6. Whos the Boss?
6
Who's the Boss?
Disbelieving laughter sputtered through the coffee shop. Barista guy screwed up his eyebrows. I couldn’t tell if he thought I was nutty or awesome. Probably a little of both.
Mean Lady rolled her eyes. “Nice try. Santa’s not real, honey.”
A small gasp sounded from the group to my left. Two kids with big round eyes looked up at her. “What does she mean?” they whispered to their parents.
Oh, sugarcane. This could get really bad really fast.
“She’s just mad she’s getting coal in her stocking,” I told them.
The parents and kids giggled, but Mean Lady nearly tore my sleeve, yanking me to face her. “Don’t you dare talk about me, you little–”
“Hey!” The barista slapped the counter. A shockwave rattled utensils and silenced the entire venue. His blazing eyes fixed on Mean Lady. “Order what’s in stock or leave. I have no problem calling security.”
The lady shoved me back in exasperation. “Fine, I’ll leave. But you’ll be sorry. I’m writing to corporate about you. I came all the way out here and there are no cinnamon twists. This is outrageous. Very poor customer service.” She flung her arms out and hurried through the crowd, muttering insults the whole way.
My shoulder throbbed from her manhandling. Rubbing my arm, I shrank under the stares of strangers. Some smiled. Some held their phones up like they might’ve been filming.
Would I get in trouble for this? What about the barista?
I hugged myself, wishing I had Mr. Waddles with me. And some privacy.
The barista frowned and readjusted his olive cap. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah…” My feet swept the floor as I trudged to the register.
He jerked his chin at the display case. “Would a cookie make you feel better?”
“Yes, please.” Good salesman. I definitely needed a pick-me-up after that encounter. The sugar cookies with glitter were super cute and sparkly, but they cost half an hour’s work. I pointed to a giant chocolate chip cookie. At least it was a few dollars cheaper. “I also need one regular coffee and one small iced coffee, please.”
“Whatever my knight in polyester armor needs.” He punched the register keys. “Sugarplum, right? Causing trouble again, I see.”
My heart seized. He remembered me. “I–um, yes. Good memory.” Licking my lips, I refastened my coat and got my wallet, scanning the register readout. It seemed kind of low. “Are you sure that’s everything?”
“Cookie’s on me.” He took my cash and got out the change.
“Oh, no, I couldn’t take that after I caused a scene.”
“She’s the one who had the meltdown.” His fingertips grazed my open palm, but he waited until I met his piercing gaze to drop the change and receipt.
I was frozen, splayed open. He saw me.
“Just do me a favor,” he said. Anything. “Rate your experience to counteract that ice queen’s glowing review.”
“Okay.” I smiled, raising a finger. “And I will put her on the naughty list. Or buy up all the cinnamon twists.”
The barista laughed and my heart started fluttering like a partridge in a pear tree. This grinch was smiling because of me .
I dropped the change into the red-ribbon tip jar and flounced off to the pickup area. The puffs of steam, the aroma of roasting beans, and the easy background chatter soothed my racing heart. Sweat pooled in the small of my back. At least having the jacket partially unzipped gave me some air.
I rocked on my aching feet and glanced at the register. Judging by his body language, Olive Hat Man was blunt but pleasant enough to the next customer. He was polite and efficient. All part of working in customer service. There was no non-awkward way to figure out if he was single and/or looking for romance. We were both working. If he was interested, he’d have to say something. I wasn’t gonna leave my number just because he smiled and made a joke with me. That would be silly. He was just being nice, giving me a cookie for bravery.
A guy wearing a man-bun set two drinks and a paper bag on the counter. “Sugarplum?”
“That’s me.” I grabbed my stuff and headed for the door, lingering for one last glance.
Barista Boy caught my eye and jerked his chin, his lip quirking up.
Oh, hot cocoa. I got The Nod. He had to like me.
I ran from the scene, my shoes jangling as loud as the alarms in my head. This was ridiculous. I was reading way too much into his mannerisms during the two minutes a day I actually spoke to him. And even if he did think I was cute for a second, he’d probably go running as soon as he saw the plushie in my backseat. He was cool; he stood tall. He didn’t smile at every customer, play in snow, or admire random coffee sleeves. But today, he smiled at me.
By the time I returned to the holiday tree cove, I was skipping.
Chestnut snuck a sip of coffee. “Why are you so happy?”
“No reason.” I turned my toes inward and gently swirled the iced coffee with a straw. “I got caffeine and a cookie.”
“Let me see the receipt and I’ll send you the… Wait, did you use your elf name on this?” He furrowed his brow.
“Yeah, the first time I went in, a kid recognized me. Now, the barista kinda teases me about it.” I waved my drink, the ice clinking. “It’s a thing.”
“With Harvey?” he asked.
“Who?” I chewed the straw.
“The name of your server is on the receipt.” He held it up so I could see.
“It is? Oh, wow. Harvey.” I wilted with a dreamy sigh. What a cute name.
Chestnut raised his eyebrows. “You’ve got a thing for the barista?”
“N-no. I don’t even know him. I just like cinnamon.”
“What does that mean?” He chuckled. “Has he given you cinnamon?”
“No, they’re always out of the twists. But he’s nice and he smells like cinnamon.”
“You’re sniffing the hot barista?”
“No.” I snatched the receipt, my face flaming.
Chestnut danced around the walkway. “I wonder if we have any mistletoe around here. Harvey and Sugarplum, sitting in a tree, K-I-S-S-I–”
“Stop it, you nutcracker.” I reached for his cup of coffee. “We aren’t supposed to be silly about real life things."
He bolted, continuing his chant. “It’s the North Pole, there should be more singing.” He appealed to kids nearby. “Do you think Sugarplum is in loooooove?”
The little kids giggled and tugged their parents’ sleeves, pointing at me and saying stuff like, “She’s blushing.”
Jolly Santa stood and deepened his voice. “Are my elves misbehaving?”
Cowed, I hung my head and held my hands behind my back. “No, Santa.”
“Sugarplum’s been naughty.” Chestnut looked way too pleased with himself as he took another sip of his coffee.
“What’s that in your hand, Chestnut?” Jolly Santa raised his stick-on white eyebrows in such a way they hit the brim of his hat and fell askew.
I covered my mouth to stifle a fit of giggles. Oh dear. I smoothed my eyebrow in the hopes it’d give him a hint.
Santa propped his hands on his hips. “I’ll deal with you two later.” A few kids ran up, so he bent down, all smiles and open arms. “Ho, ho, ho! Don’t you look nice? What would you like for Christmas?”
As soon as Mr. Hoynes saw them, he gasped and ran over to fix Santa’s hat and stick-on facial hair.
While they were distracted, I took the opportunity to sneak behind a tree, stir a crumbly candy cane into my coffee, then take a sip.
Yuck. Still bitter. Just mintier.
Next time, I’d order a cookie and tea. Next time with Harvey.