Chapter Thirty-Five
Juniper
I lasted exactly three minutes into my five-hour shift before my thumb was hovering over the contact number for what should’ve been Reena’s cell.
Caffeine and sugar were a bad, bad influence on self-control.
My leg bouncing, shots of espresso coursing through my system, enough sugar mainlined that I should admit I had a problem—I stared at the stupid phone.
One text.
Just to confirm.
That was reasonable. Right?
I didn’t answer my own question or check myself because I was already typing.
Me: So for real, this isn’t Charlie or his blond brother taking over Reena’s phone?
I hit Send and immediately regretted it, but the chat screen popped up on my laptop, and I had to pretend like I gave a shit about packing supplies and customer service. For the next few minutes, I did my job, but every other second, I was glancing at my cell.
The guy didn’t reply.
Another customer inquiry came through the chat system.
Then another and another.
After a half hour, I was about to stop torturing myself and turn my cell off or throw it across the coffeehouse when the little bubbles appeared.
I snatched up my phone faster than I’d sucked down my latte.
Bestie: Now there’s a brother?
I quickly responded.
Me: I’m not playing.
If this was a game to this jerk, he—or she, but I doubted it was a woman—could fuck right off.
Bestie: Not Charlie, not blond, not Reena. Not stating it again .
I stared at the text.
Stating.
Hailey walked by, wiping down tables. “How’s work today?” She glanced at my cell, and I could practically see the question on the tip of her tongue, but she didn’t ask.
We both knew I was never on my cell because no one called or texted me. And when I was here working, I usually put in my earbuds.
Trying to look like my heart wasn’t galloping and my nerves weren’t shot more than usual, I shrugged. “It’s okay.” I told myself it beat dishwashing, but honestly, it didn’t. It only paid more, and some days, I’d have long stretches between customer complaints that gave me way too much time to people watch. Or worse, think, and that was when I missed the restaurant the most. Not just the times when me and Reena hung out together, but also the dish pit. It was a constant stream of pots and pans and plates and glassware and cutlery that needed rinsing and running through the sanitizer. If I wasn’t washing or carrying the trays to the drying rack, I was putting shit away, and everything in that kitchen had its place.
My life had always been chaos, and I’d been in control of none of it.
But that kitchen had spoken to me.
Every dirty dish was a task that I could complete from rinse to rack. At the end of each shift, my gleaming stacks of white porcelain plates and perfectly lined up, spotless glassware were like a reward. I’d be hot and sweaty and usually soaked, but I could see how well I’d done my job.
Now? Who knew.
Glancing from my cell to my computer screen, neither of which would ever show off a job well done like a few dozen stacks of squeaky-clean plates could, I silently cursed irony.
Hailey moved to the next table to wipe it down. “I don’t think I’ve heard you use the word ‘okay’ before.” She flipped her towel over. “At least, not like that.”
I glanced up. “You keep track of people’s words?”
She almost smiled. “It’s kind of my job.”
“Right. I’m sorry.” I felt stupid.
“There’s nothing to apologize for.” She straightened up and looked across the café. “I love what I do.”
“I get it. Routine and a set of accomplished tasks.” I smiled. “Plus free caffeine.”
“I don’t drink coffee.” Absent her usual smile, she shrugged. “I just like to make people happy, even if it’s for only a moment.” She glanced up as a customer walked in, and her smile returned. “Mr. Romerez!” she greeted him like she did everyone else she knew by name. “Café Cubano?”
The older man replied in Spanish.
Hailey chuckled.
“What’d he say?”
“The same thing he always says when I ask him.” She lowered her voice. “ Is my wife dead yet? ”
“Oh my God.” What the hell?
Hailey’s smile held. “He doesn’t mean it like that. His wife won’t make him his favorite coffee anymore. She said it keeps him up at night, which in turn keeps her up.”
“But you make it for him anyway?” That wasn’t exactly making people happy. Well, not his wife, whoever she was.
Hailey’s expression turned serious. “You know the short, dark-haired woman who comes in just before seven p.m.? Triple shot soy latte, no foam?”
I’d never paid attention to what the woman drank, but I had noticed her because she was always in scrubs. It reminded me of Reena. “Yeah.” A pang twisted in my stomach at the thought of my lost friend. Or maybe it was because I was the one who was lost. “I’ve seen her.”
“She works a night shift at the hospital, and she’s Mr. Romerez’s daughter.” Hailey looked pointedly at me for a second. “He waits up for her to make sure she gets home safely.” She glanced at the father who drank café Cubano to stay up for his daughter, and the gravity of her tone disappeared as she cheerfully said something in Spanish.
“ Gracias ,” the older man grumbled in return, but he smiled.
Hailey moved behind the counter to make the coffee, and I suddenly wondered how many lives she touched each day. How many people she gave moments of happiness to. How many intertwined threads of daily routines would be disrupted or, worse, completely decimated if she just ceased to exist.
I’d be decimated.
No showers, no Wi-Fi, no one who smiled when they said my name, and no free baked goods that were sometimes the only thing I ate each day because I prioritized a six-dollar latte and a four-dollar tip over everything else.
Except it wasn’t the coffee I was prioritizing.
It was the pink-haired barista with a heart of gold who worked at her family’s business so she could do what she loved most—make moments of happiness for other people, one coffee at a time.
A new customer service chat popped up on my work log-in screen.
I glanced at my cell.
Then I rashly sent a text instead of typing on my laptop.