Page 16 of Christmas Coffee

Celyn

After going through the ACME Sign Center’s recycled neon signs, I find the word HUT. It’s in white letters, all capitalized. There’s a neon sign that’s red and reads HOT. I ask them to make it say HOTTIE and agree to pick them up later that day.

My heart is pounding hard. I’ve never been so pumped about a project before. Maybe it’s because this one can’t fail. Or maybe it’s because there’s more of me in it than the other business ventures. This is all elbow grease and manpower. The lack of funds made it that way.

Quin is helping me out. He knows how much I want my seat on the board, but even more than that—he knows how much I wanted to earn my uncle’s respect. I’m not some teenager seeking affirmation anymore. I know he’ll never give it—he’s not that type of man. I get it. But after years under his roof, I feel like I’m finally free, even if it’s for just a moment. There’re no expectations here, nothing to live up to. I can do whatever I want. Creativity is bubbling inside of me. I feel it simmering from my fingers to my toes, raring to go.

After the glass is in, we scrub the place from top to bottom. The coffee grinders, cold case, and other machines will be delivered later today. I want everything spotless by the time they arrive. I already managed to find a costume shop that was willing to work with me. They have four outfits that I can rent as uniforms. If I get sued, it’s going to be over that. The dirndl is a sexy blouse for the women with billowy sleeves, a scoop neckline that is nearly immodest, and a corset back. It gets laced tightly from behind which makes the shirt expose so much cleavage that there’s no way I can say that it’s not sexualized. Maybe the women won’t care. Maybe they like big tips. Any girl with a rack worth looking at has learned how to work it to her advantage. This is no different. I tell myself it means more tips for her, that it’ll be okay even though the pit of my stomach turns rancid thinking about it. There are enough dicks out there that make women feel like a piece of meat. The only thing saving my ass is that I’m equally distributing scantily clad uniforms to both genders.

My last stop is to pick up a few nametags. I grab them and head over to the shack. Quin is there overseeing the glass installation.

Quin is in the shack, pissed. He throws down a cloth he was using to clean the counter. His green eyes narrow. “It was nearly $1200 for the fucking glass.”

My jaw drops as I set the things I brought down on the floor. “That’s more than double the estimate.”

“Yeah, well, there were issues.” Quin folds his arms over his chest. “You see the owner wanted sliding glass windows so they can open them during the summer.”

I cut him off. And step forward to see that’s exactly what they installed. “But we were going to take them back down when we leave. It was supposed to be a sheet of glass with a small cutout in the middle. Damn it, Quin.”

“I know, that’s what I told him. But the shack owner insisted on it. Long story short, he ate half of the bill and we leave it for summer. So it’s a bit more than expected, even after he chips in his part.”

I pinch my temple firmly, massaging away the tension that threatens to crack my head open. I glance up and tell him. “We’re still okay assuming we can get people over here.”

Quin points to the parking lot. It’s a sea of automobiles with no empty spots in sight. Cars are circling trying to find a place to park. “They’re already here, so I don’t think that will be a problem.”

I hope he’s right. People are reluctant to try a new place. I need to think about how to get a swarm of people to mill about over here for the first few days. That’ll be tricky. People attract more people. It’s like this parking lot. If a car found an empty section of the lot and parked there, by the time he comes out there will be a cluster of cars around him. Likewise, if you walk into an empty restaurant, most people turn around and walk back out. It’s a bad sign. People assume the place sucks. Getting some folks to mill about the front will be important. I need to figure it out.

I pull the bags onto the counter and start to unload them. “I’ve got signage. It lights up too.”

“Sweet. Who’s doing the install?”

“We are.”

Quin frowns. “Seriously?”

“Yes, seriously. They’re a little heavy. You can help me get it in place and I can secure it.”

“Fuck. Fine. And what are you going to do if the town wants to see a permit? This guy has a hand-painted sign he hangs out during the summer.”

“We don’t need a permit. Come with me. I’ll show you.”

Quin follows me to the back of my SUV and when I open the hatch, he laughs. “Hottie Hut? Did you swipe that sign off a Pizza Hut?”

“No. It was at a recycled signage lot. It’s part of a Pizza Hut sign, and then a bit of neon for the rest. They wired the two together so all we have to do is hang it. I had them put in a plug so we don’t have to wire it to the shack.”

“Sweet. Then you don’t need an inspection. It’s a modular sign.”

“There’s already a socket up there for the flood lights. I’ll grab a splitter and we can use that socket for the sign.”

Quin is staring at me. “Since when do you know shit about real life?”

“Since when didn’t I?”

Quin laughs. “You weren’t all Home Depot in your younger years.”

“Asswipe,” I smile at him and laugh. My phone buzzes and I glance down at it. “Get the inside cleaned up as much as you can. There are a few people coming over for interviews. Are you up for some hiring?”

Quin presses a hand to his chest and beams. “You mean interview hot girls. Hells yeah!”

“You have to hire hot men too. We need both.”

He frowns and his body deflates, his shoulders slumping forward. “Seriously?”

“Yes, it’s mandatory. These women will be working late, in the dark, and the shack is isolated. I don’t want something to happen. Pick six employees. They’re working six-hour shifts max, because it’s cold. We open at 6am and close at 11pm. The closing crew has to prep for the next morning, so they’ll end up working a few more hours. Got it?”

“Yeah,” he grunts.

“Good. I’ll be back in a bit. Oh, and here are the name tags.” I dump them out on the counter.

Quin lifts one and laughs. “No names?”

“No, it’s safer this way. No one will know their real name, so there’ll be less room for stalkers and inappropriate behavior.”

“As if that will stop people. I personally like the fact that you made every employee a piece of meat. The employees are going to love it.” He grins wolfishly at me. “There are six different, umm, names on the tags?”

“Yeah, so if customers like someone or are complaining about them, we know who it is.” I consider what he said for a moment and then disregard it. Safety trumps everything else. It’s a fucking shack. I don’t want problems and this will make a mental barrier between the employees and the customers.

“Nice.” Quin grins and looks down at the nametags. HOT GIRL is typed in bold white letters on a dark blue background. “I can’t wait to pick the hot babe who’s wearing this tag.”