Being at the mall made me feel alive. It showed me the infinite varieties of life. Let me be part of an experience.
Chestnut and the barista would probably think that was too cheesy.
I tapped my toes together for the reassuring tinkle of bells. “I don’t know. It’s magic.” I glanced over my shoulder at Santa and the sparkly ornaments. “I always used to look forward to winterbecause of the transformations. Everyone was so nice and the decorations were so pretty. But my family stopped taking me to visit Santa in sixth grade. When Ididcome to the mall, no one wanted to wait in line or look at the decorations with me.”
“Why?”
I sighed and looked up at the hanging snowflakes. “My cousin Zack said it was embarrassing. I was too big to sit in a stranger’s lap."
“Try telling that to the single dads.” Chestnut snickered.
I pushed him towards the poinsettia plants.
Mr. Hoynes waved his clipboard. “Sugarplum, go take ten. Err–check on Dasher.”
“Do you think I’m in trouble?” I whispered to Chestnut, slipping off the giant present.
“Nah, he probably just wants us both here for the post-dinner rush.” Chestnut yawned behind his fist and resettled against the planter.
“Want me to grab you a coffee again?”
“Would you? Thanks.” He clapped the side of my arm.
My heart skipped a beat, and it wasn’t because of Chestnut’s touch. That barista… Would he remember me?
I gnawed my way through a candy cane on my power walk from the break room to the coffee shop. Inside, the tall guy with the olive cap stood at the register. My chest tightened. I hid a couple feet behind people in line and held my breath.
Maybe he didn’t see me. Although he would when I went up to order. Maybe they had a mobile app? Just as I pulled out my phone to check, a woman shouldered her way past me.
“Excuse me,” I sputtered.
The lady fanned herself with her coat and craned her neck to see past the few people ahead.
I frowned and scooted up so no one else would bypass me. Maybe she thought I wasn’t in line, just looking at the menuor waiting for someone. Whatever. It wasn’t worth getting all worked up over. Wiping my sweaty palms on my jacket, I started ordering on the app to see if that would be faster. Should I put ‘Sugarplum’ on the name portion? It was less common. And it might make someone smile. I chewed my lip.
The lady in front of me didn’t wait for Olive Hat Guy to greet her. “I’ll take two cinnamon twists.”
He scratched his forearm. “We sold out of cinnamon twists this morning. Can I interest in you in some–”
“What do you mean you ran out? It’s on the menu.” She jabbed a finger at the hanging sign behind him.
“Yes.” He sighed. “Everything is ‘while supplies last.’ Those sell out fast.”
“You’re supposed to bake daily.”
“We do,” he said flatly.
She flicked her wrist to shoo him away. “So, go in the back and make some more bread.”
“We can’t just–”
“Yes, you can. I’m a paying customer, and I want cinnamon bread.” She crossed her arms. “Can you do your job or do I need to speak to your manager?”
I tightened my grip on my phone, my pulse skyrocketing. How did people get like this? It reminded me of when parents yelled at me about wait times or that rude lady accused me of hitting on a dad. Anger didn’t help the situation. There was nothing I could do about it. There was probably nothing Olive Hat Man could do about this situation, either.
This wasbread. She ought to show some compassion.
His nostrils flared. “Ma’am, our policy–”
