A bell rings when I step into Caramel & Latte. The strong scent of freshly roasted coffee rushes past me, along with two teenagers gossiping over their own drinks. Late Saturday mornings tend to get the most foot traffic, but this café is the perfect size to accommodate its customers and still feel cozy.
Some patrons are set up at tables around the room, and the line is a few people deep, but I’ve seen busier days. I glance over to make sure my favorite spot at the shop’s bar window hasn’t been taken, then shuffle to the back of the line.
Caramel & Latte has been a staple of mine since starting classes at Brookstone. It’s close to campus, serves a meanmatcha latte, and has the best view in the entire city. It was a pleasant surprise the first time I walked in and saw her standing at the counter.
It took a few trips to find The Spot; my perfectly seated view in front of the window, right where I can see Boston come to life, or turn my chair to observe the shop’s interior. The first time I sat there, I knocked out three drawings in one day. I haven’t found anywhere that inspires me as much.
I keep an eye on my seat until I reach the front of the line.
“What can I get you?” A familiar voice asks, hand already reaching for the medium size I get my drinks in.
I bite back a smile. Almost every employee has memorized my order, but knowing she remembers it, and remembersme, is one of the reasons I keep coming back.
Her short-stature and wavy hair have been ingrained into my thoughts since the day we met. I have good memories of Lily, even if they’re exclusively connected to a group project.
When our professor announced she was my partner for our comms final, I didn’t need to be pointed in her direction. Lily was a stand-out from the first day, always engrossed with lessons and answering our professor’s questions easily. Beyond her intelligence, it was hard to ignore a girl as gorgeous as her.
When we were forced to share one fun fact about ourselves and why we decided to take a requiredclass, eyes gravitated towards her and never fully left. Mine included. The start of class is irrelevant most of the time. Going over the synopsis and reminding students attendance is mandatory.
I only remember a few things from that day. Her perfectly sun-kissed skin, despite it being Boston in the fall, was one of them.
Lily still holds her glow now, under the fluorescent café lights.
I smile when I notice she’s halfway through writing my order on the cup. I answer her question to be courteous, not because she needs it.
“One medium iced matcha cloud latte.”
She slides my cup to her coworker and taps the register’s screen. “Anything else?”
Her hazel eyes finally connect with mine and my smile grows. “Just that.”
After paying and scrolling through conspiracy theory forums while other people get their orders, I grab my drink and head to my workspace for the next three or so hours.
I wasn’t totally lying on Thursday—I do have a project for Art History to work on.
The sip of matcha is perfect. Creamy and earthy and sweet. Exactly what I need before taking out my sketchbook and working on a piece that has absolutely nothing to do with my Art History class.
I won’t stress myself on starting now. The due date is the do date, and that’s not until the end of the school year.
three
LILIANA
“I actually hate him.”
Grant’s back is facing me, but I mumble insults under my breath and throw a sneer at him anyways. Every time I think my busy Saturday shift can’t get any more annoying, he comes in and orders the hardest drink to make. And to top it off, he never gets my name right.
He called me Lily in undergrad too, but I used to think it was cute. Before he ruined all the good opinions I had of him.
It’s finally dwindling down at Caramel & Latte, the space between customers becoming sparser and the espresso machine not having to go through a round every few minutes. I’m thankful for a small break before the midday rush.
Spending half of my Saturday working is only worth the stress if tips make up for it. Today was a less profitable day—no number of tips can justify a middle-aged man complaining about milk in a latte—but at least I don’t have to spend a bad shift alone.
Kameron not-so-subtly walks up to Grant and asks him something. Probably about his drink, though I doubt he’s trying to be an attentive employee. Grant replies, shakes his head, and doesn’t react to the sex eyes my coworker throws before walking away.
To an extent, I understand Kam. Once upon a time, I didn’t look at Grant McCarthy and I want to throw something at his face. Ididthink he was attractive. But those feelings dissipated a long time ago.
“Ugh.” Kameron groans once he comes back behind the counter, red hair flopping around when he whips his head between me and his eye candy. “He is so hot.”
