Chapter 12 – “Where’s My Love” - SYML
VICE
“WHERE’S MY LOVE” - SYML
I wipe the nozzle with my towel, smiling at my work.
A flight of four different coffee concoctions sits in front of me, ready for Dahlia to taste—just as I hear her begin to unlock the front door.
I can make out her form through the glass windows, the barely risen sun in the distance accenting her confused features.
She hesitates as she opens the front door, peeking her head inside and glancing around, no doubt curious as to why the lights behind the front counter are on. “Um…hello?”
“Hi. It’s me.” I step out from behind the counter, making myself visible. “Elena.”
“Oh.” She breathes a sigh of relief, entering the building and shutting the door behind her. “What the heck are you doing here this early on a Tuesday?”
Dahlia’s shoulder-length blond hair sways as she shrugs off her jacket, tossing it onto one of the tables beneath the front window. I walk back behind the counter and slide the flight I made across it so that it reaches where she’s standing at the end.
“Was hoping I could interview for a barista position. You plan on opening in a month, right?”
Dahlia’s brows rise as she studies the drinks. She lifts her head, and I can make out the amusement on her face. “I thought Everett offered you a job months ago and you declined?”
I shrug. “Wasn’t his job to offer, was it? I figure, you’re the owner—it’s your call. I’m not interested in pity from my siblings, so I thought it best to prove my skills and let you decide if you’d like to make a new offer.”
“I’m impressed.”
“I know.” I nod before pointing at each one of the drinks in front of her. “I’ve got a classic drip coffee, vegan latte, a vanilla almond white mocha, and a Dirty Everything.”
“Dirty Everything?” she asks, picking up that one first.
“Yep. Like an everything bagel, but it’s a dirty chai. Two shots of espresso and four ounces of spiced chai. Steamed milk of choice, two pumps of vanilla, a dash of cinnamon, and a drizzle of caramel.”
She brings the glass mug to her lips, taking a small sip. Her blue eyes widen in shock as she swallows. She takes another sip before saying, “Fuck. That’s good.”
“I recommend developing four to five solid drinks and ensuring all staff can make them to perfection. It’s great to have a specialty, fun-named option that’s exclusive to the business, and eventually we can play with more ideas, but far more people are going to order something tried and true like a latte or a mocha.
If we nail those, with our own small twists, it’ll go far with customers. ”
Dahlia takes her time sipping from each of the drinks I created, loving every one.
“You know you didn’t have to do this, right?
I don’t even know how you got in here.” She laughs.
“I would’ve offered you a position because you’re family, and because I trust your brother when he said you have the skills I need. ”
“I don’t want handouts from my brother,” I say.
“I get it.” She takes the Dirty Everything between both hands, and I decide it must be her favorite. “It’s hard to accept help when you don’t feel you’re worthy of the support.”
“I didn’t say that.”
“You didn’t have to.” Dahlia shrugs. “You remind me of myself sometimes.”
That catches me by surprise. “How so?”
“I used to only be capable of focusing on my shortcomings too. All the ways I was failing others, all the ways that life had failed me. Eventually, I realized I wasn’t damaged beyond repair, just dented enough to give me character.”
I let out a dry laugh at that. “How did you find that mindset?”
“I finally opened myself up to receive love I never thought I deserved.” She smiles to herself, and my mind drifts to my brother.
All those feelings he wears on his sleeve—all of his conviction and purpose to care for others—were exactly what Dahlia needed.
She meets my eyes, and that smile forms into a grin, as if confirming my very thoughts.
“You’re loved too, Elena. In case you need to be reminded. ”
I don’t want to be reminded. It’s not the lack of knowing whether I’m loved that makes me feel undeserving; it’s the fact that I’m harboring secrets from the people who love me. Secrets that make me unworthy of it.
When I don’t respond, Dahlia continues, “I need you to work at least twenty-five hours per week, and mornings would be preferable. You can work more if you want, of course.”
“I don’t.”
She smirks. “I figured. I’ve already hired two other baristas, but I’d love for you to spend the next few weeks training them and helping me finalize the coffee menu so Peggy can focus on the bakery.” Peggy is the pastry chef Dahlia brought in to assist with bakery operations.
I nod. “Deal.”
“Okay.” She walks behind the counter, pushing open the double doors that lead to the kitchen.
I watch her through the service window as she grabs an apron off the hook and ties it around her waist. “I’ll talk to the other two employees this week and get a schedule put together so you can start on Monday.
For now, clean up all that.” She winks, waving at the mess I left across the coffee counter.
“Yes, boss.” I salute, feeling lighter—more accomplished—than any time in my recent memory.
I spend the next few hours cleaning the kitchen before assisting Dahlia with a few recipes for the bakery menu, and helping her pick out paint colors for the cafe.
We decide on a shade of baby blue that complements the bright orange, yellow, and pink accents of the decor, fitting for the retro vibe she’s going for.
I think Dahlia will make a great sister-in-law, not that I’d have a choice in the matter either way, but she’s perfect for my brother.
She challenges him, she gives back as much as she takes, and their relationship is built on friendship first. I’ve always been a little afraid Everett would be taken advantage of the first time he fell in love, because I know better than most just how giving he is.
I think he may know it, too, and maybe that’s why he kept his heart guarded for so many years.
But it’s easy to see that Dahlia loves him just as fiercely as he loves her.
Everett didn’t need multiple tries to get it right.
He may have waited his whole life for it, but he only needed to find love once.
I guess that’s true for both of my brothers, and it makes me wonder how I got things so incredibly wrong for myself.
That thought plagues me as I leave The Wicked Wildflower and head two doors down to Heathen’s Surf Co.
Bells on the door chime as I enter, and I’m greeted by bright shades of blue, green, and orange.
Surfboards hang from the rafters. There are tables spaced throughout the store with all different types of apparel, as well as racks of clothing hung along the walls.
One corner of the store is reserved for skateboards and accessories.
Neither of them will admit it, but Leo and Everett both had an intense skateboarding phase in our teen years, and they both fucking sucked.
A nostalgic laugh bursts from my throat as I think back on it, and it garners the attention of Everett, who’s standing at the front counter folding T-shirts. He smiles, though his eyes spell confusion and concern. “Hey, Lele. I did not expect to see you here this morning.”
I glance around at the ocean-inspired murals accenting the walls, and the massive canvas behind the register showcasing both of my brothers sitting on twin surfboards while laughing.
There is a display in the corner of the store with more blown-up photos of the two of them dressed in apparel from a campaign they began last year with a surfwear brand.
Heathen’s is the quintessential West Coast surf shop you’d expect to find in a quaint beach town like Pacific Shores, and that’s probably why I don’t come often.
It reminds me of Zach. The quintessential West Coast surfer boy who wanted so badly to be something different, and died in a surfing accident just as he was beginning to accept his roots.
He never even got to see Heathen’s up and running.
He’ll probably never know the inspiration he provided this place, but I can see him painted all over the walls here.
Everett clears his throat, and I lift my eyes to meet his. His brows are drawn, head tilted as he waits for me to respond.
“I was actually at the bakery with Dahlia.”
A surprised smile lifts at his lips. “Really? What were you doing there?”
“Interview,” I say absently as I step behind the counter and begin helping him fold T-shirts.
“August offered to let me rent one of his spare rooms, and I think I’m going to take it.
I know you offered me a job a few months ago, but I wanted to make sure Dahlia and I were going to work well together before I accepted a handout like that. ”
“Wasn’t a handout.” He doesn’t look at me, and we continue working in tandem.
“I love you, and I’d do anything for you, but that bakery is Dahlia’s livelihood now.
It’s her legacy, and I wouldn’t risk that for a pity job offer.
You have the skills she needs, and I think you’ll add value to the operations of the cafe.
Trying to set you up with a position there was as much a favor to Dahlia as to you. ”
I shrug. “Well, I thought Dahlia should be the one to decide.”
“And what was it she decided?”
“I start Monday.”
“I figured.” He chuckles, eyes lifting to meet mine. “And you’re going to move in with August? Are you sure that’s a good idea?”
Not at all.
But I don’t see myself having many other options, and some primal part of me, maybe the piece of my soul that craves pain, actually yearns to be in his presence. I try to shove that voice so far down she’s forgotten, but she’s proved impossible to ignore.
“I think it’ll be fine,” I murmur.
I sometimes picture him—his voice, his touch, his eyes—when my hand is between my legs, and I’m chasing pleasure. So, it kind of turns me on when he narrows that emerald gaze in my direction. When he’s kind to me in a rough way, like he doesn’t want to be, but he can’t help it.
I left August, I cut him out, I drowned myself in liquor and warm bodies to try to forget him, and it didn’t work. Seeing him in the flesh, living beneath his roof—it doesn’t amplify any feelings I’ve forgotten. They’ve always been here, haunting and tormenting me.
Perhaps dancing with that ghost up close and personal can serve as the punishment for all the sins I can’t seem to outrun. I’ll torture myself with his eyes and his voice while I’m forced to be deprived of his touch.
“The things he said to you the other night—” Everett begins, but I cut him off with, “I deserved them.”
His head snaps up, eyes narrowed. “Why do you think that?”
I pluck the last shirt from the pile, folding it and setting it on the others, smiling at my brother and ignoring his question. “I’m going to head back to your place and start packing my things. Will you be around later to help me bring them over?”
He sighs defeatedly before nodding. “Yeah. I’ll be home after Lou gets out of school, around three.”
I pat his hand, but he doesn’t look at me when I smile at him.
As I make my way toward the front door, Everett calls out, “I don’t think this is the healthiest living situation for either of you, Lele.”
I turn around, pressing my back to the handle as I push it open. “There isn’t anywhere for me to live that is healthy, but at least this way, those of us most damaged will be out of everyone else’s way.”