Finding Love in a Coffee Shop

Decaf

"So the owner of the house still hasn't been in to see the damage?" Dustin asked as he pulled into our driveway, paying more attention to the half-burned house than to how close he was getting to the garage.

"Breaks," I said, and he slammed his foot down on the pedal. Jerking forward, I braced my hands against the dash before my seatbelt could lock and choke me. "Easy!"

Dustin gave me a sheepish look. "Sorry, sorry. But that house. Hasn't anyone notified the owner?"

"Maybe. But he or she obviously doesn't care. They're never there anyway," I mentioned, sliding out of the jeep and into the cool December air. "It's been a week and a half. If they did care, they would've stopped by already."

"I'd care," he muttered, tossing the keys to me. "Nice house. Bet they would have had Thanksgiving there. A good one."

I shot him a wary look. "Our Thanksgiving was fine."

"Yeah, totally normal. You know, with our whole family and such," he replied sarcastically, but it wasn't anger his words were laced with. "Dad didn't even call..."

"Does he ever?" I retorted. "Whatever, at least we ate Turkey. And you ate pie. All the pie."

The tension in my brother broke and he grinned. "Well, you didn't ask me to save you a piece."

I rolled my eyes before turning to face my neighbor's house. It was wrecked. The fire had consumed half of the top floor and the roof, allowing sunlight into the top few rooms. There wasn't much to see though; blackened furniture, blackened and peeling walls... it was all burned and destroyed. Definitely not livable anymore. Fortunately, the bottom floors had been saved, but I figured the support wouldn't be enough, and it would collapse soon. Unless the owner fixed it up before then.

"Oh, hey," Dustin said suddenly, pausing at the top step. "Totally forgot, but I was invited to a friend's party tonight. I'll have a ride there, and I'd just sleepover so you don't have to get me at night. If that's cool with you."

"Party?" I echoed, raising an eyebrow. "Like, bonfire party? Basement party?"

"Bonfire," he informed me solemnly. "And no, there won't be alcohol. No drugs. You know my friends and I aren't into that."

And I knew Dustin wouldn't lie to me, so there wasn't much room for doubt. "Yes, I know. But people get curious. ."

"Last time I got curious you gave me a black eye."

"You were fourteen," I defended. "Who even buys a fourteen-year-old alcohol?"

Dustin gestured for me to unlock the house. I did and we entered, nearly being knocked over by Sherlock who tried to escape to the outside world. Before he could get one paw out the door, I had him in my arms, cradling his body to my chest. "It's too dangerous out there for you, and you're too dangerous for the environment," I scolded gently and closed the door, trapping him inside. "Sorry."

"What a life. Cooped up in the house all day," Dustin sighed. "His name's Sherlock. Surely he'd be smart enough not to get killed."

"Sherlock's a fictional character for humans, Dustin. Not cats."

He shrugged. "Still brilliant."

"Whatever." Placing the squirming Sherlock on the ground, I went into the kitchen, heading straight for the fridge. After opening it and peering inside, I closed it again, unable to find anything appetizing. A few seconds later I opened it again, frowning deeply.

"Nothing's going to magically appear in there, you know," Dustin called as he walked into the living room.

Grumbling under my breath, I closed it. Yes, I knew that, but it didn't mean I couldn't look. Sighing, I followed my brother into the living room, where he had already claimed control of the television. I flopped down on one of the armchairs, plucking absentmindedly at the black velvet covering. "What time are you leaving for the party?" I asked Dustin.