Carpe Bead'em by Tonya Kappes Read Free Book Online Page A

the
same thing.  
    I take a closer look at his scribble.
    Maybe I should take it to one of those
hand writing analysis people. I know they will say something like, “the way he
dotted the ‘I’ in Hallie shows he’s really in love with you.”
    I laugh at the idea, but stop. What if I
do take it to a handwriting analyst? My spirits lift and I run my finger
slightly over his name. Bo.   I already miss running behind him. I
dreamily fall asleep, visualizing the back of his head.
     
    I haven’t sleep this good in years. I
stretch my arms, ready to stick to my commitment—the marathon.
    Jogging in Hyde Park Square more
distracting than the city. There are many more boutiques, restaurants and bars
than I remembered. I spend more time window-shopping than jogging.
    I throw my hands in the air when my
mouth begins to water at the Café Beginnings Coffee Shop sign. It is just
around the corner from the house, which is dangerous.
    “You new to the area?” the barista asks when I walked in .
    “Not really. Well sort of.” I hesitate,
torn by conflicting emotions.
    I know if I’m confused, she’s confused.
She flings her straight brown hair out of the way of her glasses. I wonder if
she is trying to figure out if I’m a nut off the street or just nuts.
    “I’m from the west side.” I make my cute
little gangster “west side” gesture which doesn’t get a smile out of her.
    “But moved to Chicago after college. Now
I’m back here for three months. For work.”
    “ Okay , welcome back.” She put her
hand over top the counter for me to shake. “Addy, barista and fellow transplant.
I knew I hadn’t seen you before. Everyone stops in to get a cup or just say hi.
As we say here at Café Beginnings: Here's a cup that honors the hands of a
farmer, the craft of an artisan roaster, and the distinguished tastes of our
patrons. We welcome you to Café Beginnings. As you sit, sip, and savor, or
grab, go, and guzzle, our wish is that you too enjoy your part of the story.”
    Damn! Even if the coffee isn’t good,
her speech sure sold me on coming back.
    She finds out every single detail about
me in minutes ,
it seems to be her gift. I can’t tell you one thing about her. She introduces me to every single person
that walks through her door. “This is Hallie from Chicago.” She emphasizes the a in Chicago.
    Not only is the coffee good, the
atmosphere is awesome. The green clap board house beckons you to sip coffee
from the front porch as you watch the pedestrians stroll by.  Patrons sit on the deck or out on the patios
discussing their plans for the day. Another couple is catching up on the week’s activities while some
read the paper or simply enjoy their coffee.
    I want to explore more of Hyde Park. As
a teenager, you couldn’t have paid me to go in Hyde Park Square. Now I’m
excited about living, however temporarily,  less than a mile away.
    The square is busy with the shop owners
putting out their wares out on the outside in front of their stores. The doors
are open and inviting. Everyone says good morning as I pass. This is something
you don’t see in Chicago.
    I can’t believe this is something I miss
about living here. I was so busy trying to get on with my life when I moved to
Chicago, I didn’t even pay attention until now .
     
    Trees in full bloom line both sides of
the square’s center and frame the wood park benches. The fountain gurgles with
water spewing from a stone panther’s mouths.
    I pop my head in the open door of One
Bead at a Time.  A group of women sit at a table and scour through all sorts of
designs and colors to make the perfect bracelet, necklace or ear rings.
    I catch myself smiling as I watch the
four friends—obviously friends, and overhear their conversation.
    “How does this one look?” A blonde asks
one of the others about the beads she picked out.
    “Oh I love it,” her friend said, “But
you know,” she adds, as she hands over a different bead, “this one will