Chapter 7
Stella
“Crap!” I shout as steamed milk pours over my hand.
The skin instantly turns a hot, angry red and I rush to the sink to pour some cold water over it.
I’m used to water and milk burns at this point, yet it always manages to catch me by surprise.
I smile apologetically at the lady whose drink I’m making as she harumphs in my direction and I go to re-steam her milk.
I’ve been so stuck in my own head these last few days.
Every time the bell on the door jingles, I look up, wondering if it’s going to be him. I can’t stop thinking about the way he caged me against the alley, how my breath caught, the way his eyes hypnotically pulled me in.
Why does he have to be so hot? I lament internally while I quickly replicate the ruined drink. The customer snatches it off the counter once I’m done, leaving in a huff.
Some people simply can’t handle human error.
“Are you okay?” Maria asks, peeking her head out of the swinging door that leads to the kitchen.
Her frazzled hair is wrapped up in a bandana, sweat beading on her forehead as the smell of cinnamon wafts from the workspace behind her.
She’s been working on her cinnamon roll recipe for mornings here for the last three hours and I think I’m going to dehydrate from all the watering my mouth has been doing just imagining biting into one.
“I’m fine,” I assure her as I soak a cloth in cold water before wrapping it over my burnt hand.
“You need to be more careful! You’re going to lose a limb one of these days,” she scolds as she tops up her own coffee from the dredges at the bottom of the pot.
Shoot, I totally forgot to brew another batch. I mentally smack myself and start whipping up a fresh pot before our next customers come in and give me something to cry about.
“I’m not that bad.” It’s a lie. I’m pretty bad. Just this morning I dropped a knife as I was pulling it out of the dishwasher and only narrowly avoided lodging it into the top of my foot. She doesn’t need to know that though.
“Well, shout if you need anything.”
“I wouldn’t complain about you feeding me again?
I didn’t bring a lunch today.” I ask hopefully, thinking about the ninety-nine cent ramen stashed in the bottom of my bag, which doesn’t hold a candle to anything Maria makes.
Seriously, on my deathbed, I would like the privilege of eating anything she cooks.
“Sure thing, querida,” Maria laughs, gulping down her scalding coffee as I wince, and promptly returning to the kitchen.
The bell on the door jingles. My mood brightens significantly when one of my favourite regulars, Miriam, struts in. She has her signature Barbie-pink cane, a faux-fur coat, oversized sunglasses, and her milk foam white hair is freshly permed, never looking anything other than immaculate.
She’s my hero.
“Hi Miriam! Your usual?” I ask, excited to see her, ready to prepare her drink. It’s a specialty drink that Beck introduced for Hazel – the ‘Crazy Caramel Cluster’ latte.
“Oh, darling, am I really that predictable? I must change things up if you can guess what I want,” she says flamboyantly.
Everything is a show with Miriam, complete with fluttering hands and dramatic reactions.
“What do you recommend that’s new and special?
” She leans over the counter to peek at our new syrups and toppings.
“Well, we have a maple latte that’ll knock your sweet tooth straight out,” I offer, leaning towards her conspiratorially.
“My dear, you already accomplish that all on your own. What about something bitter? Like me,” she says with a wink.
“What about floral? We have a rose-infused syrup that’s not too sweet and it comes with edible sparkles on top,” I dangle in front of her, fully aware how much she loves sparkles.
“Oooh you know me so well.” I ring her through, and instead of putting money in the tip jar, she takes my hand and folds a twenty into it.
“Just for you, eh? No sharing,” she says, aware of the fact that we share tips on the café side.
She walks to the end of the counter to wait for her drink while I go to take the next person, not even having noticed someone come in while Miriam had my complete attention.
I may as well take their order and make the drinks at once.
“Hello! What can I get for… you?” I’m startled to be looking into forest green eyes. Eyes that are enjoying how flustered I am. “Hi James.”
“James? What happened to stud?” he teases, his voice low and smooth. More like what happened to the grumpy giant I was starting to get used to?
“I left him in an alley. He is no more.” I’m sharp, but both of us need to quit this flirtation before people get hurt. “Coffee?”
“Large pumpkin spice. And a muffin,” he says, pointing to the display case of pumpkin cream cheese muffins. I quickly wrap one up for him, not even offering a plate for inside, hoping he’ll get the hint.
I do love his confidence at ordering a PSL though.
Definitely not helping the don’t-think-he’s-cute-this-will-end-badly thing I’ve got going on.
He goes to wait for his drink next to Miriam and offers her one of the more pleasant greetings I’ve seen him give.
I can’t hear over the milk steaming, but by the time I’m bringing them to the counter, Miriam’s eyes are lit up and she has his bicep in a firm grasp, flirting up a storm.
“Oh, thank you, Stella. I was commending this young man on his choices. The muffins you make might be the only good thing on the menu! Don’t tell anyone I said that.”
“Thanks, Miriam, can I grab you one as well?”
“Well, I don’t want to take the last one…” she says, eyeing it hungrily.
“Don’t worry, I can make more,” I chuckle, walking over to grab one.
When I pass it to her, she pulls me in close. “Honey, if you don’t go for him, I will.” She’s not even whispering. Heat burns my cheeks as she saunters out of the café. James is left staring at me, cheeks bulging with food.
“Sorry about her, she’s a little eccentric, but truly very sweet.”
“You make these?” he asks, incredulous, talking around the half a muffin already stuffed in his mouth.
“Yeah, I like to try new things between rushes. Everyone loves a muffin with their coffee, right?” He stares for one more moment before leaving without another word.
Rude. That’s a point deduction right there. Not that I’m keeping score. Because it doesn’t matter.
I wonder what that was all about.
Why is he showing up at my workplace at all? Nessa isn’t here, he didn’t stay, and I know they don’t play tonight because I am keeping a much closer eye on the live music schedule. And then to come in and flirt with me? What kind of game is that?
I can’t get my mind off of it all day. I only half-register agreement when Beck asks if I want to cover the bar shift for Mel, and by the time I get home, I’m wrecked.
My feet are aching, my back is killing me, and the tension in my face from giving my best customer service smile for fourteen hours straight is giving me a migraine.
I strip down to my underwear and flop into bed.
I curl up under my blankets, trying to stave off the cold and get the stress to dissipate.
My brain turns its attention to the mountain of debt I’m under, the extortionate interest rates, and how much farther I still have to go before I’m free of it.
These extra hours may have put a dent in it, but it’s a pebble on the beach for all it’s worth.
Riding my bike, eating at work, using as little electricity as possible, it’s all been helping. It’s still not enough.
Nothing is ever enough.
Cheer up, Stella! Half the battle is your attitude! I can hear dad’s voice in my head. I must have inherited my optimism from him. I can’t seem to find it at the moment.
I roll over to face my window, groaning as my muscles strain. I love looking out at the streetlights, glittering against the sky. I console myself and my abused body with the fact that with the snow dump we’re expecting tomorrow, at least the café will be quiet. Minimal effort. Nothing to go wrong.
“Sorry, run that all by me one more time?”
I sigh into the phone. “The espresso machine broke down, the oven is on the fritz, so no morning pastries, and I have a massive lineup of angry customers because every other café in a ten kilometre radius is closed,” I relay to Beck, looking over my shoulder at the sea of dirty, caffeine addicted looks pointed my way.
I can practically hear Beck’s migraine building over the phone.
“But the brewed coffee is fine, and the milk steamer still works, right? Hazel and I can come down and help soon… Can you hold on for an hour?”
“I’ll try…” I stare up into the light on the ceiling, an old trick from my mom to stop tears from falling.
I will not cry at work. I will not cry at work.
The light I’m staring at flickers gently, then violently, then one by one, every light in the shop blinks out.
Everyone in the café falls silent before a collective groan rises. “Oh, and the power’s out.”
“Fuck.”
“That would sum it up, yes.”
“Well, close down, get yourself home. No point sticking around if you can’t even serve people. You’ll be paid for the day, don’t worry.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes, I’ll deal with this all in the morning. Get home safe.”
I start herding people out the door, trying my best not to slip on the slurry of melted snow on the floor and making as many apologies as I can before I lock up.
There’s minimal work I need to do before I can go, but I should still be able to get out before the storm gets any worse.
I’m counting out the till when a voice rings out.
“Stella! What are you still doing there? It’s the apocalypse outside, go home!”
“Ahhh!” I shriek and fall to the ground, slipping as I turn frantically to find the voice. I hear delighted chortling echo through the empty space.