by Angela Blake
She saw that all management decisions were to be made by her.
Her.
Not her mother.
That would give her a measure of control she hadn’t been able to wrest from Sarah Hart’s hands. She wondered if her mother would agree to it. Her eyes went back to the sum of money on offer.
She could not see how they could possibly turn it down. They needed this.
***
“This is a good deal,” Pierce said, surprise in his voice once he was through reading. Rachel had sat in silence, leg jiggling with nerves while he read. She felt something loosen within her at his words and she looked up at him, gratitude in her eyes.
“Do you think mama’ll go for it?” she asked.
“She’d be a fool not to,” he replied. Which was not a yes.
“So you’ll talk to her?”
“I will indeed. Leave it to me,” Pierce said with a confident smile and she nodded with relief. Now all she had to do was go for dinner with Brendan without her mother having chickens. She stood up, hurrying out of the offices of Alexander and Murphy and hoofing it as fast as she could to the coffee shop. While she trusted Angela to open on time, she still felt bad about running late, even though it was for a good cause. Plus Angela was still in the dog house as far as she was concerned so she didn’t want her feeling too much at home in Rachel’s role. Especially if Brendan decided to drop by this morning like he’d said he might.
She walked into the back of the coffee shop and the cinnamon smell of baked good immediately assailed her nostrils. This was followed by the intoxicating scent of coffee beans and Rachel felt herself relax for the first time since last night. She kicked off her shoes and slipped on the slides she usually wore while at work. Then she grabbed her apron and proceeded to see what was happening in her establishment.
Angela’s face lit up when she caught sight of Rachel. She waved, beaming smile on her face as she stepped aside for Rachel to take over the till.
“I’m so glad to see you,” she said, “I’m overdue for a break.”
Rachel smiled tightly thinking to herself that she wasn’t even that late. Angela hadn’t worked long enough to need a break. But she didn’t say anything, too busy taking the next order from the next customer in line.
The day was busy and bustling for which Rachel was thankful. Her eyes couldn’t help straying every few minutes to the door though, hoping to see a tall red-gold headed guy walking in with a smile. There were plenty of tall guys, and some of them even had red hair. But never the right one.
“Oh Hart, you got it so bad,” she murmured to herself as she rubbed at her toes during her break. Instead of going outside to take in some fresh air while she ate her donut and coffee, she was sitting in her office, from which she could watch the customer traffic.
Barry and Sergio had come by earlier to pick up their daily order and they’d had a nice chat about nothing in particular but she was still curiously restless and unable to settle to anything.
“If this is how it feels being in a relationship, you can take it,” she murmured morosely as she shuffled papers on her desk.
“What? Did you say something?” Miguel asked from the doorway, startling her quite badly.
“Er, no…I’m okay. What do you want?” she said a bit more bluntly than she’d intended to.
“Just wanted to remind you that we need to replace the filters tonight before we close.”
On Thursdays Rachel usually closed a bit later to go over and put away the order with Miguel. She was good at keeping an eye on inventory as was Miguel. So in between customers they rotated the coolers, the fridges, supplies, and the stockroom.
First in first out.
Goods were stored by sell by date. The older goods came forward while the newer ones were in the back. Rachel made sure that the milk to be used daily was on the cusp of expiry or close to it. While it wasn’t an emergency if they ran out of milk now and then, the price shot up if Rachel ordered too little. If she had to buy from the store, a block away, each gallon cost her three dollars and twenty five cents, but when she ordered in bulk through her supplier out in Brooklyn, gallons went for two dollars each. It didn’t make sense to pay more for milk while also paying more for payroll because of some preventable yet unforeseen circumstance.
Her week’s order was accompanied by a leaking box and a strange smell emanating from the middle of the pallet. Angela hadn’t taken much notice of it because Rachel guessed it wasn’t her job. She hadn’t been in to assess how the customers were taking it when they opened but after her break she was serving one of her regulars, who, holding her nose complained that if they were trying a new roast, the attempt wasn’t working and they should bin it, before the smell seeped into everything else.
One thing turned into another and Rachel left her office to tend the counter. It was normal for the evening line to form at around five thirty until about six every day. That was a sign of good business and heaven knew they needed to show that they were a good business right now. It was unusual for the line to grow three times bigger than normal before forming a small eye of the storm effect. Angela hurried to wipe down the counters and replenish their classic brew while Rachel rushed to wipe down the counter while taking and filling orders, clean the steaming wands, mixing more mocha, and making more whipped cream.
Annabel, a high class escort from down the street, wanted her usual caramel macchiato made in an unusual way.
Freeman who came in after an exhausting day sitting in the park, requested six lattes to go, plus three bagels--all sliced and toasted. He had a large family, he said, every time.
Phillip, a PA at Alexander and Murphy, wondered aloud why they don’t offer grilled cheese sandwiches but ordered a coffee anyway as well as one to go – for his boss.
The coolers were in need of a wipe down. Something had spilled way in the back and Rachel got a nice whiff of it every time she opened them to get a new gallon of milk. The pallet also still smelled. People came through, tourists, regulars, new customers, folks who had only ever experienced gas station coffee or the unremarkable brew they managed to concoct from their Keurigs.
On their street and its surroundings many people came to the Split Bean as part of their daily routine. As they got on with their lives they still managed to stop by for their favorite order.
One Ca phe sua da.
One Carajillo
Two Shin Shin Coffees.
Three Frappuccinos.
Four Greek frappe coffees please.
Four Seventy-five.
Two dollars fifty.
Apple walnut and oat bars?
Lemon bars?
Peanut lentil cookies?
Ricotta and honey baked cheesecake.
Miguel’s creations managed to tempt each customer to have a snack with their drink. He made the bagels; cinnamon rolls cookies, pastries, and brownies, filling their shop with the scent of baked-goods goodness. Rachel then made everything sound like it was completely necessary regardless of the drink being ordered. Not even the bottle of water for a dollar fifty escaped from a recommendation of a tin of peppermint or a bag of chips.
Rachel couldn’t make any profit if she didn’t pour her heart and soul into it.
She made sure to dole out a dollar here, two dollars there as needed. And never forgot the tips. She had grown up knowing how to curbing waste; use whatever she had on hand to get what she needed. It gave her an instinct for knowing when to expand items or focus on improving what they already offered. She made sure to understand the intricacies to payroll and morale.
Not only that but also inventory, scheduling, orders, legal, human resources, marketing, investments, and the rent.
Rachel took care of it all.
She knew the prices to everything in hundreds of combinations so well she could recite them in her sleep. The first year after she took over management, money had been so tight that it was just her and Miguel for the maj
ority of the time. Their selection of coffee and snacks had been limited. Every time a gallon or two was wasted or there was need for a refill because they ran out early it affected the shop profits. Those had been some lean times.
But they were on their way now.
Chapter Fourteen: Date Night
Rachel tugged at a wayward strand of hair, huffing irritably when it decided not to cooperate.
“Would you relax mi amor?” Sergio said. Rachel shot him a glare, but he ignored it, sprawled as he was on his and Barry’s bed, firmly focused on the selection of clothes he’d laid out for her.
“The man’s gaga for you; you could turn up in a flour bag for a dress and he’d still fawn over you.”
“Thank you,” she said dryly. “I think. Anyway, how would you even know?”
Sergio straightened up dropping his phone on the bed from where he’d been taking pictures to send to Barry. He rolled his head to give Rachel his full attention.
“Barry told me all about your eye fucking that you were doing while he was right there,” he said. “And Jesus- look at you! Who wouldn’t?”
He picked up a slick number and handed it to her, motioning for her to put it on. She did, preening a little into the mirror, and running a hand down the slinky fabric. It clung to her body in the most flattering of ways, before flaring out at her hips. Best second-hand buy ever.
“I do look good, don’t I?”
“Rachel you look amazing. And this is me- your straight as a winding staircase best friend telling you that.”
Rachel smiled at the description, biting her lip, before remembering the lipstick she’d applied earlier. She turned back to the mirror to rub the transfer off her teeth. It would set soon, but in the meantime she knew she was going to end up with it everywhere. Satisfied with her clean up job, Rachel stepped back from the mirror and ran her hands down her body again, thumbs brushing down the underside of her breasts. Brendan better appreciate all this angst and pain he’s putting me through, she thought to herself.
“It’s not too slutty, do you think?”
Sergio screwed up his face in distaste. “You know I don’t like that word,” he said. Rachel glanced back at him apologetically.
“Right. Sorry.”
“It’s fine. You know I wouldn’t choose something that was inappropriate. I like the dress; the length makes it classy- and the sleeves help too. Brendan will be salivating.”
“God, I hope so.” Rachel pulled what she hoped was a sultry face at the mirror. In the background, she could see Sergio return his attention to his phone.
“Your manz is outside,” Sergio announced with a smirk.
“How do you know?”
“Barry just texted me. Apparently Brendan doesn’t want to come in. He’s saving proper introductions for Saturday.”
Rachel laughed, “He’s such a dork.” She said affectionately.
“Pot. Kettle.” Sergio said softly then laughed when Rachel glared at him, “Go on with you. Go enjoy your man.”
Rachel poked her tongue out at the mirror and gave her teeth one more inspection before she plucked her bag off the bed.
“Right, I’m going. Don’t go having sex on the kitchen table again okay, we’re gonna eat offa that.”
Sergio mock-glared up at her, but his face was slightly pink at the mention of that debacle. “If you’d arrived at the time you said you would, you wouldn’t have seen that.”
“Sure.”
“Remember to use a condom!”
“Bye Sergio.” Rachel hurried out into the living space and opened the front door. Brendan stood on the other side; right on time, bless his soul.
He didn’t say anything for a long moment, staring at Rachel like she had just walked out of a dream. It was very gratifying.
“Brendan,” she smiled.
He blinked and shook his head, and Rachel didn’t mind in the least when his gaze lingered on the curve of her breasts. “Damn sweetheart,” he breathed. “You look incredible.”
Rachel smirked and lightly stepped forward to press a soft kiss to his cheek. “Thank you.”
He thrust a bouquet of petunias up between them and Rachel laughed in delight. The smell of them was wonderful. “I’d have gotten you lilies,” Brendan explained with a rueful smile, “but they always remind me of funerals.”
“No,” Rachel hummed, and she kissed him softly in thanks. “These are perfect.”
***
They finished up a lovely Mediterranean meal at a secluded restaurant that Brendan had heard of in an exclusive area of Manhattan. It had taken them three hours to get there what with the traffic but it was totally worth it.
"That was some really great food," Rachel said with a contented sigh.
Brendan unfolded his napkin from his lap. "Well, what's dinner without dessert?"
Rachel widened her eyes in protest. "Ah come on…you trying to fatten me up for the slaughter?"
Brendan just laughed signaling to the waiter.
***
"That was great," said Rachel as they walked out of the restaurant. She and Brendan walked arm-in-arm, as she leaned in against him, "Except for how the waitress was being so annoying."
"I didn't really notice that," said Brendan. "Was it because she agreed with me that ice cream covered chocolate cake was the best dessert ever?"
"Oh my God, it’s like an orgasm in your mouth!" mimicked Rachel. "I can’t believe you fell for that bull."
"What bull? She was just agreeing with me." Brendan protested with a grin.
"She was flirting with you," said Rachel. "I was sitting right there and she was blatant-" She stopped abruptly and smacked her palm against a nearby building. "Damn it. Damn it!"
"What?" asked Brendan.
"I told myself I wasn’t going to be that girl." Rachel let go of Brendan and leaned against the building. "This super possessive, intolerant, jealous…monster that I’ve become since we started…”She sounded frustrated and annoyed, and not - she hoped - as anguished as she felt right then. Then Brendan's arms were around her, and hers were around him, and while not everything was right with the world, something was very, very right about this particular moment.
"It's okay," whispered Brendan. "I can be quite the caveman myself so I’m not one to talk. Besides, it’s perfectly natural to want to mark your territory. I am your territory right?"
Rachel smiled and looked up at Brendan, who was smiling back at her. "You have a very unique way of putting a situation in perspective, Brendan."
He didn't seem inclined to let her go, and Rachel wasn't complaining. She reached up and curled her fingers around the back of his neck and pulled his head gently down so she could kiss him. He made a startled noise, and then kissed her back. His lips were soft against hers, and he was warm in the slightly chilly fall air. She felt his hands let go of her, only to reach up and tangle in her hair.
"Rachel," he said quietly when they pulled apart and looked at each other. His arms had slipped around her waist again. "You do realize that I got strict lectures from Barry and Sergio about having honorable intentions, don't you?"
"Brendan," said Rachel firmly. "It was very sweet of them to be so concerned, but I'm sure neither of them stopped to think that maybe I don't want your intentions to be so honorable."
"Oh," said Brendan. "Well, in that case-" He nodded at the car. "Want to go home with me? "
"Do you want me to go home with you?" asked Rachel thrusting to the back of her mind the scepter of her mother.
"I would love for you to come home with me," said Brendan, "Barry and Sergio are just jealous because they don't have girlfriends." He grinned at her and Rachel almost melted.
"So I'm your girlfriend now, am I?" she asked.
"Well, if you want to be," said Brendan. "I mean, if that’s something you’d be interested in keeping in mind my more animalistic qualities.”
Rachel thwacked him lightly on the arm. "Don
't get me started, Brendan," she said.
Brendan snickered. "Feeling better?" he asked.
"Much," said Rachel. "Let's go home, okay? I'm getting cold.
***
"Now, I know you loved the hot chocolate I made you before, but this is something different."
"Rachel, this is too much," Brendan replied, eyeing the cup of hot chocolate she'd just sat in front of him warily. "You’re in my house, you shouldn’t be making me drinks. I should be making you some."
"Yes well between you and me I’m much better at this than you are so…" Rachel replied with a grin. "Anyway, you did say I should make myself at home and your kitchen is fun to play in."
Brendan let out a breath. "You win Rachel, but you're forgetting that we already had dessert." "It's hot chocolate, Brendan. Try it."
"Try it?" Brendan curled his fingers around the warm mug. "Implying that you've changed the original recipe." He sniffed at it. "Hmm, orange? Orange liqueur?" He raised his eyebrows. "Why, Rachel, are you trying to get me drunk?"
She laughed. "If I was doing that, I would have put alcoholic whipped cream on it."
"Touché." Brendan took a drink of the hot chocolate. He was pleasantly surprised at the taste. "Oh, not just orange liqueur." He took another sip. "... Irish cream." He licked his lips. "There's something else I can't place."
"Crème de cacao," Rachel supplied.
"Ah, yes." Brendan took another drink. "This is great, Rachel. I really might have to tie you to my kitchen."
Rachel laughed, "Don’t worry, I’ll set up camp there all on my own. Your coffee maker is professional grade."
"Yeah well, my interior decorator was very thorough," Brendan said, “Feel free to set up camp there if you like.”
“Okay…," Rachel said slowly, “though my mother would probably wonder where I was. Much as I would love to stay.”
Brendan coughed into his hot chocolate, nearly casting a spray of chocolate foam down his front.
He cleared his throat, not sure if it was the suggestion or the alcohol that was burning all the way down deep into his chest.
"... Right. Of course. I've got horror movies and popcorn. We could watch something before you have to go right?"