He smiled and twisted his arm. “I helped design it, but I didn’t do the ink. You’re the only person who guessed it was partially my handiwork, though. Not sure if that’s a good thing.”
“Why wouldn’t it be?”
He shrugged. “My style is kind of messy. It was supposed to be like those Asian-inspired block prints.”
I leaned on the counter. “It’s wonderful, from what I can see.”
“Thanks, Sugarplum.” His eyes twinkled sweeter than any Christmas lights.
His smile made me sway, so I dropped my gaze to his hands and traced the wood grain on the counter. “Besides, you draw way better than me. Although I’m pretty decent at coloring," I said.
“Ah, another artist. Allow me to make you a masterpiece.” He steered the creamer like a paintbrush. “I had to adjust our normal recipe, so I am not responsible for any sugar crashes.” He set the mug on the counter. “What do you think?”
My breath caught as I cupped the warm porcelain. The center of the design was almost pure white, with intersecting teardrops that rippled out in creamy goodness. “Is this…?” A heart?
“A leaf.” He frowned. “Is it not obvious?”
“No, it’s lovely. Thank you.” I took a picture and hesitated, looking for something–anything to distract from my mistake. I jerked my chin at the winter festival poster. “Are you going to the festival?”
He crossed his arms. “Not really my scene.”
“Too cheery?” I asked. He did wear a permanent dark cloud.
He leaned on the counter and frowned. “No, it’s just kind of kitschy. Lots of crafts.”
“And lights.” I gripped my cup tighter for warmth.
“Yeah.” He thought about it for a second, then shook his head. “Not my thing. Yours, though, obviously.”
“If I can get off.” I flashed him a smile and sipped my drink, trying to derail my thoughts before they despaired or got dirty. “This is delicious, by the way.”
His Adam's apple bobbed. He wiggled his finger like a hook near his mouth. “You’ve got some foam on your…”
I swiped my tongue across my lip. “Thanks.”
Mario leaned towards us and raised his voice. “Order up.”
Harvey straightened and jerked his thumb at the display. “Sorry, I’ve gotta–”
“Yeah, no, go ahead. Thanks for the drink.” I smiled and squished into a seat at the tiniest table available, unpacking my lunch and a book.
I was one chapter in when an inky dark cloud slid across my vision at a recently-vacated table.
Harvey wiped down the dark wood and jerked his chin at me. “PB and J? Nice.”
“Thanks.” I touched my lips and swallowed. No one ever complimented my meal choices.
He glanced at the empty cashier's line, then spun a chair around and plopped down at my table.
My insides danced, and I bookmarked my place. “Are you allowed to sit on the job?”
He shrugged. “No one else is here. How did Christmas shopping with your cousin go?”
“Pretty well. We got everything on the list–and a highly-coveted cinnamon twist.” I curled my hair around my finger and crossed my legs, basking in Harvey’s smile.
His eyes crinkled with pride. “I’d call that a success. How did you like it?”
“Not that I’m excusing that one lady’s awfulness, but I can almost understand why she was so upset not to get one. That bread is magical. Bet with one bite, her grumpiness would’ve melted away like the bread did on my tongue.”
