“Don’t you ‘ma’am’ me! I’m a Top Reviewer. Can I expect you to be able to do this simple thing? I mean, if it always sells out, why wouldn’t you bake more? Doesn’t your company know that? What’s your name? I want to report this.”
I shimmied out to address her. “If you’re looking for something sweet, the carrot cake is–”
The woman whipped around. “Did Iaskfor your opinion?”
“N-no, but…” I ground my teeth as she turned to lay into the barista again. I wouldn’t let her get away with this.My voice and body trembled with determination. “If you keep being mean, I’m going to tellmymanager.”
“And who’s that?” she scoffed.
I unzipped my coat and flung it open, my uniform swishing around my popped hip. “Santa Clause.”
6
Who's the Boss?
Disbelieving laughter sputtered through the coffee shop. Barista guy screwed up his eyebrows. I couldn’t tell if he thought I was nutty or awesome. Probably a little of both.
Mean Lady rolled her eyes. “Nice try. Santa’s not real, honey.”
A small gasp sounded from the group to my left. Two kids with big round eyes looked up at her. “What does she mean?” they whispered to their parents.
Oh, sugarcane. This could get really bad really fast.
“She’s just mad she’s getting coal in her stocking,” I told them.
The parents and kids giggled, but Mean Lady nearly tore my sleeve, yanking me to face her. “Don’t you dare talk about me, you little–”
“Hey!” The barista slapped the counter. A shockwave rattled utensils and silenced the entire venue. His blazing eyes fixed on Mean Lady. “Order what’s in stock or leave. I have no problem calling security.”
The lady shoved me back in exasperation. “Fine, I’ll leave. But you’ll be sorry. I’m writing to corporate about you. I cameall the way out here and there are no cinnamon twists. This is outrageous. Very poor customer service.” She flung her arms out and hurried through the crowd, muttering insults the whole way.
My shoulder throbbed from her manhandling. Rubbing my arm, I shrank under the stares of strangers. Some smiled. Some held their phones up like they might’ve been filming.
Would I get in trouble for this? What about the barista?
I hugged myself, wishing I had Mr. Waddles with me. And some privacy.
The barista frowned and readjusted his olive cap. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah…” My feet swept the floor as I trudged to the register.
He jerked his chin at the display case. “Would a cookie make you feel better?”
“Yes, please.”Good salesman.I definitely needed a pick-me-up after that encounter. The sugar cookies with glitter were super cute and sparkly, but they cost half an hour’s work. I pointed to a giant chocolate chip cookie. At least it was a few dollars cheaper. “I also need one regular coffee and one small iced coffee, please.”
“Whatever my knight in polyester armor needs.” He punched the register keys. “Sugarplum, right? Causing trouble again, I see.”
My heart seized. He remembered me. “I–um, yes. Good memory.” Licking my lips, I refastened my coat and got my wallet, scanning the register readout. It seemed kind of low. “Are you sure that’s everything?”
“Cookie’s on me.” He took my cash and got out the change.
“Oh, no, I couldn’t take that after I caused a scene.”
“She’s the one who had the meltdown.” His fingertips grazed my open palm, but he waited until I met his piercing gaze to drop the change and receipt.
I was frozen, splayed open.He saw me.
“Just do me a favor,” he said.Anything.“Rate your experience to counteract that ice queen’s glowing review.”
