleaned and tuned so customers can test them out before purchasing."

The wood is smooth, and the frets are cool to the touch when I pick up the guitar and hold it like a Fabergé egg. There's a strap attached, and I sling it over my head and let it settle against my hip.

"It's beautiful, almost in mint condition. Where did you find it?"

"It actually belonged to my father. He bought it brand new. Played it for years but has since moved on to other hobbies and no longer uses it. Is there something special about it?"

An incredulous chuckle rumbles in my chest.

"Oh yeah. Pre-war Martins are extremely rare and sought after for their perfection, for lack of a better word. There were only so many made, and collectors have been hunting for them for years. I've always wanted one, but—"

My sentence cuts off short when her words sink into my brain past the fog of wonder.

"Did you say your dad bought this guitar? Brand new?"

"Yes."

"In nineteen thirty-seven?"

With a cocked head, my brow furrows, and I stare at her questioningly. I suppose her father might have been alive then, which would put him in his nineties if he had been the one to purchase it as a grown man and not an infant. But she looks to be in her late thirties or early forties, so it's unlikely her father would be that old.

"Hmm?" she turns to look at me and startles. "Oh. Did I say father? I meant grandfather. It was my grandfather's. He was the reason I got into collecting and selling antique items."

"Oh. Okay."

What else am I supposed to say? You're lying? You said father, not grandfather? I don't know her; maybe she just misspoke.

"So, how do you like it? Is it what you were looking for?"

All mention of fathers and grandfathers is forgotten as I gush over the acoustic guitar in my arms. Strumming across the strings, I play a tune that's been rolling in my head for a while now but wasn't something the studio wanted to produce. They always wanted upbeat pop songs, not lovesick ballads that speak to how truly lonely I was . . . am.

"Yes. It is exactly what I am looking for. I'll take it."

"Wonderful."

Handing over the guitar to Shanna, she takes it to the counter to hold while I look around the rest of the store. Although there are many nice things, I don't need any of them. With the guitar, I'll have everything I could ever need.

Returning to the register counter, I pay for the guitar of my dreams and wish that my father could be here to see it and hear me play on the guitar, which I only know about because of him. The price for the guitar is far less than it should be, but when I offer to pay more, Shanna just brushes me off and won't take a penny more than the price on the tag.

I step out of the store with a guitar case in my hand and a smile so wide it hurts my cheeks.