Page 37 of Christmas Coffee

Nova

My life falls into a pattern. Sleep paws at me every night and I’m dead to the world until four in the morning, when I pull on my tacky costume and head to work. I’m on my feet all day and bone weary by the time I get off. Quitting time has gotten later and later because the second shift never appeared. Celyn has been working both shifts, along with Quin who helps him out. Shannon is useless, aside from his ability to attract swarms of women. After he does that, he seems to be at a loss and has no idea how to get them to buy anything. One day I told him, “Just tell them you can only talk if they’re buying something. It’s true, and they all want to talk to you.”

That created some purchases, but the line moved too slow. Shannon moves at snail speed when he’s flirting, which is all the time. He has that obnoxious guy vibe. It flows off of him with such force that it’s like being blasted with a high-wattage flirting fan. Personally, it’s not my thing, but there are many women who like it. They linger and wait for him. No doubt, Shannon is loving the attention. I didn’t get to hear the legendary story of the Dick before Christmas, since Celyn forbid him from reciting poetry, but periodically a blushing face will ask about Shannon and every time, she says she was in that crowd, mesmerized by him.

And things with Celyn, well, they turned cold. It’s really weird because that day at McDonald’s he was kind, and warm. Now he’s curt and distant. He doesn’t talk to me. There’s no casual conversations about anything besides the weather, inventory, and work. It’s as if he decided that he doesn’t like me. When work is long, tense, and tedious it stretches out forever. Shannon is an obnoxious brat and Celyn, well, it’s been like working with a robot. He helps, and we have a good pace. The flow of our work isn’t clumsy anymore. We don’t bump into each other the way we used to, but I miss his smile.

Celyn grabs his briefcase and a folder of papers. He scribbles on an order form and hands it to me with a wad of cash. “Please add that to the pile and put the money in the drawer. I’m grabbing a coffee and heading inside to finish this up before the night rush begins. Thanks.”

“Sure.” Pleasant. He’s always pleasant and says please and thank you. But it lacks warmth. When he reaches for a cup with his other arm already holding his case and papers, I cut him off. “I’ll get it.”

“I can do it,” he retorts flatly.

“I know you can.” I stop and look into his face. He avoids my eyes. “Your arms are full and you seem like you’re in a hurry. I’ll grab it and you can go.”

He stiffens and spits out, “You don’t know what I like in my coffee.”

I can feel my eyes fight to remain in place and not roll in my head. He’s being such a standoffish jerk. “How about I make my special Christmas coffee for you? Something to lighten your mood?”

He doesn’t say no, so I grab a few canisters after pouring the hot liquid into his cup. As I mix the drink, he watches me, his face pinched tight. “What is that?”

“Nova’s famous Christmas Crack Coffee. It’s really good, you’ll like it.” As I top it off with whip cream, Celyn makes a face. “What? Don’t tell me you don’t do sugar.”

“No, it’s just that container of whip cream is yours.”

“So?”

“So, it’s not mine.” His tone is flatter than an anorexic pancake. There’s an edge to the way he says it, so much so, that I stop and look over my shoulder at him.

“Right, it’s mine and I’m happily sharing it with you.” His eyes are boring into mine, searching for something that he can’t find. His jaw tightens and I can tell he’s debating saying something. I fold my arms over my chest and cock my head to the side. “Spit it out, Kelton.” I probably shouldn’t taut him, but it’s too late. I already said the wrong name.

Celyn’s nostrils flare as he steps closer to me. He’s in my space, something that he hasn’t done for over a week. “KEHL-ahN.” Each sylobol is sharp. Jaw grinding, he repeats, “My name is Celyn. I don’t call you Hot Girl, I call you by your name, Nova, and I’d appreciate if you took me seriously enough to call me by mine.” There’s hurt lingering there, laced with something else that I can’t identify.

The smart-ass smile falls off my face and dies on the floor. My heart thumps awkwardly as I face him, a breath away. I soften and seriously ask him, “Celyn, what’s bothering you?”

When he hears me say his name, something that was bound tight uncurls within him. It dulls his sharp edges and softens his tone. I expect him to tell me something real, to actually say it, but instead he straightens his spine and turns on his heel, heading toward the door. “I’ll be back later.”

He’s down the steps and I’m torn between going after him and letting him sulk. I didn’t do anything. I know I didn’t. Sharing my whip cream made him super pissy and I have no idea why. I can’t leave the hut abandoned, which means I either chase him now or wait for Shannon to show up—which is not a good plan.

I grab his coffee, and I’m through the door and bounding down the steps. “Hey, you forgot your drink.”

Celyn stops and turns slowly. He glances at the cup, and then back up at me. “I don’t want it.” He turns his back on me and strides for the doors to the mall.

I stand there feeling completely stupid and make a choice. It could cost me my job, but I’m done taking blows for something I didn’t do. I slam the cup of coffee down on the pavement, rush up behind him, grab the crook of his arm, and swing him around. I’m in his face scolding him, “Don’t you dare treat me like that! I’m not some stupid slut, you know. I have a brain, and any ass can see you’re pissed at me and won’t tell me why. I’ve had it. Tell me! I need to know so I can tell you that you’re an arrogant asshole with a whip cream aversion.”

Voice sharp, he steps toward me, his face within an inch of mine. “You don’t know me, princess. You don’t know a goddamn thing about me. I like cream in my coffee, I enjoy a hot sweet thing from time to time,” his eyes lower to my chest before flicking back to my face. The blatant innuendo isn’t like him. “And after that whole speech about not lying, I didn’t expect you to be a thief, but hey—I guessed wrong.”

He starts to turn again, but I don’t let him. “Hey!” I jerk his arm so he turns back toward me. “What the hell are you talking about? You think I stole from the drawer? Are you insane or just incapable of making a spreadsheet and checking the facts?”

Celyn growls, “I don’t know how you do it, but Shannon saw you.”

“Saw me do what?” I’m livid now. My fingers are balling into fists at my sides and it’s everything I can do to not growl.

Celyn’s quiet for a moment. He watches me, anticipating that I’ll squirm, but I don’t. “Shannon saw you…I saw you.” His words die and silence fills the air as if he realized something. His expression softens. “You didn’t steal anything, did you?”

I close my eyes for a moment and try not to overreact. It takes every ounce of strength I have to not slam my palms into his chest and scream in his face. I smile sweetly at him, “No, and that’s because I don’t steal things. I’m not a thief. Why the hell would you listen to Shannon?”

Celyn’s eyes cut to the side like he’s remembering something. “He took a tray of cookies on the first day. He said he followed your lead.”