Chapter 12
ALEX
“Seven vanilla lattes? All with different milks?” Vicki whispers angrily as I slide the ticket over to her.
I wince and nod apologetically.
She clenches her fists and closes her eyes.
I want to console her, but it feels like touching her will make her explode into a million pieces, and we can’t handle that right now in the middle of a rush.
A few days have passed since my last shift, and the cafe is still a mess every day I work. Today, every table is taken, and a line of almost twenty people is corralled next to the drink hand-off area.
If Vicki doesn’t haul ass soon, she’s going to have a lot of angry customers.
Luckily, there’s no one else in line.
“Can I help with anything? Maybe iced drinks?” I offer.
She glances between me, the espresso machine, the long line of drink tickets, and the conglomeration of students waiting impatiently.
“Yeah. Uh… fill up the cups with ice and milk.”
I nod, read through the tickets, and pull out about ten plastic cups. I fill them with ice to help her prepare, then start adding the different milks and syrups so all she has to do is pour the espresso shots on top.
I decide to whisk some matcha powder into hot water so I can finish a few iced matchas, which shortens the line a little and makes me feel marginally less stressed.
Vicki lines up five espresso shots on the counter.
She points at one. “That one is decaf.”
She points at the two next to it. “Those two are half-caf.”
Then she points at the last two. “And those are full caf.”
I nod, blinking rapidly as I try to match the espresso shots to the correct drinks. Then I pour them in and mix the espresso, milk, syrups, and ice together.
I call out each drink, and the group of impatient students dwindles down to just a few people.
I relax as Vicki finishes the last of the orders, most of them hot drinks. After a few minutes, everyone’s drinks are taken care of.
Vicki braces herself against the counter. “I need a drink.”
“That was insane,” I say.
She nods. “It’s like this almost every shift I have now. I don’t know what’s going on.”
It’s something I’ve already gotten used to. I expect the rushes and order buildup now, except during my evening shifts. I think I’m already starting to enjoy those more than the busy ones.
The busy shifts go by faster, but at least I’m not fighting for my life during the rushes.
She downs an old shot of espresso like it’s a shot of vodka.
I give her a look.
Vicki frowns. “What?”
I put my hands up. “No comment.”
“It’s no different from a shot of alcohol,” she counters.
I shake my head. “Totally different.”
“Once you get behind here, you’re going to be doing the exact same thing. Just watch,” she warns.
I decidedly ignore her and walk to the register as the bell tinkles.
I try to hide my smile when I see Logan walk in.
I run a hand through my messy hair as he approaches the register.
He grins at me. “I thought I’d see you here.”
I chuckle. “It seems like you only come in whenever I’m here.”
His eyes widen. “What?”
I put my hands up. “Just kidding.”
I’m surprised he seems so taken aback by what I said. It was just a joke, but maybe he doesn’t know me well enough for that yet.
I mean, we’ve only seen and talked to each other a handful of times. Maybe I should reel it in.
I can’t stop thinking about how the man standing in front of me had all his dreams ripped away from him. That maybe there was a little kid who dreamed of becoming a star in the NFL, and in less than a second, someone else’s carelessness took that away.
How do you even begin to grapple with that?
I may not have had my dreams ripped away from me, but when my dad left, I felt like I was struggling through turbulent waters—something I’m sure Logan understands all too well.
Other people putting your life in their hands.
I can see in his eyes that he’s been changed by his past and that he carries it around like a burden.
I wish I could help lessen that burden for him.
“What am I getting for you today?” I ask, trying to focus on the task at hand.
Logan puts a hand on the counter and leans closer.
I catch the scent of his cologne. I didn’t think he’d be the type to wear any. But it overtakes me, and for a second, I want to grab his sweater, bury my face in it, and take a deep inhale.
I freeze.
Now that seems a little personal.
Logan studies the menu behind me, licking his lips as he concentrates.
“I’ll get a cappuccino this time. Medium, please.”
I clear my throat and punch in the order.
I keep looking at his lips and how they slowly curl into a smile. The shy smile he always gives me—the one that somehow makes me happier even when I’m in a bad mood.
I rub my cheek and feel how hot it is.
What is going on?
“You here to study?” I ask Logan.
Logan tilts his head from side to side. “Sort of. I have to work on an assignment for my journalism class, and I’m stumped on how to start.”
I gasp. “You’re taking a journalism class?”
Logan nods, amusement twinkling in his emerald eyes.
“I can help,” I say immediately.
Logan blinks. “What? No, I can’t ask you to—”
I glance at Vicki. “Can I take my five? There’s no one in line.”
Vicki lifts an eyebrow as she looks between Logan and me. I decidedly ignore whatever she’s trying to imply.
“Sure. But be back within five minutes, just in case we get clobbered again.”
I whip off my apron, hang it on the kitchen door, and follow Logan to a newly empty table.
“You don’t have to. I’m sure I can figure it out,” Logan says, sounding like he’s apologizing for something.
I hold a hand out to stop him. “No ifs, ands, or buts. I write for The Goldberg, and I’m a journalism student. It would be weird if I didn’t try to help you.”
Logan snorts, but then realization dawns on his face.
“Wait—are you Alexander Fields?”
I’m appalled that he's using my full name since that’s usually reserved for my mom, especially when she’s angry at me.
“Yeah. Why?”
Logan beams. “I’ve been reading your articles. Or—well, your newest one about the student body’s caffeine habits. I loved it.”
My cheeks burn at Logan’s words.
You mean this hulking guy has been reading my work between classes or workouts and smiling at it?
“Wow, um—thanks.”
Logan nudges my shoulder playfully. “Means I get to have a published journalist help me with my paper. How lucky am I?”
“Guess so,” I mumble.
I look back at Vicki, who’s staring me down.
“Okay, tell me what you have soon, or Vicki’s gonna fire me.”
“Okay. Sorry.” Logan sighs. “I have to come up with leads for twenty articles. By tomorrow.”
“You really saved it for the last minute, huh?”
Logan winces. “Yeah. I’m not the best at… school. Football was always my greatest asset.”
My chest pangs at the mention of football, but I try to ignore it.
“Okay, so a lead is what grabs the reader’s attention, right?” I say. “It summarizes what the article is about, but it also gives the reader a reason to keep reading.”
Logan nods.
“Usually, the lead involves the who, what, why, where, when, and how. If you can get those from your articles, you should have a good idea of how to start them.”
Logan blinks. “That’s it?”
“That’s all I can give you in the last minute of my break.”
Logan bites his lip. “I have to do that twenty times?”
I jut my chin at him. “You left it until the last minute. Hopefully you’ll have at least some of them done by the end of my shift.”
Logan looks up at me hopefully. “When are you done?”
“At six.”
Logan glances at his watch. “I only have three hours?”
“I’m not your teacher, but I can hold you accountable, so yes, three hours. I’m going to read whatever you have and do my best to help, but you have to do the work yourself, Lo-Lo.”
I blink.
Did I just call him a nickname?
I’m pretty sure nicknames are reserved for his close friends.
Logan raises an eyebrow at me. “What was that?”
“Nothing. Three hours. Count ’em.”
I make my way back behind the register, my face hot and my heart racing.
I know what’s happening, and I hate myself for it.
I can’t let it happen.
Nicknames are off-limits.
“Everything okay?” Vicki asks.
“Yep,” I say, refusing to look at her as I put my apron back on.
My eyes find Logan again. He’s leaning back in his chair, the strings of his hoodie caught between his teeth, his eyes narrowed in concentration.
Then his gaze lands on mine, and he smiles, the hoodie string still hanging from his mouth.
I smile back before refocusing on the group of customers coming in.
I can’t have any distractions right now, and neither can Logan.
I have a job to do and a family to support.
Logan can do things on his own, and so can I.