And the winner is....

In a unofficial but completely honest drawing, the name of the coffee shop has been chosen:

Uncommon Grounds

Of course, putting it here in this formant is redunant since the three of you that read this, with exception to Fiona, are my friends on Facebook.

****Updated: Thankfully Jenn reminded me that I need to make sure the name isn't already taken. Of course, it is and so the search continues...***

At any rate, while I rewrite the coffee house scene with the new and improved name, I'd like to leave you with this excerpt. Enjoy.

(And for any lurkers with ideas of copying and pasting, it is already copyrighted.)
(Please excuse the funky formatting. I couldn't fix it for some reason.)

“Ok. It looks as though we may have the wrong place,” Luke said as he closed his phone. “The owner is waiting for us at the correct house. We are supposed to be at 479 Askew Avenue. She gave us the wrong directions, although quite ironically, she also owns this house.”

“That’s great! I can’t wait to see the next house,” Laura said with as much sarcasm as she could muster. “As well maintained as this place is, the other is probably a crack house reject.”

“Geez, Laura. Give me a break, ok? I am doing the best I can.” Luke was starting to get frustrated with Laura’s unvarying attitude and snide remarks. He was trying to be patient, but even the most patient of souls had a limit. Moving anywhere was going to be rough on Laura, but she was taking this a lot harder than he thought she would. Job one was going to make this transition a smooth one. As he headed toward the U-haul, he prayed that the house they’d rented would be satisfactory. Laura was right, this place looked condemned.

Within five minutes, Luke and Laura were pulling into the driveway of the correct house. As if on cue, sunlight backlit the gorgeous two-story bungalow, and Laura would have sworn she heard angels singing. The windows gleamed as if they had just been washed. The red geraniums in flower pots on either side of the front porch stood out beautifully against the smoky grey of the house. The white trim was crisp and clean. Around the front porch, flowers and bushes were manicured so artfully, it was as if they were looking at a painting. Nothing was left untouched; every detail had been thought out and attended to. The entire scene was fit for the cover of any home magazine.

They each got out of their respective vehicles, joined hands, and without saying a word, headed to the front walk. Walking through the wrought-iron gate, Laura decided this was heaven on Earth; Luke had done a great job after all.

Suddenly, like a record screech, a dark cloud appeared over the house and a crow cawed in the distance. The landlord stepped out onto the porch.

“’Ello, dahlinks. Velcome to Flor-re-dah.”

Luke and Laura stopped dead in their tracks. Their new landlady stood on the picturesque front porch of their new home wearing purple knit slacks and a yellow tank top that looked like it had been on the losing end of a Bedazzler. Her ensemble would have been more appropriate as a costume for a twelve-year old girl in a dance recital rather than an everyday outfit the fifty-plus woman was trying to pull off. On her feet, she wore what Laura could only assume were white at one time, flip-flops. Even in the heat of the evening, it was clear that she had forgone the use of any sort of undergarments. Her poorly dyed blond hair stood in little spikes all over her head. Laura quickly noticed that she had one tooth in her head, and in this light, it looked like it was hanging on by a strand and swung as she spoke. Suddenly, Laura feared losing an eye during simple conversation.