Last week I went skiing.
On my way home I pulled over for a cup.
As I entered, a petite, seasoned barista, warmth in her eyes, a welcome ready on her lips, greeted me.
Banter between her and a weathered truck driver filled up her tiny warming hut.
She encouraged me to fill up my mug from the thermos as they chatted.
As I approached the counter to pay, I paused.
Something was missing from the counter top - baskets of baked goods, napkins and sweetener cluttered around a small, metal cash box.
“Accept cards?” She smiled, finishing my sentence. “Only cash Dear.”
I looked down at the coffee already in my travel mug, trying to remember if I had cash, stashed away in my car.
I looked up, just as the truck driver slid a few bills across the counter.
He tipped his hat, as a muttered a ‘thank you.’ And he headed out to his truck.
“Most days,” the barista said, “working here is the best part of my day.”
How incredible that small, roadside pit stop turned out to be.