“Lana!” More knocking. “Lana, I’ll let you finish, just tell me what you want me to bake for today!”
Lana snorts, laughing quietly, freezing on top of me. “The usual!”
“Okay! Have fun!”
Lana snickers and smiles at me over her shoulder, moving again.
“Who was that?” I rasp hoarsely, my fingers burrowing into her waist.
“Later,” she moans. “Make me come, Christian.”
I stand while inside her and bend her over the desk, obeying her command.
Lana has gone over toward the bookshop half of the shop, leaving me to fend for myself in the cafe—as a barista.
I never thought I’d end up a barista, but here I am, cleaning the steamer when I hear, “Christian Calloway.”
My lips purse. “Terrance.”
“Better not fuck up my coffee.”
The machine prints out his coffee order for me and I read it through. Too many pumps of everything. Too specific. I smile up at him and place the order sticker on the cup with theBooks and Beanslogo. “I’ll try.”
He eyes me carefully. “I asked for sugar, not spit.”
I snort, steaming the milk. “I wouldn’t dare.”
“Uh-huh. I’m watching you, Calloway.”
I chuckle. “Alright, sir.”
“Will I be seeing you again this weekend?”
“Yes sir.” I place the cap on his coffee and slide it across the counter. “I will be there. Don’t forget it’s your turn to bring the snacks.”
Terrance lip curls and he glares. “I was hoping you’d forget.”
I smile. “Never. I take my snacks very seriously.”
He takes a slow sip, and I wait it out for the verdict. “Nowthisis good,” he laughs. “I’m very happy for you, kid.”
“Thank you, Terrance.”
“And congratulations again on the house,” he whispers,leaning over the counter just a bit so only I hear. “She’ll love it.”
I flush.
“Proud of you, Calloway. I’m glad you’re sticking around.” He raises his cup at me with a wink as he exits, and I dip my chin before I continue on with the rest of the orders.
The orders come in fast, printing at the machine, one after the other. I can’t even find time in between to steal a glance at my girl from here because I’m focused on remembering how to make the drinks and what the right ingredients are especially, for the intricate iced teas and lemonades. The other employee, a high school student, Olivia mans the register and the pastry orders.
She heats up the premade egg sandwiches and croissants and everything else while taking orders and payments with a smile, without breaking a sweat.
The morning rush finally dies down, a simple iced coffee for the last customer—for now. I can finally take a breath. I understand what Lana means about being here earlier than usual now. Between nine and eleven, it’s chaos. It’s for breakfast, late breakfasts, people running late, parents after dropping their kids off at school, students who need their coffee high—everyone.
I start cleaning up, listening to the soft music playing overhead that I know is one of Lana’s playlists. I take a peek between the aisles of books and find her reaching a shelf, her jeans outlining the curve of her ass. She’s wearing a yellow halter and racerback tank top (as she described), and the sneakers I bought for her (finally).
She’s gorgeous and she works harder than I ever have for anything in my life. She deserves everything good she has. And I want to be part of those good things so badly.
