Chapter Six
“After You”
by Gryffin and Jason Ross feat. Calle Lehmann
Lucy
I’m eagerly listening to Natalie talk about the annoying French boy she’s crushing on when Meera speaks and my brain shuts down.
Natalie pauses midsentence, probably just as shocked as I am. She knows about my history with Meera, how empty this café always is. She knows it makes zero sense for Meera to offer me—me!—a job at her parents’ café. They don’t need another barista. Hell, they probably can’t afford another barista.
My mouth is still agape. I can’t seem to close my jaw. I set my iced latte aside and wipe a shaky hand on the fabric of my short denim skirt. “Are you offering me a job, Meera?”
“Yeah.” Meera smiles. “Dad and Appa came up with a new business model, and I thought you’d be the perfect person to help us with it.”
I look from Natalie to Mr. George, who’s listening in, and then back to Meera, blinking slowly. “I…I don’t know. Um, what—what business model?”
“It’s a book club.” Meera hesitates, then grabs a chair and sits down beside me. “You’d pick something for people to read every month with a proper book club discussion at the end, and we’d try to invite the author to chime in, maybe over Zoom or in person—”
I’m still processing the fact that she’s talking to me. Her words are making sense, but they’re going way over my head. “A book club?” I repeat.
Meera nods, but Natalie interjects, “Wait, so how much would you pay her?”
“Does”—she looks back at Mr. George, who’s got one eye on us as he cleans the coffee machine—“twenty dollars an hour work?”
My eyes widen. That’s about the same pay as the library job, and this one actually sounds fun. I love the idea of spearheading a book club. Madre Maria has a ton of book lovers, but there’s no real community aspect to it.
And this book club job would involve a lot less time being around Meera compared to if I were a barista.
There doesn’t seem to be a catch here, and my mind is yelling that this sounds too good to be true.
But if I have to choose between “too good to be true” and “no way to make any money for New York,” I’ll go with the former. So I say—
“Yes.” I clutch the romance novel I was reading to my chest and nod at Meera. “I’ll take the job.”
Meera screams in delight and holds her hand out for me to shake. I ignore it. Being friendly with her will get me nowhere. She doesn’t seem to mind, though. She claps her hands eagerly, then stands. “We’ll send you all the details by tomorrow. I’m so excited!”
“I can see that,” I mumble.
A few customers walk out through the door after having their tarot cards read, and Mr. Rao pauses in front of our table. He’s frowning. “What’s going on?”
Meera cringes. “Appa, can I talk to you and Dad for a bit? In the kitchen?”
Mr. Rao and Mr. George exchange glances, then nod as one unit. The three of them go inside while Danny, the barista, returns to the counter.
Once they’re inside, Natalie squeezes my arm. Her brown eyes are lit up with excitement. “I can’t believe Meera would do that for you.”
“What do you mean?” I ask her, blinking.
She smiles. “When I was at the counter, I told them you were looking for a job. Mr. George said he’d let you know if they had an opening. And then, two minutes later, Meera offers you a job based on a new business model? They obviously made that job up on the spot to help you out.”
I raise my eyebrow. She’s right. That doesn’t make sense.
“I know things haven’t been great between you and Meera.” She links her fingers with mine and squeezes. “And I know you don’t want to talk about why your friendship ended. But”—she sighs—“she clearly still cares for you.”
My head throbs with all this confusing new information.
Why would Meera do this for me? She hates me.
And after how I stole her crush and ended our friendship, why shouldn’t she hate me?
I open my novel again to the bookmarked page and shrug, trying to look nonchalant.
“Well, that’s nice of Meera, but it doesn’t change how things ended.
” I straighten and shoot Natalie a wink. “She’ll never replace you.”
“Of course not.” She clears her throat. “Now, back to Julien—can you believe he wants to get vegan Froyo with me?”
Meera
Appa stands tall, tugging on his graying mustache, his frown growing deeper and deeper as Dad fills him in on what just happened with Lucy.
Dad turns to me every few seconds, hoping I’ll chime in, but I avert my gaze and stare down at my sneakers until Appa’s rarely used stern tone fills the small kitchen.
“So we’ve just hired Lucy for a job we don’t need with money we don’t have?”
Dad gives my shoulder a rather hard squeeze. “Care to speak up and fill in the gaping holes in this new business plan of yours, Meera?”
“Sure, Dad.” I fold my arms and quirk a brow at them.
The past few minutes have solidified the belief that this plan will help not just me but Café Kismat too.
“The only other book club in town is at the library. It’s quiet, it’s uneventful, it’s boring.
A book club for teens—hosted by Madre Maria’s head cheerleader, of all people—would bring in students from every clique. ”
Appa and Dad exchange a brief look. Then Appa shakes his head. “I don’t know anything about books, authors, or book clubs. Neither does your dad. Nor do you. This is only going to make us—”
“But Lucy does,” I insist. “Give her two book club discussions. This is my way of helping her and bringing more customers to our café.”
“You’re being irrational,” Appa says thickly. “You haven’t seen our accounts. We don’t have the money to experiment like this—”
“Maybe we don’t have the money to experiment because we never experiment,” I shoot back, my voice rising. “Apart from your tarot readings, which you’ve been doing since we opened shop, have we ever done anything different from other cafés in town? Changed the menu, even?”
“Meera,” Dad whispers, his eyes on the door leading back to the café, “lower your voice.”
I let out a whoosh of breath and say, my words softer, “You don’t trust me or my recipes? That’s fine. But I know this book club is a genius idea.”
“We’re open to your recipes; it’s just not the right time—”
“Two months,” I say. “That’s all I’m asking for.”
Appa rubs along his bald spot, his shoulders sinking. “All right. Two months.”
“Thank you.” I head back out, fastening my Café Kismat apron tighter along my waist, and as I wait by the counter for new customers, my gaze falls on Lucy holding—but not reading—her book.
Her unmoving eyes are glued on a spot a few inches above the book’s spine, and she’s not even paying attention to Natalie talking loudly about how cute she finds Julien.
Oh, damn it. I grit my teeth. Julien can’t be dating Natalie. He needs to be the wedge that drives Sushant and Lucy apart, not the person warming the fourth seat on their double date. I’ll have to figure something out. God, why can’t getting revenge just be easy?
As if she senses me looking, Lucy glances up at me. “Hey, Meera?” she calls out. “Can you come here for a moment?”
“Sure,” I squeak. I walk over to her table and hesitate before taking a seat. “Did you have any questions about the new job?”
“Why me?” She bites her pink lower lip. “Why not someone from the literary club or the school yearbook?”
I swallow, and her eyes zoom in on the movement. Squaring my shoulders, I fumble for words. “Well, I know you’ve always wanted to work with books, and I don’t have any other friends who are readers, so—”
Her eyebrows shoot up. “So we’re friends now?”
Natalie sucks in a breath, looking between me and her.
I’ve honestly outgrown our friendship. The words Lucy once said that stabbed me in the back resurface to the front of my mind. If I want this Plan to work, I have to be nonchalant. Thankfully, Dad comes to my rescue, calling for me when a customer enters the café.
“No, I guess we’re not friends,” I finally say to Lucy, standing. “I’ll email you with more information soon. Welcome to the Café Kismat family.”
While I ring up the customer’s order, Lucy returns to staring blankly at her book.
I busy myself with grinding beans, the whirring of my thoughts louder than the coffee machine.
There’s so much riding on this Plan now: not just my future with Sushant, but also the success of the café that has been my family’s second home for years.
Universe, you better not fuck this up for me.