Chapter 3 Freddie
Freddie
Nowhere is hiring. At least, nowhere that wants a twenty-two-year-old failing musician with no experience on their payroll.
I fudged some stuff on my CV about being a freelance guitar teacher and working as an intern at Mason we only got a Starbucks last year and even that was a bit of a culture shock.
At the bottom of the menu is the café's logo in thick, bold letters.
CREAM & SUGAR
I can’t help but smirk. Only a place this bougie could pull off a name like that without sounding like a granny’s tearoom.
Or a drag double-act. Catching a glimpse of my hungover reflection in the glass door, it’s doubtful whether I’m presentable enough to work here. Guess there’s only one way to find out.
Tossing my empty chip packet into a nearby bin, I grab the door handle and push.
Rory’s words echo in my head as I step inside: Last chance, Freddie.
I plaster on a smile. Here goes nothing…