Various machines gurgled and foamed as I clasped my hands behind me, waiting for my drinks.No more touching things.Orthinkingabout touching things. I didn’t even know this guy.
The barista ran his tongue against his lip ring. I had to press my palm to my chest so my heart didn’t beat right out of my ribcage. My grinchy prince frowned.
Ooh, he didnotlike staring. Or snowball fights. Or me, probably.
He arched a pierced brow. Was that a challenge or a warning? Did he recognize me?
Flashing him a nervous smile, I stretched my sleeves down around my guilty, snowball-throwing hands and turned toward the wall.
I’m a good girl, see?
I wasn’t touching anything but myself. And no, that wasn’t dirty.
At least the flyers on the bulletin board were a pretty distraction: indie concerts, tattoo consultations, book clubs, and best of all, the winter festival.
Although the poster showed a beautiful blue sky with bold fixtures, I knew from years past attending with my high school friends that it was only the full experience after dark on weekends. Looped lights transformed the local gardens into a real winter wonderland. There were hot chocolate booths, sleigh rides, fancy trees for charity, ice carving, home-made crafts, and a general air of magical happiness.
I double-checked my schedule and sighed. I was working most of those days. Maybe if I requested off early…
The barista slapped two drinks onto the table, frowning as he read a screen. “Sugar…plum?”
I waved.
He barely glanced at me before he started the next order. That was no big deal. Smiles weren’t necessary for coffee. Efficiency was key. I shimmied past a few grumbling customers still clutching their receipts.
The barista looked left, then right, before leaning over the counter. My mouth watered at the wafting scent of cinnamon.
“Is thatyou?” he asked.
From the parking lot? Yes.I held up my receipt and shrunk into myself. “Y-yeah, coffee, hot chocolate, and carrot cake.”
His tone flattened. “I meant the bells.”
Bells? I turned around, finally registering the soft tinkling sound near the ground. “Ohhh, yes. Sorry, I didn’t have time to change my shoes.” The little bells on the end of the curled toes jingled as I shuffled over.
“Ah, thought I heard those earlier.” He flicked a tap. “You’re the girl who messed around in the parking lot. And now you’re messing with my coffee sleeves.”
Cheeks flaming, I nodded. “Yeah, sorry about that. It really was an accident.”
“Be careful.” He leaned forward, eyes glinting as he eased my order into my hands. “Next time, I’ll put you on the naughty list.”
My kneecaps melted faster than a marshmallow in cocoa. Was he joking? The urge to knock over the display just to see if he’d grab me was almost overwhelming.
Wait, no. That was so embarrassing. This was his place of work. He was probably just semi-flirting because it meant better tips. And he wasn’t even flirting, he was referencing my mistakes with a lightly-veiled threat. He obviously thought I was annoying. What waswrongwith me?
I summoned my elf façade and forced a chuckle. “Okay, have a nice day.” I snatched the rest of my order and bolted out of there before I could give him any more reason to think I was nutty. My shoes tinkled all the way to the mall’s communal break room.
That barista would probably write me off as the weirdo who touched coffee sleeves and had snowball fights in the parking lot. But still. My body radiated with nerves and fantasies of a much happier meeting.
I peeled my winter coat off and grimaced at the sticky layer of sweat fusing me to my uniform. The employee bathrooms were full and smelled bad enough to make me gag, so I wasn’t going to stay in there longer than necessary to take care of business. In the break room, I pressed a cold paper towel along my neck, but didn’t feel comfortable fully wiping down with everyone else in there. People shouted at a basketball game on TV. A girl in a bright green Fancee’s store T-shirt sat at a corner table with her feet up on the opposite chair, scrolling through her phone.
“I like your shirt,” I said. “The colored circles kind of look like ornaments. Is it supposed to be like a Christmas tree?”
She glanced at her chest and shrugged. “Maybe.”
Other people in the break room shouted at the TV ref’s bad call.
I flinched, then gestured to the seat next to her clogs. “Is anyone using this chair?”
