Stella was nodding her head before the woman could even finish. “Please, yes. That sounds amazing.”
She had always liked watching baristas make coffee. It was both an art form and a science. Measuring ingredients precisely and heating them to the right temperature without burning anything. It was steaming and foaming and brewing, and then pouring carefully to create art, both with the foam on top and with the mix of flavors and syrups and ingredients. Some people were snobs about their coffee—strong and black or bust—but Stella had always been partial to the sweeter drinks. She couldn’t make those at home, so that was what she wanted to spend her money on when she was out and about.
While she waited, the bell above the door behind her announced more customers. A group of women around Stella’s age came in, and the woman behind the counter turned and waved. “Uh-oh! Here comes trouble!”
“You know me, Vivienne. I only make trouble when I don’t get my coffee. Give me caffeine, and you’re safe.” The woman was dressed in paint-splattered jeans and a loose T-shirt. Her dark hair was pulled back into a bun, but there was a streak of gray hair at her temple left down to frame her face.
Her friends, dressed similarly, laughed and put in their own orders. All of them got iced coffees to go plus two carafes of black coffee.
“Are you all heading to the theater again?” Vivienne asked.
They nodded, and the shortest woman with a blonde bob struck a pose. “Gorgeous actresses and painters, the lot of us. Have you ever seen a more talented group?”
Stella leaned forward. “I’m sorry, but are you all working at the theater? With Tasha Baldwin? Because that’s where I’m headed right now.”
“You know Tasha?” Vivienne asked, showing Stella the heart on top of her latte before snapping a lid on top and setting it next to the croissant on the counter. “She and I have been best friends for years.”
“My name is Stella Pierce. I’m staying at her family’s inn for the weekend.”
The woman with the gray streak held out her hand. “Welcome to the crew, then. I’m Pam, AKA Mrs. Anna Smith. And these two are Barb and Cheri.” The blonde woman raised her hand to identify herself as Cheri, which meant the curvy brunette must be Barb. “These two are extras for the party scene and on the trolley.”
“Mrs. Anna Smith?” Stella ran through her limited knowledge of plays and musicals and came up empty.
“Did Tasha not tell you what play we’re doing? It’s Meet Me in St. Louis.”
Stella frowned. “The Christmas movie with Judy Garland?”
Barb laughed. “Don’t get Tasha started. Her boyfriend and our fearless codirector, Eddie Green, has been insistent that Meet Me in St. Louis is a winter play, not summer or fall, but Tasha says, ‘One Christmas song does not a Christmas movie make.’ At this point, we are all so excited about the selection that we don’t care either way, but Tasha is passionate about it.”
Cheri raised her hand like a kid in school. “My question is how she roped in a tourist to help with the play. No offense, of course—we accept any and all help we can get—but you’ll be the first tourist to ever be on the crew.”
Stella gave the women the condensed version, explaining that she was stranded for the weekend until her car was repaired. “She saw me painting this morning and asked if I’d want to help with set design.”
“The woman is shameless,” Vivienne laughed and set a drink tray filled with coffee on the counter. “She tried to rope me into being in her play, too, but we all need to know the limits of our talents, right? I can run a business and make a killer latte, but I’ll leave acting and singing to her and all of you.”
“I’m just a painter,” Stella clarified.
Vivienne held up her hands in defeat. “You’re still more artistic than I am.”
The older women ganged up on Vivienne, insisting she had a hidden well of talent she just hadn’t tapped into yet. “You’d make a beautiful extra, if nothing else. The trolley scene is full of people without a stitch of talent,” Cheri said. “Take me, for example. This is my theater debut.”
When Tasha asked Stella to help with the play, Stella had assumed she’d be working with young people. Maybe some teenagers from the local high school and other young adults like Tasha. She couldn’t explain why exactly, but she was surprised to see people her age involved, too. Delighted, but surprised.
After Vivienne declined several more offers to join the cast, she shooed all four women out of the shop with threats of not supplying their morning caffeine buzz if they didn’t stop pestering her.
“You wouldn’t dare.” Pam narrowed her eyes, a suppressed smile playing on her lips.
Vivienne arched her brow in gleeful defiance. “Don’t test me.”
That threat alone was enough to send the women on their way, and since they were all headed to the same place, Stella followed them out.
She took the first drink of her latte out on the sidewalk and felt the urge to turn around immediately and insist Vivienne was in fact very artistic. The Michelangelo of coffee, even. Because the latte was pure heaven. It was sweet and creamy with a punch of brightness from the coconut. By far the best latte Stella ever had. The joy of it must have been written on her face because Barb laughed and nudged her with her elbow.
“If you think that’s good, take a bite of the croissant.”
Stella obeyed and was met with a bite of flaky, pillowy, creamy deliciousness. The almond cream inside was the best thing Stella had ever tasted, and she was prepared to buy it by the vat to put on every dessert she ever baked from
