Chapter 14
Roni
The clock on the wall is stuck as I wish for the end of my shift. The fluorescent bulbs overhead emit a steady, irritable buzz, resembling a swarm of angry hornets.
Earlier today, Debbie, the owner, shot me a placating text.
Debbi: Hang in there. I’ll be there shortly.
Just what I need, another layer of stress.
Roni: I’m going to murder this woman.
Chloe: Ladyboss raggin’ again?
Roni: I just need her to hire someone to replace Mercy. I never thought I’d resent that kid leaving, but here we are.
Each customer approaches intent on fraying my nerves to their breaking point. At the drive-thru window, a man in a threadbare flannel shirt sporting a rough five-o'clock shadow squints at the menu as if it’s a complex puzzle.
“Caramel macchiato,” he finally declares, nose wrinkling in indecision, “but with 2% milk.”
I set the cup beside the frother, carefully measure the caramel, and reach for the milk. He blinks at me in mid-thought.
“Actually… make it a cappuccino, with a hint of vanilla.”
The pangs of homicidal rage twinge as I switch gears, closing my eyes for a moment to gather patience. As I begin steaming the milk, his exasperated sigh cuts through the air, louder now.
“No, no, just give me a vanilla latte.”
Seriously, just make up your mind already.
At the other window, another guy is practically dancing on his toes, his fists tapping rhythmically on the counter. His face is flushed a vivid red, and he glares at me like I’m personally responsible for the manner in which time operates.
“What’s taking so long?” he shouts, his voice sharp with irritation.
Oh, I don’t know, maybe it's the never-ending saga of macchiato cappuccino latte guy.
I've reached my limit. I grab a scratched tumbler from the counter, fill it with steaming black coffee, two pumps of vanilla syrup and a splash of milk, then lean in close, letting a quick flick of saliva fall into it as I declare, “Here. Free.” I snap a lid on quickly and pass it to him. “Now buzz off.” He doesn’t bother thanking me before scuttling away, and I can’t pretend to care.
I’m tempted to repeat the same routine to clear the line if it will help me save a single shred of sanity.
“I’ll take it from here.” Debbie appears behind me, her arms crossed, eyebrows knitted together in a tight line. “What can I get you, sir?” she asks the red-faced customer fuming at the other window.
I nod, barely acknowledging her presence, as I try to steady myself. I know she’s here to help cover, but I can't shake the feeling she's also here to witness my impending breakdown.
Back at the espresso machine, I force myself to prepare a shot for a vanilla latte, my last nerve fraying with each pull of the lever.
Rage pounds through me wildly, echoing in my ears.
If one more customer dares to change their order, I swear I'll explode.
My skin will peel away, and my soul will drift out through the steam wand.
The milk hisses in the pitcher, mocking me with its shrill, taunting sound.
Chloe: Funny you should mention it…
Roni: You mean for the bagillionth time this week?
Chloe: I don’t want to make a big thing of this.
Roni: Bitch, what are you talking about?
Chloe: Do you think she’d hire me?
Roni: Not unless you’re suddenly moving back here.
Chloe: I was gonna surprise you. But now I’m worried you’re going to stuff your boss in the ice chest.
Roni: Wait. What are you saying?
Debbie dismisses the angry customer with a wave of her hand and turns to me, her lips pressed into a tight, disapproving line. “You can’t leave customers hanging like that. The gentleman waited far too long. You need to at least ask him what he wants.”
Yeah. Yeah. I dismiss her with a mind full of middle fingers. I’m so ready to quit this fucking job.
I glance helplessly at the line of cars idling in a serpentine queue around both drive-thru windows, engines humming in the evening air, but Debbie's gaze remains unyielding. Then, out of the corner of my eye, I notice it. Phoenix’s sleek black SUV glides smoothly into the open parking spot beside my little sedan.
The emotions of the tumultuous day grip me, and I swear I can’t breathe.
It's almost closing time, and the weight of unshed tears have been pressing on me for hours.
How does he always manage to show up when I need him most?
Debbie’s voice cuts through my thoughts like a blade. “Earth to Roni. Are you going to do something or just stare off into space?”
I snap back to attention, squaring my shoulders and wiping the stray drop from my eye with the back of my hand. “Excuse me? I’ve been running this place solo for days, dealing with every rude customer imaginable. Don't you start snapping at me now, too.”
“Three dollars, Sir. And I’m sorry for the wait,” I say, handing a man in a minivan his steaming latte. He slides a $5 bill across the counter and drives off without another word, leaving me with two extra bucks and a fleeting sense of victory.
“You know what, Roni?” Debbie interjects, her voice cutting through the air like a sharp blade. “Just go. Go home. Get some sleep. Or get laid. Whatever you need to do to level the hell out. I still need you to open tomorrow, and your attitude sucks.”
My hands clench into fists, fingernails digging into my palms. I want to scream.
To let out a primal yell that echoes off the walls.
I want to cry. To expel hot and furious streams down my cheeks.
I want to grab the nearest cup, fill it with a hot roast and hurl it at her, just to watch it splatter against the wall beside her head.
But I don't bother. I take a deep breath, praying I can retain my frazzled nerves.
I don't argue with her. She says I can leave, and he's here.
Which is all that matters right now. I need to escape this cramped little coffee shack.
I grab my small clutch, its beaded surface cool against my skin, and my cell phone. The screen lights up with a message notification. I push open the creaky back door of the coffee hut and stride toward my car, my heels clicking on the pavement.
Phoenix steps out of his sleek SUV, the metallic paint gleaming under the lot’s lights.
He moves around the trunk of my sedan, waiting with a single white tulip held delicately between his fingers.
As I approach, just a step away, laughter bubbles up from within me, and I swallow hard, trying to withhold an unexpected chuckle.
Only, the moment I reach him, it escapes my lips and quickly transforms into a choked sob. I collapse into his open arms, which wrap around me with a tenderness that feels both soothing and secure, like a warm blanket on a winter morning.
“What are you doing here?” I ask, gazing up at him through eyes blurred with tears. His face is calm, a slight smile playing on his lips.
“What do you think, My Little Temptress?” he replies, his voice gentle and teasing, posing a question needing no answer.
I don't know what overtakes me. Maybe it's the exhaustion of caring too much for too long.
Maybe it's the fear of letting another precious moment slip through my fingers.
But suddenly, I'm on my tiptoes, leaning in, and I softly press my lips against his.
The kiss is tender and warm. His lips are smooth and gentle against mine.
I feel an urge to deepen the kiss, to feel more of his presence, but uncertainty holds me back.
This is spontaneous, and I'm unsure of how he’ll take it.
“What was—” he begins to ask, but I silence him with a finger gently pressed to his lips as I pull away.
“I'd really like to thank you properly, Phoenix,” I say, my voice earnest yet apologetic. “I'm far too late in offering, and for that, I’m sorry. I don’t want to go home to an empty apartment. Not yet. I've had the worst day. Is there any chance you'll let me buy you a drink?”