Mason laughed, leaning against the window. “I don’t think I was the intimidating one.”
She feigned shock, pressing a hand to her chest. “I can’t imagine you mean me.”
“That a villain can be scary? Why would I ever imply that?”
“You don’t seem to be scared.”
“Nah,” he said. “I like it.”
This might have been the wrong thing to say, because her gaze dropped and she scratched a spot on the counter with her nail, turning the conversation awkward. He was trying to think of a way to turn his comment into more of a joke, when she glanced at him and said, “Can I get you something to drink?”
“Oh, uh…” He glanced at the menu, which was shorter than the one at Pony Expresso and he still had trouble deciding.
“You really don’t like being put on the spot at the register, do you?” she asked.
“It’s like I suddenly forget how letters are supposed to work. What’s Mexican hot chocolate?”
“Ah,” she responded. “Chocolate caliente mexicano. ¿Tú quieres?”
“Uh, sí,” Mason responded even if he wasn’t sure what he was getting himself into. “What makes it different from the American version?”
“Well,” she started while pouring milk into a metal container and warming it. “It has a little extra kick to it. That’s the cinnamon and sometimes there’s a little chili in it. It warms your body and your tastebuds.” She roughly chopped up a bar of what appeared to be dark chocolate, putting it into the milk.
“So it’s less boring.”
“You said it. I didn’t.” Lastly, she brought out a wooden whisk-looking tool. The wood was aged as if she’d made countless hot chocolates with it. The ball end of it went into the milk and chocolate mixture, and she twirled the handle part by rolling it between her palms. “The molinillo froths up the milk,” she explained.
Mason was fascinated, as though he was watching a witch concocting a special spell. She was so graceful and competent.
Finally, she poured it into a paper cup for him. “A cinnamon stick,” she said while dropping a small one into the cup. “Marshmallows?”
He nodded.
“Do you have a specific number you require?” Her eyes glittered at the question.
“Making marshmallow demands is probably risky.”
“Smart man.” She tossed in a few and handed him the drink.
Mason was excited to try it, especially considering it took more effort than opening a packet of instant. He took as generous of a sip as the hot liquid would allow. It was… Well, it wasn’t what he expected. He supposed even with her explanation, he still expected traditional hot chocolate, and this was definitely not it. “It’s, uh, it’s good,” he said, forcing himself to take another sip.
She laughed while cleaning her workspace. “Are you lying to me, Mason?”
“No. I, uh, it’s just different.”
“You know I can see your face, right? You’re not fooling me. Do you want me to make you something different?”
“No, I’ll drink it.”
Natalie shook her head, laughing again. “Maybe close your eyes when drinking it. Then your brain won’t be telling you it’s American hot chocolate. It’s completely different.”
Mason closed his eyes, taking another slow sip, this time noticing the hints of cinnamon. “Mmm.”
“You don’t like it.”
“Maybe I just need to get used to it.” After a few sips and the shock wearing off, he was already adjusting to the flavor. He still didn’t love it, but it wasn’t bad.
She eyed him. “You think it’ll be worth it?”
