Chills race up your arms.
Was that someone…watching you?
You feel a bit paranoid for assuming the worst, but that’s exactly what it looked like.
And you’re certain it wasn’t Ziros.
You rub the goosebumps down from your arms as you find a seat on the deserted bus, but you can’t shake your creeped-out feeling all the way to work.
Weird.
Maybe it’s a good thing you decided not to walk, after all. What if they’re a stalker?
You’re probably being paranoid.
Probably…
When you arrive, the cafe is brightly lit and cheery, and you’re surprised to find Mel, your boss, sitting at a table inside, typing away on her laptop.
“Just you tonight, or am I that late?” you ask as the door swings shut behind you.
Mel smiles, shutting her laptop as she stands up. “Nah, you’re not late. I was just covering a bit. The last shift had to go early, and I said I could wait for you. It’s been a slow night.”
“I believe it.” You’re not really surprised. After all, Sunday nights are almost always one of the slowest times at the cafe.
Fortunately, you’ve got your phone loaded up with lots of good romance books to distract you while the cafe is dead.
You don your barista apron, setting up shop behind the counter as you wait for your first customer to arrive.
You’re not even sure you’ll see a single one all night, and once again you find yourself wondering why Mel doesn’t just operate during normal cafe hours.
“Alright, I’m outta here,” she announces as she picks up her bag. “If for some reason the next shift is really late, you can just lock up and pop a ‘closed’ sign in the window. It’s not exactly hopping tonight, and the worker up next has key privileges anyway.”
At the risk of giving up your precious work hours, you blurt, “Don’t you lose money on a night like this?”
Mel stops halfway to the door.
“You know, that’s a good point. Do you want to go home?”
You wince. Oops.
So much for your rent money.
“Um, I mean, I did just get here and all—”
“Don’t worry, I’m not sending you away. Just making sure. But you do make a good point. Maybe business isn’t my strongest suit.”
“It’s not?”
Mel just shrugs, glancing at the back door. “I’ve had other priorities.”
You’re not sure what she’s trying to say. Doesn’t she manage this cafe for her living? What else could she possibly be prioritizing?
Or maybe—maybe this cafe is just a front! What if she’s a drug-dealer?
Wait, no.
That’s probably a weird conclusion to jump to.
