Irritation flares in my gut. It’s Friday night and I know Zayn’s assuming I’ll be meeting someone in a hotel room, even though I explicitly told him I wasn’t doing that again.
“Wouldn’t you like to know?”
I finally turn to see Zayn staring at me with such fire inhis eyes it jolts my heart. To say he looks fucking angry would be a serious understatement.
“Yeah, I would like to know?” Sam says, confused, looking between Zayn and I. “Is there something wrong?”
I ignore the thundering in my chest.
“I got a job at a cafe on my campus. They stay open late on Fridays because classes run late and there’s a few study groups that linger. I don’t finish until nine.”
I haven’t had the chance to tell Sam about my new job I landed this week at Bean & Cup, the cafe that Brett and I have been meeting at to discuss the fundraiser. I saw they were looking for staff, applied and got the job on the spot, even though the last time I worked in a cafe was six years ago. Tonight is only my second shift, but I’m loving it so far. Not to mention the weight that’s been lifted off my shoulders now I don’t have to rely on selling off my possessions to live.
“That’s great, Gianna!”
“Thanks,” I offer a small smile then turn back to fish the tea bags out of our cups.
“What campus?”
The question comes from Zayn, and I answer with my back turned to him. “Melbourne University. I’ve gone back to finish my degree.”
I grab the milk out of the fridge and hear Zayn speak to Beth and Sam. “I’ll make copies and have these papers sent to you for your records. I’ll be in touch.”
Then he leaves without a further word to me. I only know he’s left the kitchen because I hear giggles float in from the hallway, which I safely assume come from Emma and Lily as he passes them. For the first time since I stepped inside Hope House, I feel like I can breathe again. I slam the fridge door shut with a little extra gusto than necessary. Andno, I’m not angry that Zayn ignored me until he thought I was selling my ass again, then piped up like he had a bloody say in what I do with my own body. Nope, not angry about that at all.
I pick up the mugs and turn to face Sam, whose usually soft eyes are narrowed on me like a hawk.
“Anything you wanna talk about, Gianna?”
“Yeah,” I huff, walking past him to lead the way to his office. “The fundraiser.”
18
My Friday night shift passes quickly in a flurry of serving coffees, toasties and muffins to a constant flow of uni students requiring sustenance between classes and gathering study groups. I am right back in my element, having worked in a cafe through my uni days, and I can’t help but feel like I’m erasing the last six years of my life and picking up where I never should have left off.
There’s a lull at about eight when most people have left campus for the day and Toby, the heavily tattooed young barista, offers to teach me the basics of making coffees. After twenty minutes of practicing under his skilled guidance, I’m overjoyed to announce my frothed milk looks less like a bubble bath and a bit more like liquid velvet. I proudly pour the heated milk into an already caffeinated cup for Brett, who popped in a few minutes ago and ordered a flat white before plonking himself down at a table near the windows.
I try to replicate the fern coffee art I’ve watched Toby pour to perfection all evening but fail miserably, and end upcarrying my artistic blob over to Brett with the sounds of Toby’s light-hearted chuckles at my back.
“Your flat white,” I say cheerfully as I place the coffee down before Brett. He’s dressed in what I’ve playfully teased him over the last two weeks as being ‘professor-chic’, with beige chinos, a button-up and a patched blazer. He’s always had a more arty sense of style, but it’s definitely matured from his ripped jeans and Vans era back when we were both students. He leans back and runs a hand over his face.
“You know, I still find it wild that you’re back here,” he grins, reaching for his cup. “It’s surreal.”
“I know, right. Feels like I’ve used a time turner and jumped straight back to 2013.”
“I tell you what…” He laughs as he pulls the cup to his lips. “Never thought I’d say it, but there’s nothing I’ve missed more than your Harry Potter references.”
“HA! I knew it! You always acted like I was so lame.”
“I didn’t say you weren’t lame. You are.” He nearly spills his coffee when I slap him on the arm. “But I still missed you.”
He takes a big sip of coffee, then I watch with confusion as his face pinches and he struggles to swallow the liquid down. He turns to me with watery eyes.
“What on God’s green earth did you serve me?” He gasps. “Are you trying to kill me?”
“What’s wrong with it?” I ask, mortified. “I heated the milk myself.”
“For how long? A thousand years?” He sputters dramatically, banging on his chest for good measure. “Tastes like lava.”
