by J. M. Snyder
As the credit card reader starts to spit out Seth’s receipt, I realize he’ll be leaving in a few minutes and I don’t want that to happen. He’s too good-looking to just let him walk away. Mandy’s still in the back room and there are no other customers in line, so I dawdle with the reader, reprinting his receipt as I try to think of something to say. Anything to keep him here a little longer.
Taking in his suit again, I wonder what he’s doing in the quaint little part of town known as Lakeside. This isn’t exactly downtown Richmond—the street where I work boasts a handful of antique stores, a few consignment shops, and a farmers’ market on Wednesdays. Somehow, I don’t think he’s here just for the Hanover tomatoes. Hoping to start a conversation, I say, “I haven’t seen you around here before.”
“First day,” he tells me. With his drink in one hand, he fishes the other into his pocket and extracts a business card. He leans against the counter to hand it to me and when I take it, our fingers brush together with electric sparks I swear would light up the night. I’m glad there aren’t any other customers in line.
Jackson Realty, it reads in a modern, block script. The name rings a bell, but I can’t imagine why. A commercial I saw, maybe, an ad I heard on the radio? There’s a green and blue logo on the card, and under that, Seth B. Jackson, Agent.
I hate to admit it, but I don’t really know what the card means. “What kind of agent?”
“Realty.” At the confused frown I give him, Seth grins. “You know, real estate?”
“Like houses and stuff?” Silently, I add, I thought only old people did that. He has to be my age, maybe a year or two older, which puts him somewhere just shy of twenty-five. What’s he doing selling houses and shit? No wonder he can afford such a snappy suit.
Then another thought occurs to me, and I whistle low. “Wait, you have your own business?” Suddenly I’m all too aware of the fact that I wear a damn apron.
He leans onto the counter and crooks a finger at me, motioning me to lean in, too. When I do, his hand eases around my wrist, warm from the hot coffee. My skin tickles at his touch. Lowering his voice to an intimate level, he glances around as if afraid of being overheard, then pins me with a piercing stare. Even if I wanted to, I can’t look away. Hell, this close I can’t even breathe.
“Let me tell you something,” he says.
I nod—yes, I want to hear whatever it is he has to say.
He leans in closer and I do the same. We’re inches apart, so close I could pucker my lips and kiss his, if I wanted. When he speaks, I smell the faint scent of chocolate and coffee on his words. In a low voice, as if this is something no one else can know, he admits, “It’s my dad’s business. I’m not even really a licensed agent yet.”
He smirks, which makes me snicker. The next thing I know, we’re hunched over the counter like old friends, laughing to relieve the tension between us. I hear something behind me that sounds like Mandy heading our way, so I stand back and he does the same. Without even thinking about it, I sigh. “For a moment there, I thought you’d be out of my league.”
The corners of his eyes crinkle when he winks. “No, I’m pretty sure we’re playing for the same team.”
Before I can ask what he means—before I’m even sure I heard right—the door behind me swings open and Mandy lugs a thirty pound carton of bagged coffee beans out from the back. She sees Seth, the drink in his hand, the credit card still in my grip, then nods as she blows the hair from her face. “If you’re done, Austin, can you restock the beans?”
I hand the credit card and receipt to Seth as Mandy plops the carton by my feet. I try to hand back the business card, too, but Seth won’t take it. “Give me a call sometime.”
Sticking the card in my back pocket, I joke, “Like I can afford to buy a house working here.”
He winks at me as he turns away. “Like that’s the only reason to call.”
As I watch him walk away, his card burns in my pocket.
* * * *
He comes in the next day, and the day after that. It becomes a ritual, one I start to look forward to every morning. Soon I’m making his Chocolate Caramel Latté the moment I see him walk past the front window. Each day I fall a little harder. He’s so nice, always flirting with me, despite the fact he’s all gussied up in a suit and tie and me…well, I’m in an apron with ground coffee staining the front. Everything about him is so damn gorgeous—I love the way he watches me over the top of his mug, the way his gaze lingers down my body while I make his drink, the way his hand brushes against mine when he pays.
One morning he’s late. I’m not worried, I tell myself, but that’s a lie. When nine o’clock comes and goes with no sign of Seth, I toss down my washcloth and try to come to terms with the fact that he won’t be in today. It’s too late now, I know. He’s already started work, or he’s called in sick, or his car broke down. Or hell, I think, while you’re at it, maybe he overslept because he had a late night out with someone else. Who are you to him? Just a barista at a local café, that’s it. No one special. No one sharing his bed.
Trying to not watch the clock, I lean across the counter and doodle on a napkin. I write his name and mine, enclosed in a heart. I don’t like the way it looks, so I draw another heart, and another, until the napkin is covered in little symbols of love. I don’t hear the door open and don’t even realize I’m no longer alone until someone leans down in front of me and says, “Hey, dork face.”
I look up to find my best friend Josh standing at the counter. We met in second grade when a girl I liked punched me in the gut during recess and Josh came to my aid, kicking her in the shin. We both got detention for it, and have been close ever since. He’s the only person I’d let get away with calling me names. He does it because he knows I hate it, but I don’t say anything because I know he wants me to get upset about it. That’s the kind of friendship we have.
Sparing a glance at the chalkboard on the counter, he asks, “What’s the special today?”
“Same as yesterday,” I say. “I’m too lazy to change it right now.”
“Well, damn, boy,” he drawls. “Erase it and make up something new.”
“Don’t you have work to do?” I ask.
He works at one of the antique stores nearby and hates his job. I don’t know how he manages it, but he always seems to duck out every couple hours and comes over to the café for a drink. I say it’s to bother me.
Now he tells me, “I’m on break.” I’ve heard that one before. “Give me a rag, I’ll wipe the board.”
Without standing, I reach behind me for the damp cloth resting on the edge of the sink and toss it at him. “What’s it going to be this time?”
“A tall cappuccino with a twist of lime,” Josh says.
I groan. “That’s disgusting. How do you come up with this shit?”
Josh blows on the chalkboard so it’ll dry. “I don’t know, I just thought I might give it a try. Hook me up, coffee man.”
I hand him the chalk. “While I do that, make up a special drink.” As he starts to write, I amend myself. “A good drink. Something people can drink without gagging.”
“All my drinks are good,” he says, sounding hurt.
I laugh and make him that damn cappuccino, sure to put a double shot of lime in it. How’s he dream up this shit? As I froth the milk, I ask, “You want whipped cream? I know you do.”
Josh leans over to reach for a napkin and sees the one I was doodling on. “Hearts? Who’s the lucky guy?”
“No one.” My face feels flushed and I ball the napkin up, cursing myself for leaving it out where he could see it.
Josh doesn’t give up that easily. “Tell me. Seth who?”
When I don’t answer immediately, he scratches the chalk across the board. “No one, okay? I was just bored.”
Setting down the board, Josh pouts. “Bullshit. No special today—I can’t think of anything good. Who’s the guy?”
“Nobody,” I say again. “You want whipped cream on
this thing or not?”
Before he can answer, I squirt a handful of cream on the top of the hot drink, trying not to think of Seth as I do.
“Hey!” Josh cries, sitting down at the bar. “Get that shit off my drink. You ruin a good cup of java with that crap.” I scoop the whipped cream off with my hand and fling it into the sink. “And keep your hands out of my drink. Wait ‘til I tell Mandy about that.”
I grin at him and wipe my hands off on the washcloth. “Like she cares. I’m her golden child. Can’t do no wrong.”
“Your grammar is atrocious,” he says, sipping at the drink.
I notice his grimace and laugh. “That good?”
“Try it,” he says, handing me the glass, but I shove it back across the bar at him.
“I ain’t trying that shit,” I say. “You know I hate these drinks.”
Josh grins. “And yet you make them oh so well. Who’s the guy?”
“What guy?” I ask innocently.
Narrowing his eyes, Josh says, “Don’t do me like that. You know damn well who I’m talking about. The guy who has you drawing hearts on napkins and shellacking your hair before you come to work.”
“There’s nothing wrong with my hair…” My hand strays to my scalp, where the strands of hair are thick with dried gel. “Is it that obvious?”
Josh nods. “You’re smitten, Austin. Tell me all about it.”
I’m tempted—I haven’t seen Seth all day, and I’d like to bitch about it with someone if I can. But the moment I open my mouth, I look up and see Seth outside, yes! Quickly I shake my head. “I can’t.”
Josh sees the look on my face and turns around, grinning.
But instead of coming inside, Seth holds the door open for someone else—another guy in a suit, this one just as sexy as Seth is himself. He’s about my height, with short dark hair teased up and back like one of those guidos from MTV. The pinstripe suit and Robert Downey Jr. beard just screams “Italian” to me. Seth falls into step behind him, saying something that makes those dark eyes scrunch into thin half-moons and his lips pull into a devilish grin. My heart hammers in my chest—who the hell is this?
“Which one is he?” Josh asks softly. “The cute one or the mobster?”
“Shut up,” I hiss.
Seth sees me and nods, heading for the counter. His friend is right behind him. “Hey,” I say, hating the way it sounds like I’m gushing. I’m not. Really, I’m not.
At Seth’s grin, I pray Josh has enough presence of mind to keep his mouth shut. “Let me guess—the usual.”
“You know how I like it,” Seth replies with a wink. He glances at Josh casually, then turns to his friend. “What’ll you have, Lonzo?”
Lonzo shrugs and looks at the menu. “I don’t know,” he mumbles. “What’s good?”
I feel Seth’s gaze on my face, but I try to ignore those baby blues. After a moment, I realize they’re waiting for me to speak. Trying to be professional, I shrug and start, “It depends on what you like…”
From his stool, Josh calls out, “Try the cappuccino with lime.” He tips his glass at them and grins. “A coffee margarita. You’ll love it.”
“Josh, please,” I hiss, but Lonzo walks around Seth, heading for the bar.
“Is it good?” he asks, leaning against the countertop.
Josh pushes the drink over to him. “Try it.” When Lonzo eyes the glass warily, Josh says, “Don’t worry. I didn’t spit in it. Though Austin did stick his hands in it.”
God. I cover my eyes with my hand and sigh. “I didn’t.”
Seth laughs as Lonzo takes a large swallow of the hot drink. “Interesting,” he says, handing the glass back to Josh. “Very…limey.”
“It is that,” Josh says, winking at me.
I glare at him. “Don’t you have to get back to work or something?”
“Or something.” He doesn’t budge. This is not going to be fun.
“What are you getting?” Lonzo asks Seth quietly.
Seth points to the menu. “The Chocolate Caramel Latté.” He smiles at me. “It’s heavenly.”
I blush as I ring up his drink. Lonzo pushes past Seth and leans onto the counter. Catching my eye, he stares me down. “I want something with chocolate and fruit in it. You have anything fruity here?”
I meet his hard gaze with one of my own. “Raspberry Mocha,” I say as if issuing a challenge. I don’t like this man, who can spend time with Seth outside of this smoky café, who laughs at what he says, and who doesn’t like me, I can already tell.
Lonzo stares at me a moment longer, then smiles. “Okay, give me one of those.”
I set their drinks down on the counter and Seth hands me his credit card. When I try to take it, though, he holds onto it until I look at him. “You haven’t called me yet.”
“I’ve been busy.” Why should I call? He’s in here every morning. Though you want more than that, a small voice inside me whispers, and it’s right, I do.
His fingers brush over mine and then he releases the card. “All the time?”
I shrug. Truth be told, I’m scared to call him. There are two numbers on the card he gave me, an office line and a cell phone. By the time I get off from work, I know it’s too late to call the office number, but I don’t want to call his cell. Too presumptuous. Too soon. What happens when he answers and doesn’t recognize the sound of my voice? How do I explain myself then? Somehow “this is the guy from the coffee shop” just sounds awkward.
Still, I have picked up the phone a few times, maybe once, maybe a dozen. I just listened to the tone while staring at his card and chickened out of actually dialing his number. I’m a wuss. Lamely, I tell him, “I work a lot.”
“So I’ve noticed.” He should—he’s been coming here every day for the past week and I’ve been here waiting. “Do you ever get a day off?”
“We’re a little short staffed right now.” I try to remember my schedule. “I work a half day this Thursday coming up.”
He smiles. “Are you busy then?”
Beside Seth , Lonzo sips at his drink and ignores us, intent on the pastries in the glass case beside the counter.
“No,” I whisper.
“Call me,” he says, and I nod. “We can do lunch on Thursday. How’s that sound?”
It sounds wonderful.
“You still have my card?”
“Yes.” It’s in my wallet. I stuck it in front of my driver’s license so it’s the first thing I see in there.
He winks at me. “Have a good day, Austin,” he says, like he always does.
“You too, Seth,” I reply.
As he leaves with his friend, Josh calls out in a singsong voice, “You too, Seth.”
I throw the wet washcloth at him. “Shut up.”
Josh simply laughs. “That’s your boy?” he asks, grinning. “The man of your dreams? The one you’re drawing hearts over?”
“So?” I ask, frowning. “Shut up.”
Josh shrugs. “I think it’s cute. You two look good together. What’s this call me crap? You have his number?”
“Yeah. He gave it to me the first day he was in here.”
Josh’s eyes bug out. “And you haven’t called him yet? What the hell are you waiting for? Hello? He likes you.”
“Really?” I wonder out loud. “What about that guy he was with? You don’t think they were together?”
Josh glances back at the door, but they’re long gone. “Not like that. He doesn’t look the type to me.” Grinning, he adds, “Besides, you should’ve seen the way Seth kept looking at you when you were making the drinks. Undressing you with his eyes.”
I blushed. “You’re just saying that.”
Josh shakes his head. “If I’m lying, I’m dying.”
With a grin, I pour another healthy handful of lime Torani into his drink. “This is why I like you so much. You’re great for my ego.”
Josh pushes away the bottle. “Your ego’s big enough as it is without my help. I gotta get back to work.
” Standing up from the bar, he says, “Call him already, dumbass. He wants you. And do me a favor?”
I nod, anything. He thinks Seth likes me. Thank you, Jesus.
Grimacing, Josh says, “Remind me never to drink a lime cappuccino again.”
* * * *
On Wednesday Seth stops in and orders his usual. While I’m making the drink, he tells me he might not be in tomorrow morning. “I’m going to see you in the afternoon, anyway,” he says with a wink. “We’re still on for tomorrow, right?”
I fumble with the metal carafe of milk I’m steaming and the wand falls out of the liquid, splashing hot froth onto my arms and neck. Smooth, Austin. I’m such a klutz around this guy. How’s he even find that attractive? “Tomorrow, yeah,” I agree, wiping my face with the bottom of my apron.
Seth’s mouth curves into a slow smile. “It’s a date.”
Great, as if I’m not already nervous enough. The next day I’m a wreck. I’m clumsy with nerves, scattering the beans as I try to fill the coffee grinder, splashing hot coffee from the pot to the urn, spilling the milk. When I reach for one of the glass bottles of syrup to add a flavor to a specialty drink, my manager Mandy steps in to take it from me before I can drop it. “Let me pour it,” she says, giving me a wary look. “If you break it, this whole will smell like sickly sweet raspberry syrup the rest of the day.”
I don’t see Seth, but I expected not to. As the end of my shift rolls around, I pay Mandy for a medium Chocolate Caramel Latté and whip one up just the way Seth likes it, leaving room at the top for a healthy dose of whipped cream. I put it in a disposable cup and snap on the lid, pushing the cream down into the drink. Then I wash up, running my hands through my hair to make sure it’s smooth and not sticking up at any crazy angle. Tossing my apron blindly into the back room, I snag Seth’s drink and hurry around the counter.
As I pass, Mandy shakes her head. “Hot date?”
I laugh. “I hope.”
I don’t bother calling Seth. What number would I dial? Besides, the address where Seth works is nearby—part of the reason he stops in every morning is because his father’s firm is literally across the street. The café is in a small U-shaped strip of businesses—Josh’s antique store sits in one corner, and there’s a tax prep office, a small dance studio, a consignment shop, a little eatery, a miniatures place, and us. Across Lakeside Avenue, squeezed between a 7-11 and the local bank, sits a large brick building. At three stories tall, it soars over the rest of the block. Jackson Realty is inside, alongside a small law firm specializing in bankruptcies and no contest divorce cases, a local dial-up internet provider, and something called Mandula Enterprises that no one I’ve ever spoken with knows anything about. Josh told me he thinks they sell sex toys, but what does he know?