Chapter 12
Zack is in the kitchen, pouring himself a bowl of cereal as I’m heading out for class.
“Is it true that you work at the Grind Stone now?” he asks.
I nod. “Yep.”
“Do you give discounts to friends?”
I shrug. “I don’t know. I’m sure I can. Stop by.”
“Okay. Will do.”
I leave the house, walking over to my truck when something on it catches my eye. As I get closer, I finally see what it is. A sticker. Fuck––a sticker! And it reads: Honk if you love dick!
Jesus Christ. I stare at it, recalling yesterday when a group of girls in the college parking lot started honking their horns and waving at me. I didn’t think anything of it when I waved back. But now, now I know I owe Amber something fantastic.
I walk into the Grind Stone, acting nonchalant like I’ve worked here a dozen times already. It’s one of the ways to keep Amber on her toes.
As I walk past her, I don’t bother to look at her. She’s with a customer when I clock in. I throw on an apron and start assisting with the order.
“Hi,” Amber says, walking to my side.
I’m not used to her being friendly, so I’m thrown off.
She asks, “Would you like to finish this sandwich or make their drink?”
“I can finish this,” I mutter.
“Okay,” she says, walking off.
I steal a glance behind my back. Is she feeling alright?
She gently takes the finished sandwich from my hands and then gives the waiting customer their order.
“Matt,” she says, meeting my eyes. “Would you like to take this next customer? I’ll make sure you enter it in everything correctly.”
“Sure,” I say, walking over. I smile at the customer. “Welcome to the Grind Stone. What can I get for you?”
The customer smiles at me. “I would like a ham and provolone with all the regular stuff. But please remove the mustard.”
I stare at the screen, wondering where all these buttons are. I find the ham and provolone sandwich easily, so I click on it. Amber is already reaching over to help.
“You got it,” she says, pulling back. “And then no mustard, so click on that.”
I click on the minus button.
“Would you like to add a drink?” I ask the customer.
She says, “A bottle of water.”
Amber leans in and points at the water button. Her brown hair is in a messy bun, and the loose ends tickle my collarbone. I smell her shampoo as I click on the water bottle button. And then she points at the total.
I look to the customer and say, “That’ll be $14.99.”
The customer taps her card and Amber gets to making the order. I walk over to the sandwich-making area while she toasts the bun.
“So, you can make the sandwich really however you’d like, but honestly, slathering the ingredients on there makes it taste better. So, grab the mayonnaise.”
I do as I’m told.
“Here, I’ll do one bun.”
She shows me how she glides it onto the bun. I take the utensil from her and do the same exact thing on the other bun.
“Perfect,” she says. “Okay, now I saw you making the other sandwich earlier, and you’re doing good, but I’m going to watch you make this one. Be generous but not too much.”
She steps to the side, watching me grab the ham, fold the pieces, and place them on the bottom bun.
I grab the tomatoes, line them up, and leave no spaces between them.
Then I grab the lettuce. Amber is keeping her eyes on the sandwich the entire time, never once does she look at anything else.
I notice because I’m trying to figure out where the rowdy Amber went.
“You did good,” she says, not offering any other advice.
I roll the sandwich in the paper and then grab a bottle of water. I hand the customer her food. She thanks me and takes off.
There are no more customers, so I lean against the counter. “So, I saw the newest edition to my truck. I was wondering why a bunch of freshmen were honking their horns at me.”
Her eyes smile and her lips purse, but she doesn’t give me a full smile.
“Yeah, I think I’m going to keep it on there. It’s a good way to weed out the red flags.”
“I knew it would help you find your type.”
I bite my tongue, looking down. “Are you having a bad day?”
“What?” she questions, busying herself with cleaning the crumbs from the toaster.
“You must be having a bad day if you’re being nice to me.”
“You must be having a horrible day too because you’re being nice back.”
“Touché, Amber.”
Her eyes quickly glance at me. I look down at her and then help with the clean up.
“Maybe this won’t be so bad,” I offer.
“Maybe it won’t.”
I stop talking as I try to understand why she’s repeating everything I’m saying. Something fishy is going on, and now I’m starting to get the feeling she’s forcing herself to be nice to me. And that’s fine.
The rest of our shift runs smoothly. She’s patient with me, showing me the ropes, being kind, and being thorough. By the time I leave, I think I might have to cancel all the fun pranks I have in store for her.
Our next shift together is the same thing.
“Hi, Matt,” she calls out as I walk past her to clock in.
“Hi, Amby.”
She asks, “Do you want to take orders or make the food?”
“I’d rather work behind the scenes.”
We stay in our own lanes, and she offers help when there are no customers. But other than that, it’s pretty uneventful.
The next shift is the same thing.
“Hi, Matt,” she says right as I walk through the door.
I run a hand through my hair and gawk at her. But she can’t keep the stare. There’s no challenge, no anger, and no hatred in her eyes.
“Hey, Amby.”
After I clock in, she asks, “Did you just get off of practice?”
I nod. “Yeah.” How observant of her. “Did you just get off of work?”
“Yeah.”
That’s the most we speak about anything that doesn’t involve sandwiches.
“Hi,” she greets me as I walk behind the counter.
“Amby,” I say, and then clock in.
I’m officially done with training. Amber and I are now equals in the workplace.
Even though I briefly mentioned I’m no longer training, she still offers help like I am.
I accept her help when needed, and we work silently side by side.
But as we get deeper into this shift, it’s pretty quiet in here.
I think there’s only been a couple of customers. It’s dead today.
“So,” I offer to start a conversation first. “It must’ve been exciting every time I walked through that door.”
She looks at the front door and says, “I wouldn’t call it that.”
I clap my hands together. “Then what would you call it?”
“Stalking.”
I snort, laughing. “You’re being far too nice to your stalker lately.”
“We work together. I can’t be rude.”
I nod, finally understanding. “So, you want to be?”
She doesn’t say anything.
I continue, “Here, I was thinking that you’re actually not that bad.”
She’s leaning against the counter with her arms crossed. Her hair is in a messy bun and the apron hugs her curves in ways I wish it wouldn’t. She murmurs, “You have the wrong impression.”
I smile because there she is. The real Amber she’s been shoving behind her professionalism.
I say, “I consider myself lucky that this place doesn’t have stairs.”
“You won’t ever drop that, will you?” she says.
I shake my head. “How could I?”
“I don’t know.” She shrugs. “The sound of your voice telling me to shut up lives rent free in my head.”
“It does?” I ask, surprised.
Her eyes dart to my mouth. “Every time I see you, I imagine you saying those few little words to me, and I–”
When she doesn’t finish, I nod. “I get it. Every time I see you, I imagine you tackling me down a flight of stairs, and I can’t forgive you.”
She smiles, almost laughing.
“Hey, I’m telling the truth.” I don’t like how big her smile is.
She asks, “You don’t think I’m telling the truth?”
I shake my head. “You didn’t finish your sentence.”
“I’ll finish it then. That day was a really bad day for me. You weren’t supposed to hear anything I was saying, but when you told me to shut up, I lost every ounce of willpower I had left. I was embarrassed. I was depressed, and I took it out on you because you couldn’t mind your own business.”
“Honestly, the few hits to the face woke me up that day. The night before I had to sit in the living room after Grey punched me in the face during hockey and listen to my mom and his dad yell at us for hours. I was blamed for Grey hitting me, imagine that.”
Her face changes when I glance at her.
“So, we were both going through it?” she asks. Her tone bleeding guilt.
I shrug. “I guess we’re both a little fucked up.”
“Maybe me more than you.” She nods. “I’m sorry, Matt…for everything.”
I search her face for any insincerity. The apology is unexpected, but maybe this will be a truce. She means it, so I say, “I’m sorry, too.”
She pulls her bottom lip in with her teeth as she scans the Grind Stone. “I can’t believe you work here,” she says, inhaling. Her shoulders widen and then they drop as she exhales.
I tilt my head, glancing around. I clap my hands together. “Okay, well, my work here is done. I got the apology. I quit.”
She laughs as I walk to the back, acting as if I’m going to clock out. I’m out of her sight, waiting to see if she’ll take the bait.
“You’re joking, right?” she says, running around the corner where I’m standing.
She walks straight into my chest as I look down.
She glares up at me, hiding that smirk on her lips.
Her eyes are the color of her name. She brushes her hair behind her ears as she looks up at me.
It’s stupidly quiet in here, so I take a step back, unable to speak. I watch her carefully.
“You’re kidding,” she says, nodding and breaking eye contact. “Of course you are.” She glares up at me. “Are you planning to continue to torture me?”
“Is that what you think I’m doing?” I ask, observing her face.
“Why else would you be working here?” she questions.
I shrug. “Maybe I wanted free sandwiches. Maybe I wanted an apology. Or revenge.”
The front door jingles, signifying a customer has entered the building. She walks away, flipping me off before cutting the corner and I smile to myself.
I hear her say, “Welcome to the Grind Stone. What can I get for you?”
“Is Matt working?” I hear the voice from around the corner.
I take a step forward, and Amber runs into my chest again.
“Again, Hughes?” I smile down at her.
She catches herself, her cheeks turning pink. Her eyes look at my apron. “Someone’s here for you.” When she glances up at me, I give her a half grin.
“Zack, my boy. What’s up?” I say, walking over.
“Just stopping by to see if you can make a mean sandwich.”
“Which one do you want?”
“The turkey.”
I nod. “Good choice.”
I turn around to make the sandwich, wondering why Amber is still hiding around the corner. She comes walking out.
“That’s Zack. One of my roommates,” I say, and he waves. “Zack, this is Amby.”
Zack nods. “Oh, this is Amby.”
She shoots a look at me. “Do you talk about me?”
I chuckle. “In your dreams. Zack taste-tested the sushi you ordered me.” I narrow my eyes. “He heard the note you gave the Uber driver.”
Zack nods at her. “You have horrible taste in sushi.”
I make Zack the sandwich and then when he leaves, we’re left with no customers. I ring myself up and pay for the sandwich I just made for Zack.
“What are you doing?” Amber asks as I tap my card.
“I’m paying for the sandwich.”
Amber glares at me.
“What? I’m not going to get fired for giving away a sandwich.”
She laughs.
“Is it normally this empty?” I ask.
She’s wiping down the counter. “Sometimes.”
When I put my card away, she says, “You could’ve used your complimentary lunch on him.”
I scoff. “You couldn’t have told me before I charged myself?”
She shrugs. “I thought it was nice you bought him lunch.”
Our eyes connect, and I think there’s a tiny chance that my trying to impress my friend also earned respect from this hard-working, stubborn, strong-willed woman who hates my guts.