“I have a date,” I admit.
His grin widens. “Totally jealous of your date, dude.” He winks.
Okay, I might be overthinking this interaction, but that means he knows it’s me, right? I swear, I need subtitles for his thoughts, so I don’t make a fool of myself.
“Don’t be.”
I look at the receipts and place four orders on the counter, calling their names. “What about you?” I ask. “Plans this weekend? Or is it all football?”
“Kayaking,” he says. “Definitely looking forward to it. I haven’t kayaked in ages. It’s going to be killer.”
“Nice. You going alone?”
“I have a date on Friday. We’re going kayaking at the big lake in the valley. There are islands and shit. Going to do the romantic thing and have a picnic. It’ll be cool.”
“That sounds great,” I say. Nope. He doesn’t know it’s me. I’m not sure he knows my name. That’s the only explanation for why he hasn’t figured it out. I glance down at what I’m doing, disguising the move so I can look at my name tag. Totally there. It says Dana.
Okay. Let’s try something else. Subtle. Because I’m far too self-conscious for anything direct right now. “You have fun at the festival last weekend?”
“Eh. Had my heart broken, which—” He shrugs. “That was my own doing. I’m not subtle and he was just being nice, but it still sucks.”
My stomach twists. I move away from him to call the next few orders and then come back. “Sorry.”
His smile is sweet. I think maybe it’s flirty. I’m convinced further when he says, “I just need a little cheering up.” Another wink.
Gah! Where is my bravery right now? I need to say something flirty back. “I know a way,” I blurt.
Before he can respond or I can burst into flames, a couple of his teammates join him, and his attention is taken from me. Thank fuck for that. Talk about humiliating myself. Especially considering that he didn’t respond at all.
I’m almost relieved when I get to his order. I say his name, and he turns to me so I can hand him his drink. He smiles, that same dazzling smile that lights up my dreams. “Thanks, hot stuff.” He takes a sip and mmmms. “You’re a master brat tamer.” Peyton raises his drink and moves away. “See you.”
I raise a hand, sighing at yet another missed opportunity. I watch him walk away. For just a second, I don’t move on to the next order. I just watch him. I shot a shot this time, right? Was I denied?
I love the teases he always sends me over his drinks. He’d ordered a Brat Tamer today, which is an elevated spicy hot chocolate with espresso and Aztec spices. The coffee enhances the chocolate, taming the heat from the spice. Hence, Brat Tamer.
There are actual reasons behind the names of the drinks. They make sense when you understand the flavors. No one needs to know that we come up with the names first and then create the drinks to go with them. That’s a Queer Palace Café secret.
Once more, I lose myself in the rhythm of drinks until I finally turn to reach for the next receipt, and there isn’t one. I sigh. Now that I have a break, I feel breathless. Tired. Inhaling, I step back and look around the café.
Peyton isn’t here anymore. He and his friends left. It’s still busy with people lingering while they eat. Chatting. It’s constant noise.
“Okay, catch me up,” Mikah says. “He seemed extra flirty today, no?”
I sigh. “I don’t think so. I think he must be flirty with everyone. It’s not personal.”
“But he knows you have your auction date coming up, and he’s still flirting with you.”
I’m not convinced he knows. I’m not sure how I feel about him not knowing my name. We talk every day while I’m working. Every single day. Doesn’t that, at the very least, make us friends?
Maybe it doesn’t. We don’t hang out. We haven’t exchanged phone numbers. I don’t think I’ve ever even seen him outside of the café.
“Right,” I say, not wanting to admit that Peyton probably hasn’t figured it out. Besides, even if he knows my name, he likely doesn’t know my last name. It’s not like I’ve given him any indication since the festival that it was me.
A new receipt pops out of the printer, and I flip it to look at the order.
“I don’t know. I think he was flirting with intention this time,” Mikah says. “Tony. Weigh in.”
Tony turns from the food prep station where Mikah had been. During mealtimes, there are typically two people prepping food, one on drinks, and one at the register processing orders and handing out pastries. We’re not the only café on campus, but I think the combination of playful names and that our food and drinks are really good, keeps us one of the busiest places.
