Portia
“That’s awful, Mom.” I take long strides back to the coffee shop with my phone glued to my ear, and I glare at the overcast sky. This winter has been brutal as it dumps snow every day. I hoped to hear my parents had made it home. “I’m sorry the airline is jerking you around like that. You’re right to rent a car to drive.”
“Yeah, it’ll be a long haul, but we’re tired of waiting.” Mom’s surprisingly optimistic tone rings through the phone. “If everything goes well, we should be in late tonight. Is everything still okay there?”
“Yep,” I quip as fast as I can. “Everything’s . . . excellent.”
“Good. Did you and Oliver catch anything this morning?”
Christian flashes in my mind, causing my breath to hitch in my chest. I’m not sure why I’m uneasy. It’s something Oliver and I do all the time. What will my parents think when they learn I hurt someone? “Ah, just one guy, but he isn’t interested in the site.”
“Really?” Mom audibly scoffs. “That’s too bad. Well, when we get back, Dad will take you to Home Hardware. That always works.”
“Yeah, it sure does.” I hover my finger over the End Call button. Leaving out the major details about what I’m really doing brings a wave of nausea to my gut. “Gotta go.”
“Love you,” Mom sings into the phone.
“Love you, too.” I end the call, feeling hopeful about my afternoon at the Coffee Loft. Hopefully Christian is resting, and not monitoring me, because I need to reply to these messages.
The Coffee Loft hardly looks open as I pass through the empty cafe, each table neatly put together without so much as a coffee ring stain. The lights are on, and the soft music station hums in the background, but there is no sign of customers anywhere. I adjust my French press while straining my neck to see behind the counter into the office. “Boy, I really did steal all of your customers,” I jokingly call out, still pacing forward before I have eyes on Christian.
A cacophony of crashing sounds explodes from behind the counter, and a few random plastic drink cups roll, followed by Christian’s front hair spike slowly peeking over the ledge. His already round eyes swell larger when he sees me. “What is that thing you are holding?”
I halt. Maybe this is a bad idea? “Uh, pardon my French press.” I set it down on the table nearest me. “It’s my favorite way to make coffee, and if I’m going to work all day, I need a fresh cup.”
Christian’s narrow face grows even longer as his jaw drops. “I told you Coffee Loft doesn’t make French press—”
“Portia!” Arielle flies out of the backroom, swooping into our conversation, cutting off Christian. She’s already standing next to me with an uplifted brow of concern pinned on her face. “We’re so glad to have you back.” She waves me back behind thecounter. “Grab an apron, and I’ll make you a drink on the house. We just unpacked the Coffee Loft special blend. You have to try it. It will make you toss your French press for good.”
Christian's mouth flaps open. “You—”
Arielle gives him a stony glare and speaks over him. “Christian’s been telling me how awful he feels about letting you go. It’s been a big misunderstanding. He’s truly ecstatic for the second chance.” She breezes behind the counter. As she walks past Christian, she places her hand on his jaw, physically closing his gaping mouth. He doesn’t crack a smile, but I stifle a giggle.
“What would you like to drink?” She positions herself behind the bar, hand hovering over the stacks of cups, waiting for my instructions.
“Ah, it’s fine. I can use my French press.”
Christian’s head jerks back, as he immediately goes off balance, lifting his foot. My guess is Arielle stomped on it because his voice squawks as he grumbles, “No, I insist. You’re helping. It’s the least I could do topayfor your drinks.”
Giving up, I guess I could try theirspecialblend. “Let’s do a skinny, Cinnamon Dulce, half-caff since it’s afternoon already.”
“Absolutely.” She snatches the large cup—the one we call Lofty—and sets it on the counter. “That’s Christian’s favorite flavor. You two have so much in common. I can already tell you’ll get along fine now that everything is behind you.”
Christian robotically pivots, hunching over as if gravity is too strong for him to fight. He silently hobbles to his office, and pulls the door closed behind him. Another cacophony of noise rumbles out from behind his closed door. Arielle pauses, locking her eyes on me, and giggles. “He takes some warming up, but I promise he’ll be fine once you get past this stage. What kind of schedule do you like?”
I meander up to the bar, waiting for my coffee. “How about a shift when Christian isn’t here?”
“If you want to open tomorrow, that would be great. I was going to do it, but I would love to sleep in. I hate morning shifts.” She presses the lid on my cup and hands it to me over the bar.
“Thank you.” I receive the drink. “That’s perfect.”
“Christian changed the code for the keypad, but I’ll text you the new one.” She waves her hand over the coffee brewing station. “Everything else should be the same.”
“Sounds good.”
“Alright, if you are okay here then, I might slip out and run to the drug store to get Christian some pain meds.” She flashes her hand up. “Unless you need anything?”
I can’t believe I’m about to work for Christian, but I don’t want him to retaliate against Oliver. “I should be fine.”
