Chapter 1 #2
‘Oh, yes.’ I make her strawberry milkshake, and Laura storms off to clear some tables.
Leaning closer over the counter, Molly says in a low voice, ‘Could I talk to you in private in a bit?’
The way she quietly speaks reminds me of a few weeks ago when she asked for a Saturday job.
She wanted to earn some money and not rely on her mum.
Damn it – I promised her I would think about it and come back to her with a decision.
As I open my mouth, a familiar voice distracts me.
It’s Clark. ‘I’ve spilt my coffee,’ he says, looking helpless.
I nod towards the pile of paper napkins. ‘You can use them.’
He stares at me. ‘Are you expecting me to clean the table?’
I gesture towards the queue. ‘Yes, Clark, we’re busy.’
‘Pearl is going to be here any minute, and I don’t want her to see my spillage.’
My irritation levels spike. ‘How bad is it? Has it gone onto the floor?’
He shakes his head. ‘It’s just on the table.’
‘You’re more than capable of using a napkin to mop up the mess you’ve created.’
I hand Molly her milkshake. ‘It doesn’t matter, I don’t need a chat, Florence,’ she murmurs and walks away.
‘Can’t Laura sort it?’ Clark asks, running a hand through his messy hair.
Laura appears with her tray. She looks at him and grins. ‘What’s up?’
‘Clark has had a little accident,’ I say, which causes two teenage girls in the queue to smirk. ‘Can you help him?’
He glares at me, and I cast him a fake sugary smile. After grabbing a handful of napkins, he storms off to the back of the café.
Laura and I both serve customers at the counter and soon have the queue under control. ‘I loved your ideas on the whiteboard for Molly’s birthday,’ says Laura, before giving the counter a quick wipe. ‘It’s so kind of you to let us use this place.’
‘No worries. I had a productive early-morning brainstorm on my beloved whiteboard.’
Laura giggles. ‘I did laugh at your use of three different pen colours, your excessive use of arrows and your weird-looking stick people. You do know that Molly’s birthday is six months away.’
I nod sagely. ‘Just trying to stay ahead of the game. Planning is key. Don’t worry, I’ve taken a screenshot.’
A year ago, I bought a whiteboard for the café’s kitchen.
I thought it would be good for important reminders.
It quickly became my personal art studio, command centre and emotional support object.
Every chance I get, I whip out my collection of thick markers and fill my board with one of my big ideas or whatever stray thought happens to be wandering through my mind.
Laura casts me one of her special smiles, which means she knows there’s a good chance Molly’s fifteenth birthday event won’t match the grand, colour-coded vision on my board.
Instead, it will be several hours of cake and chaos.
Midway through, I’ll have tapped out of the event and be in the kitchen frantically trying to plan something else.
As I hand an iced latte to a teenage girl, Pearl enters the café.
Pearl is Clark’s neighbour, and they have struck up quite a friendship.
Pearl is in her mid-seventies, with curly grey hair and an infectious laugh.
She and Clark are often in here. Sometimes they’re louder than the teenagers.
I watch Pearl make her way over to Clark.
He pulls her into a hug, and when they part, he hands her a tissue.
She dabs at her eyes like she’s emotional. I wonder what’s happened.
Two years ago, Clark bought a house next door to Pearl and right across from mine in the small cul-de-sac. It feels like I must have been bad in a past life, because Clark Fielding is the first person I see when I open my curtains and the last when I go to bed.
As I watch Clark help Pearl into her seat, Laura comes to stand by me. ‘Pearl’s friend, Mary, died a few weeks ago.’
How did I not know this? ‘Really – Mary with the lilac hair? She’s dead?’
Laura nods. ‘Pearl said it was sudden. She hadn’t been ill. Just dropped down dead.’
‘Poor Pearl.’
‘Clark’s such a good neighbour and friend to Pearl.’
We both watch him pull his friend close.
‘I know we moan about him,’ says Laura, ‘but if you were in a crisis, you’d want Clark giving you one of those hugs.’
I cast her a look of horror. ‘Have you swapped sides?’
She giggles. ‘Sorry, Florence, it’s been a long day. Exhaustion and my daughter’s mood are making me say ridiculous things.’
We laugh, and I return my attention to Clark, who’s looking in my direction. I scowl at him, and he rolls his eyes.
A young lad enters the café. His hood is up, and his hands are stuffed deep into his jeans.
He surveys the room and slides into a seat near the door.
Maybe he’s waiting for someone, I think.
A few of the older teenage girls in the queue spot him.
They all cast him sneaky glances and then furiously tap their thoughts into their phones.
The air is filled with the pinging of message notifications.
My younger customers tend to communicate via their phones even when they’re standing close together.
The boy’s eyes travel across the queue, and he sends a cheeky smile to the pretty one with the golden curls tumbling over her dark school blazer. She blushes and taps at her phone screen. He’s come to my café to see her. How sweet.
I wish he’d buy a drink and pull down that hood.
He probably thinks it makes him look mysterious and alluring.
While I make his love interest her iced latte, I watch her glance at him over her shoulder.
She wants another smile, but he’s distracted.
He’s staring at Pearl, who has her back to him.
The combination of the hood and the way his eyes are fixed on Pearl makes me feel uncomfortable.
I’m about to go over and ask him if he wants a drink when Laura nudges me.
‘I’ve been meaning to ask you. How’s Chris on Instagram? ’
The mention of Chris’s name makes a goofy, happy smile spread across my face.
When I’m not managing this café, I’m a book reviewer.
I devour books and post my reviews, along with a pretty cover photo, on Instagram.
Over time, I’ve garnered a sizeable following of fellow book addicts, and I’ve even made a few publisher marketing lists, which means I often get free copies through the post. I even have a few followers who comment on all my reviews and tell me how brilliant I am at recommending books.
One of them is a guy called Chris. He always leaves me a cheeky, sometimes flirty comment.
Yesterday’s message, Would this spicy romcom appeal to a thirty-something single bloke who likes reading dark spy thrillers? still makes me smile.
‘He’s very well, thanks,’ I say, as my cheeks heat up.
‘Do you think he’s legit and not a stalker?’
I beam at her. ‘Laura, even though there are no photos of him on his grid or his profile, I have a feeling he’s a handsome guy who lives locally and will one day turn out to be my happy ever after.’
As Laura serves a customer, I silently add, ‘He will also mend my broken heart.’