10. Cookie Crumbles
10
Cookie Crumbles
A few shifts later, I clutched my lunch bag while waiting in line for a beverage at The Bern. “For here,” I told the cashier.
Man-Bun Guy, Mario, per prior receipts, raised his eyebrows and tapped a few keys.
As soon as I rounded to the pickup area, Harvey smirked at me. “For here. Must be a special occasion.”
“I wanted to try something different.” I twisted my lunch bag and rubbed my legs together under his appraising look. “Location-wise, not my drink. At least in here, no one’s shouting at the TV.”
Harvey hummed and flipped a mug over. “No, but we do have hipster holiday covers playing on loop. Not sure that’s much better.”
“It is. If only because of the company." I grinned.
“You flatter me.” He smirked and resumed making drinks.
I flexed my sweaty palms, waiting for a sign he agreed that we were both in good company. I didn’t want to assume anything. Harvey and I didn’t really know each other in 'reality.' This could be nothing more than a kind of play to shake up the monotony of the workday. Not like he’d be interested in hanging with me after-hours.
I hugged my lunch bag and leaned into the counter as he rolled his long-sleeved shirt up to his elbows. A dark cloud tattoo wound across his left arm with the grace of tinsel around a sturdy tree. The detailed curves teased my curiosity.
Harvey tilted his head. “What are you looking at?”
“Oh, nothing.” Honesty was generally the best policy. A little scary, though. I rocked on my heels. “That design is pretty.”
“On the drinks?” he asked.
“On your body.” Heat stormed up my neck as Harvey’s eyebrows shot up, his lip ticking incredulously. “I mean the tattoo. Did you draw that?”
He smiled and twisted his arm. “I helped design it, but I didn’t do the ink. You’re the only person who guessed it was partially my handiwork, though. Not sure if that’s a good thing.”
“Why wouldn’t it be?”
He shrugged. “My style is kind of messy. It was supposed to be like those Asian-inspired block prints.”
I leaned on the counter. “It’s wonderful, from what I can see.”
“Thanks, Sugarplum.” His eyes twinkled sweeter than any Christmas lights.
His smile made me sway, so I dropped my gaze to his hands and traced the wood grain on the counter. “Besides, you draw way better than me. Although I’m pretty decent at coloring," I said.
“Ah, another artist. Allow me to make you a masterpiece.” He steered the creamer like a paintbrush. “I had to adjust our normal recipe, so I am not responsible for any sugar crashes.” He set the mug on the counter. “What do you think?”
My breath caught as I cupped the warm porcelain. The center of the design was almost pure white, with intersecting teardrops that rippled out in creamy goodness. “Is this…?” A heart?
“A leaf.” He frowned. “Is it not obvious?”
“No, it’s lovely. Thank you.” I took a picture and hesitated, looking for something–anything to distract from my mistake. I jerked my chin at the winter festival poster. “Are you going to the festival?”
He crossed his arms. “Not really my scene.”
“Too cheery?” I asked. He did wear a permanent dark cloud.
He leaned on the counter and frowned. “No, it’s just kind of kitschy. Lots of crafts.”
“And lights.” I gripped my cup tighter for warmth.
“Yeah.” He thought about it for a second, then shook his head. “Not my thing. Yours, though, obviously.”
“If I can get off.” I flashed him a smile and sipped my drink, trying to derail my thoughts before they despaired or got dirty. “This is delicious, by the way.”
His Adam's apple bobbed. He wiggled his finger like a hook near his mouth. “You’ve got some foam on your…”
I swiped my tongue across my lip. “Thanks.”
Mario leaned towards us and raised his voice. “Order up.”
Harvey straightened and jerked his thumb at the display. “Sorry, I’ve gotta–”
“Yeah, no, go ahead. Thanks for the drink.” I smiled and squished into a seat at the tiniest table available, unpacking my lunch and a book.
I was one chapter in when an inky dark cloud slid across my vision at a recently-vacated table.
Harvey wiped down the dark wood and jerked his chin at me. “PB and J? Nice.”
“Thanks.” I touched my lips and swallowed. No one ever complimented my meal choices.
He glanced at the empty cashier's line, then spun a chair around and plopped down at my table.
My insides danced, and I bookmarked my place. “Are you allowed to sit on the job?”
He shrugged. “No one else is here. How did Christmas shopping with your cousin go?”
“Pretty well. We got everything on the list–and a highly-coveted cinnamon twist.” I curled my hair around my finger and crossed my legs, basking in Harvey’s smile.
His eyes crinkled with pride. “I’d call that a success. How did you like it?”
“Not that I’m excusing that one lady’s awfulness, but I can almost understand why she was so upset not to get one. That bread is magical. Bet with one bite, her grumpiness would’ve melted away like the bread did on my tongue.”
“I think magic is your specialty, not mine,” Harvey said, and my toes curled with glee.
The register dinged. Mario rifled through cash and receipts as another group of customers walked in.
Harvey got up and gripped his chair. “I saw your review, by the way.”
I gulped down my hot chocolate, my muscles contracting. “Was it everything you wanted?”
“Maybe.” His fingertips played at the edge of the chair back, his tone teasing. “Did you mean all those nice things you said?”
I nodded and lowered my lashes. “There’s a reason I come back every shift. Even if I probably shouldn’t.”
“Why not?” He frowned.
“I don’t know. My car is ancient. I should really be saving up to repair it. Get Christmas presents. Go back to school or something.” I scratched my arm and glanced at the incoming customers.
Harvey leaned over the table to whisper, “Is that your way of fishing for a free cookie again?”
I held up a hand. “N-no, I–”
“Stay there, troublemaker.” He walked back to his station and snagged some cups to start on the new batch of orders.
Wait, was he really going to get me something?
It was impossible to keep track of my book’s story and Harvey’s efficient strides. My fingers shook with each page turn. I even dribbled some hot chocolate down my chin.
He swung by to drop off a stack of napkins, his lip quirking up. “Ma’am, please stop making a mess.”
“I didn’t need this many.” I laughed, wiping my face with the back of my hand as I reached for the top of the stack. Something was under the paper. I peeled it back and gasped. A frosted sugar cookie was nested inside the napkins, the cookie snowman’s scarf sparkling red.
My heart grew three sizes. This was for me? I gazed at my barista. “Thank you, sir.”
Harvey rolled his lip ring under his teeth. “I figured you could use a treat. ‘Sugar’ is in your name, after all.”
I made a tiny squeak of joy and picked the snowman up, torn between breaking him to devour in sweet devotion or sitting him against my hot chocolate for a photo op.
Harvey smirked as he strode back to his station. “Just don’t expect stuff like this all the time.”
“I will manage my expectations.” Swaying to the punk cover of a Christmas song, I beamed at the snowman cookie, then at Harvey. “You know, despite some mishaps, I think we have a serious chance at getting on the Nice List.”
Harvey chuckled and fixed his apron. “Glad to hear it. I’m going for manager, so I’d love for the Big Man in Red to put a good word in.”
“Aw, I’m sure my bosses would…" My insides fluttered at the way I’d intended to finish that sentence: I’m sure they’d love you as much as I do. Because they wouldn’t. Love was an awfully strong verb, although my admiration for Harvey was growing with every visit. Should I leave him something besides a nice review and a tip? Then again, if he wanted my number, he could’ve asked for it.
He glanced over from his work between bursts of steam. “What?”
“N-nothing.” I stuffed the cookie into my mouth so I wouldn’t slip out of my mall persona. That was close. I had to preserve the sanctity of our holiday magic. However, if he kept giving me cookies and teasing smiles, I wasn’t sure I would last the week.