The whole cafe went eerily silent as she walked in the door.
It didn’t bother her so much. Once quick sweep and she saw that she was safe; anyone Tommy sent would stick out like a sore thumb. Besides, she was used to the attention. One of the reasons she was such a success as a prima ballerina was her love of the stage. She was a born showman who lived to entertain. Then, when she started to date Tommy exclusively, the pictures were plastered all over. She couldn’t go anywhere in the city without someone knowing who she was.
The difference in Hamlet was that everyone knew her—but no one actually did. No internet and no television meant that Grace Delaney was just another outsider. Tommy Mathers had no power here. He might suspect she was hiding out in town—how, how did he know?—but it wouldn’t be as easy as snapping his fingers and hoping she fell in line.
That’s why Pope was out, talking to the locals, asking about places to stay. No doubt he’d be scouting out the Hamlet Inn, hoping for a chance to get at her. So long as he never learned about Ophelia, she would be safe. Secure.
The inside of the coffeehouse was comfy. Cozy. A row of booths lined up along the wall. Circular tables made for groups of three, maybe four, scattered across the warm wooden floor; the tabletops were a rich blue, the chairs a striking white. Each table had a ceramic container of with sugars bursting out the top, plus a small bowl with creamers set beside it.
Grace took a deep breath. The rich scent of strongly brewed coffee filled her senses and she shuddered on her exhale. Caffeine. She was already jittery and anxious. If she was lucky, the coffee might help her focus, since there was no way in hell she was going to calm down anytime soon.
The second booth on the left was empty. She slipped inside, plopping her bag on the seat beside her. It held her wallet, a book, and the copies she made at Jefferson’s.
The coffee smell was strong and almost overpowering. But, just underneath it, she caught a whiff of something else. Something sweet. Something greasy, too. Glancing around, she looked at some of the locals. A few had the decency to glance away when she caught their eye, though most of them continued to watch her shamelessly. Grace ignored them, focusing on the plates set in front of the guests.
Nearly everyone had the same mug that they were drinking from: a white mug with dark blue letters stamped on the side. But while some of them were nibbling on baked goods—she saw scones, muffins, danishes—others were chowing down on burgers and fries. With their coffee.
That… that was weird. And, okay, maybe they had a soft drink in the mug. She couldn’t tell and she wasn’t about to ask. The burger was weird enough. She understood the baked goods; every time she stopped at her local cafe back in the city, they always had an array of treats for sale. A hamburger, though?
Yeah. Hamlet was super strange. And every time she thought she’ was growing accustomed to it, something like this happened.
Even weirder?
She hadn’t been sitting against the plastic curve of the booth for even two minutes when a woman came bursting out of the door marked EMPLOYEE’S ONLY. She was probably in her late thirties, with her honey-colored hair swept up in a large knot pierced with two pencils and her light brown eyes shining with excitement as she headed in a beeline right for Grace’s table.
“Hi, there. You must be Grace Delaney, Maria’s new guest. It’s so nice to meet you. I’ve been wondering when you’d make your way down to the coffeehouse.”
As if the introduction broke the spell, the silence shattered and muted conversations, clanking silverware, and slurping sips of coffee filled the air around her.
Grace smiled up at the woman. She wore a burgundy apron wrapped around her waist, and a nametag on her left boob that said her name was Adrianna. Pushing aside her lingering anxiousness, she tried to be friendly. “You too, Adrianna,” she said.
“Wha—oh. The name tag. I always forget I put one on since Lord knows no one in town is a stranger here. You go on and call me Addy if you like. Most everyone else does. Now, what can I get you?’
“Coffee would be great.”
“We only got one size here. The old DC&C mugs. I’m maybe a touch sentimental—my Gus was after me to throw them out after we changed the name over, but I threatened him with my rolling pin. Have you met Gus yet?”
“Um. No. I don’t think I have.”
Addy pointed toward the door. “He’s over in the main house. Late lunch rush, right? Or maybe it’s early supper. Wait a second—oh, shoot. Did I forget to bring you a menu?” Her hand flew up to her hair, patting the back of the knot. Grace wasn’t sure why, since as big as Addy’s hair was, she didn’t think she could have a menu tucked up in there. “I swear, if my head wasn’t screwed onto my shoulders, I’d be looking for it half the time. I’m sorry. I don’t usually take the orders, but...”
Grace understood. It was like the boutique all over again. There were three women who worked there and each one wanted the honor—seriously, they called it the honor—of working on the outsider. Isabella, as the owner, took the job and, while she did an amazing job, Grace felt like she’d gone through an even thorough interrogation than the one Sylvester put her through.
All she wanted was coffee. And, with the beginning of a strained grin, she told Addy so.
“How do you take it? Black? Light and sweet? Sugar’s on the table with those little creamers. People just love those! But I’ve got half and half and milk in the small kitchen, too, if that’s your poison.”
For a second, Grace thought about asking if there was any hazelnut syrup, or even some cinnamon, but decided against it. She was beginning to think that the name the coffeehouse was as literal as you can get.
Still, Grace was a little hopeful. “Can I have that with almond milk?”
“Almond milk?” Addy repeated. She had a pug nose. It wrinkled notably as she tilted her head, confused. “Like from the nut? How’s that even possible?”
“Never mind. Skim is fine.” Grace hesitated. “You have skim milk, right?”
“Sure do. I’ll bring you out some with your first mug. And if you change your mind about eating? I’ve got some cranberry scones working. Perfect for the season, and damn delicious, if I do say so myself. And I do, ‘cause I made them.”
With a soft chuckle, Addy tapped the top of Grace’s table with the flat of her hand, then walked away. One or two of the locals called out refill orders as she bustled back to the EMPLOYEE’S ONLY door. Addy greeted them all by name, laughing and smiling and talking a mile a minute with each one as she swept past them.