CHAPTER 1
Betty
The woman standingat my counter had the kind of haircut that screamed "I need to speak to your manager" and the attitude to match.She'd been here for exactly seven minutes (not that I was counting) complaining about the temperature of her skinny vanilla latte.
"This is clearly not hot enough," she announced, sliding the cup back across the counter like it had personally offended her ancestors."I specifically asked for extra hot."
I picked up the cup, feeling the heat radiating through the ceramic.This thing could melt steel."I can certainly remake it for you."
"I don't want it remade.I want it fixed.There's a difference."
Right.Because apparently, I was supposed to wave my magic barista wand and transform hot coffee into molten lava.The line behind her was growing longer by the minute, and I could see my manager Derek lurking near the espresso machine with that particular scowl that meant my day was about to get worse.
"Of course.Let me just steam the milk a bit more for you."I grabbed the cup and headed back to the machine, biting back the dozen sarcastic responses fighting for freedom.Like how maybe if she didn't spend five minutes stirring in packets of stevia, her coffee wouldn't have time to cool down.Or how the laws of physics weren't actually my responsibility.
The woman tapped her manicured nails against the counter while I worked."You know, at the Starbucks downtown, they understand customer service."
Then maybe you should go there, I thought, forcing my customer service smile to stay in place."Here you go.Extra hot, just how you like it."
She took a tentative sip, paused dramatically, then nodded like she'd just granted me the privilege of existing."Better.Though next time, I shouldn't have to ask twice."
She left without tipping.Naturally.
"Montclair."Derek's voice cut across the café like a rusty blade."You're moving too slowly.We've got twelve people in line and you're babying every customer."
I glanced at the clock.We'd been open for less than an hour, and I'd already served at least twenty customers.But Derek had mastered the art of making every interaction feel like a personal failure on my part.
"Sorry.She wanted her drink remade."
"I don't care what she wanted.Move faster or find another job."
The threat hung in the air between us.Derek loved that threat.He pulled it out at least three times a week, usually when I had to stay quiet because there were customers watching.The man had turned workplace intimidation into an art form.
I bit my tongue and turned back to the next customer in line.A regular, thank God.Mrs.Lawrence always ordered the same thing: medium dark roast, no room for cream.Simple.Uncomplicated.The kind of order that wouldn't give Derek another reason to question my employment status.
"Morning, Mrs.Lawrence.The usual?"
"Please, dear.And don't let the bastards grind you down."
I smiled as I poured her coffee.Mrs.Lawrence came in every morning, and she tipped well even when all I did was pour coffee from a pot.If I ever won the lottery, I was going to buy this place just so I could fire Derek and give Mrs.Lawrence free coffee for life.
The morning rush continued with its usual blend of caffeine desperation and workplace drama.Orders blurred together: caramel macchiato with an extra shot, iced coffee with oat milk, a "dirty chai" which sounded vaguely inappropriate but was actually only a shot of espresso in a chai tea.Yes, I know chai means tea.Get off my back already.
I fell into the rhythm of grinding, steaming, and pouring, letting muscle memory take over while my brain went on autopilot.I served eighteen more customers without incident, which was some kind of record because Derek actually nodded approvingly when I handed him the till count at ten-fifteen.
That's when I noticed the woman with the laptop.
She'd been sitting at the corner table for at least an hour, nursing the same cappuccino while typing occasionally on her computer.Nothing unusual about that.Half of our customers treated the place like their personal office.But something about her was different.The way she positioned herself to have a clear view of the entire café.The way her attention kept drifting from her screen to the counter where I was working.
Maybe I was being paranoid.Maybe too many true crime podcasts had finally rotted my brain.
"Earth to Betty."Derek's voice snapped me back to reality."Customer's waiting."
I looked up to see a guy in his twenties holding out a fifty-dollar bill with an expectant expression.Right.I'd been making his order on autopilot while obsessing over Laptop Lady.
"Sorry.Medium cappuccino, right."
"Large," he corrected."With extra foam."
