Chapter 8
ALEX
Itap my fingers impatiently on the counter.
I was promised a steady, consistent rush that wasn’t too overwhelming and would bring in a lot of tips.
That’s what evening shifts get.
Right now, on this supposedly heralded evening shift, the cafe is practically a ghost town.
There’s one student in the corner with headphones on, cradling an iced coffee, and someone else in the opposite corner reading a book.
There have been two customers in the past hour.
I’m not that surprised there are only a couple of people in the cafe on a Friday night, especially when it’s the Hornets’ home opener.
People have parties, get-togethers, dates, and the big game to go to, not studying in a cafe.
“Is there anything I could possibly do to make the time go faster?” I bemoan.
Simon looks up from his phone. “You could wash the syrup bottle pumps. They get really sticky.”
Part of me wants to pull out my computer and start revising my piece for The Goldberg, but I don’t want to be the kind of employee who stands around getting paid to do other things.
But on a night like this, I’m seriously contemplating it.
I sigh, grab a wet washcloth from the sink, and go to town on the syrup pumps, wiping the nozzles and flushing them with hot water. I watch with satisfaction as clear water runs through after a few seconds.
“Why aren’t you out on this lovely Friday night?” I ask Simon.
He shrugs. “Nothing better to do, and I needed the cash. A lot of people are willing to give up their evening shift to someone else if asked.”
“Noted,” I say, thinking about how many more shifts I could theoretically pick up if need be.
The bell tinkles, and I lift my head excitedly, hoping at least a few people are making their way into the store.
I’m a little disappointed when I see it’s only one tired-looking student.
I take his order and place the ticket next to the espresso machine for Simon to make.
“You wanna have a try at this?” Simon asks.
I whip my head toward him.
“You want me to make a latte?” I ask.
He nods. “If you do a terrible job, I’ll just make another one, and you can drink the reject.”
“Deal.”
Simon walks me through weighing and grinding the beans, tamping the espresso grounds, and which button to press to get the espresso flowing.
I watch as the amber liquid pours from the group head in a single stream.
“It’s beautiful,” I say.
Simon nods. “I don’t know what I’d do without her.”
I snort.
Simon reaches over to the sink and pulls out a milk pitcher. “I’m going to teach you how to steam milk properly.”
I blink. “You are?”
Simon nods emphatically. “Duh. You’re never going to have another chance to learn if it stays as busy as it’s been during the day.”
My nerves tingle as I look at the milk pitcher. It seems like an opportunity to get burned. I’ve seen Simon accidentally spill hot milk all over himself during a rush. It wasn’t pretty.
“But—”
Simon sighs. “Do you want to be on the register forever, or do you want to be a barista?”
I put my hand to my forehead and give him a salute. “Sir, yes, sir.”
He doesn’t seem particularly pleased with my answer, but he beckons me over.
“I pour the milk up to this part of the pitcher…”
I watch as Simon pours the milk to about an inch below the spout.
“And when you’re steaming your milk, you have to aerate it while also incorporating the bubbles…”
I grimace. “What does that even mean?”
“It means introducing air into the milk while it heats up, and then incorporating those bubbles by making the milk spin like a vortex. You have to do both to get the perfect milk texture.”
He hands me the pitcher. “Here. Just lift the pitcher into the steam wand…”
My hands tremble as I position the steam wand in the milk pitcher.
“You have to let the tip rest just below the surface of the milk.”
“This wand heats the milk up?” I ask.
“Yes. It spits steam out of the tiny holes at the bottom. Whatever, it doesn’t matter. Just tilt the pitcher to your left a little bit…”
I tilt it and make sure the wand is just beneath the surface.
“Okay, you’ve got the position. Now you just have to turn the wand on…”
Simon twists a knob on the machine, and the steam wand squeals as it froths the milk and creates bubbles in the pitcher.
“You’re too far under the milk. Here…”
He places his hands over mine and guides them so the wand is almost at the surface.
“Okay, good. Now tilt the pitcher a little more to the left.”
I can’t think straight right now because I’m terrified of burning myself, so I just tilt the pitcher.
Simon grunts. “No, your left.”
He sighs and puts his hands back on mine, shifting them in the opposite direction.
“Now pull it down just a little…”
The bell tinkles, and I glance up briefly.
The familiar maroon-and-gold backward hat and wavy hair of Logan appear at the entrance.
Logan’s eyes light up when he notices me, but he raises an eyebrow when he sees Simon’s hands on mine.
Surprise overtakes me, and I pull the milk pitcher down too quickly.
“Wait—” Simon starts.
I immediately realize my mistake as lukewarm milk explodes everywhere, splashing into my eyes, my hair, and all over the counter.
“Too far down,” Simon bemoans, turning off the steam wand and immediately trying to wipe everything down.
“Are you okay?” Logan asks as he rushes to the other side of the counter.
The stickiness of the milk clings to my cheeks, and I can feel droplets of it in my hair.
I wipe my forearm across my forehead, grab a washcloth, and start rubbing at my face.
“We seriously have got to stop meeting like this,” I say to Logan.
He gives me a lopsided grin that makes my stomach lurch.
“Don’t sweat it. It happens to everyone. Getting milk splashed all over you is basically an initiation. Trust me,” Simon says, trying to reassure me as he pats my shoulder.
Logan stares at Simon’s hand on my shoulder and shoves his own hands into his sweater pockets.
“I must look ridiculous,” I say to Logan.
Logan shakes his head, smiling earnestly. “You really don’t. You just have a bit of milk left over…”
He takes a step forward and reaches a thumb toward my face, but he blinks and stops himself.
Clearing his throat, he rubs the left side of his own cheek instead.
“Just some there.”
I rub a towel over the same spot.
“All good?” I ask.
He gives me a lopsided smile. “Yeah.”
He clears his throat and takes a step back.
“But are you sure you’re okay?” Logan asks.
I nod. “Yes. I’m not hurt. At least, not physically. Although I think it’s going to take me a while to get over this embarrassment.”
Logan chuckles. “I’ve tripped over my own feet and fallen face-first on the field during games. You could do a lot worse, trust me.”
He’s right. Tripping and falling like a fool in front of probably a thousand people would be infinitely more embarrassing than getting warm milk all over my face and hair.
“I gotta go make that guy his latte…” Simon mumbles, moving back to his throne at the espresso machine.
I notice Logan has his backpack with him. He’s wearing a black sweater and gray sweatpants. I glance down and see he’s wearing slides with white socks.
“What are you doing here?” I ask Logan, raising an eyebrow at him suspiciously.
He shrugs. “I, uh, had to study. I failed my last history quiz, and if I want to do well on the next one, it would help to actually… study.”
“I get it.” I rest my hands on the counter. “But why not the library?”
Logan raises an eyebrow. “You trying to kick me out?”
I widen my eyes and loosen my grip on the counter. “What? No! I—sorry. I just… didn’t expect to see you here.”
Logan smiles shyly. “S’okay.”
I lick my lips. “So what can I get you, then? A coffee with no coffee? A lemon square?”
Logan chuckles, and I swear his cheeks redden, but I chalk it up to him probably having just come back from the gym.
“I might actually try a coffee… with coffee. Uh, caffeine.”
I give him a playfully surprised look. “Daring today, aren’t we?”
Logan rubs the back of his neck. “Yeah, I guess everyone on campus who succeeds seems to drink coffee. Makes me feel like I’m missing out.”
I nod. “Everyone here needs and bleeds caffeine. That much I can tell you.”
Simon passes by, balancing the latte for the other customer on a saucer. He gives me a suggestive look that I pointedly ignore.
“Well, I’m not here to stop you. This cafe is your oyster.”
I cringe at my own words but try not to let Logan see it.
He looks up at the menu and runs a big hand along his sharp jawline.
“I liked what I got last time, but it was too strong for me. I had to dump some out and add a lot of cream…”
“Maybe you’d like a latte?” I offer.
The corners of Logan’s mouth twitch.
“It’s espresso with a lot of steamed milk. It’s what I was trying to make earlier before it blew up in my face. Literally.”
Logan juts out his lower lip. “Hmm. Sounds good. Does it come with sugar or anything?”
“I can add a syrup if you like. Lavender is all the rage right now.”
Logan frowns. “Lavender?”
“Yup. The student body apparently loves the floral notes in their coffee.”
Logan rubs the back of his neck again and squints. “Okay… I’ll get a lavender latte. Uh, large. Sorry.”
I love that he knows what size he wants. It’s like dirty talk to me.
“And are you getting it for here or to go?”
Logan looks around the cafe.
He turns back to me, blinking rapidly. “I was hoping to get it for here, if that’s okay.”
I snort. “Of course it’s okay. Is there some kind of rule against athletes actually sitting down in a cafe?”
Logan shakes his head and chuckles. “Well, when you put it like that…”
I punch Logan’s order into the system.
“You want anything to snack on? We have one lemon square left with your name on it…”
Logan shakes his head. “You’re too good at this.”
I smile wryly. “Or maybe you’re just too predictable.”
Something flashes in Logan’s eyes for the briefest moment—hurt, maybe—before being replaced by trepidation.
“Maybe…” he says more quietly.
I immediately realize I was probably too harsh. I’ve only met the guy twice, and I’m already using my dry humor on him.
“I’m sorry—I didn’t mean that,” I say.