Pining & Loving

by Emma Sterner-Radley

  The few people currently in the café moved aside, not because Mocha seemed as if she would bump into them, but simply to watch her float past. At least, Gwen assumed that was why they stepped back and eyed the unearthly beauty who now graced this boring place.

  Gwen forced herself to breathe normally and to ignore the sensation of Mocha arriving and filling this black-and-white place with sparkling colour. It was ridiculous just how much her day improved with one glance into Mocha’s eyes, which refracted into emerald greens and navy blues in the morning sunlight.

  “Ay up, me duck,” Mocha said, using the classic Stoke-on-Trent greeting even though she didn’t have a Midlands accent. No, she had more of a Southern accent. From Surrey or Kent maybe? Somewhere posh, anyway.

  “Hi!” Gwen said, resisting the urge to run and check her make-up and hair in the bathroom.

  Mocha put one hand on the counter, leaning but still keeping perfect posture. “I’m so glad you’re working today. Yesterday morning I had to be without my dose of blue.”

  She was referring to Gwen’s hair, of course. It was cut asymmetrically and platinum blonde everywhere but the long bit where the tips, currently tickling her jawline, were tinted sapphire blue to match her eyes.

  Being thirty-three years old meant that she wasn’t expected to have unnatural colours in her hair anymore. Gwen didn’t care. She did, however, worry that her fun-loving but non-neurotypical personality, matched with the unusual hair, made her fit the cliché of a Manic Pixie Dream Girl. Not that she was manic or would ever be some passive dream girl to help an immature artistic man discover himself. Or a man in general. Still, her self-loathing mind got hung up on stuff like that, second-guessing every instinct, thought, and emotion. She didn’t worry about what others thought of her; she was too busy with how badly she thought of herself.

  Anyway, she had to take joy wherever she could find it, and the blue in her hair cheered her up. She focused back on Mocha and the conversation.

  “Hm. Weird that I didn’t see you. I was working yesterday. You must’ve come in right when I was on my break,” Gwen surmised.

  “True, I was a little bit early, as I had a morning meeting. I’ll have to make sure to not be that early again, right Gwen?”

  Normally when customers read her nametag and used her first name, it freaked her out. Somehow, though, Mocha made it natural. Comfortable. More than that, the way she said her name was downright sexy. She took Gwen’s commonplace Welsh name and made it sound like the term for a perfume or a dessert.

  Gwen had to, once again, remind herself to breathe. Mocha wasn’t really flirting. She was like this with everyone in the café, at least everyone who was respectful. Gwen had seen her snap at people who pushed in front of her in line or who were rude to Gwen. The tendency to not put up with nonsense just made her even more attractive.

  Gwen remembered that she hadn’t answered. “Um. Uh. Yes. I mean, that would be nice!”

  Smooth, she berated herself. You sound like a teenager with a crush.

  “I’m glad we agree.” Mocha retrieved her hand from the counter and buttoned up her gorgeous coat with a wink. “Now, I’m afraid I’m in urgent need of my sugar and caffeine fix.”

  Gwen snapped to it. “Sure! One large mocha dusted with chocolate powder coming up!”

  No matter how Gwen dragged out the process, Mocha always had her drink far too quickly and was on her way out. Gwen watched her leave, a sense of loss thrumming in the pit of her stomach. Edward the sock-over-jeans therapist was right. She knew nothing about this woman. But if Mocha brightened up a day like this, did it really matter? After all, a woman like that could never be interested in a mere mortal like Gwen. Hell, Mocha was probably straight as an arrow. It was harmless desiring her from afar.

  Just then, Gwen’s annoying co-worker Dave appeared. He carried a tray with a full mug on it but focused more on the flashing phone in his other hand. He elbowed her and said, “Could you take this coffee over to the table in the corner?”

  She peered over to the three occupied tables in the corner. “I could. If you told me which one you meant.”

  Dave was tapping his mobile onehandedly, clicking away the flashing call. “Huh?”

  “Focus, please, Dave. Which corner table? Or rather, which customer?”

  He pulled his gaze from the screen to the tables for the briefest moment. “Oh, it’s for the foreign-looking woman. Like she’s a tiny bit Chinese or Japanese or something?”

  He missed Gwen rolling her eyes at him. The woman in question was wearing a bright saffron hoodie. He could’ve said ‘the woman in yellow’ or ‘in orange’. Or maybe ‘the woman with long black hair’. Instead he had to go straight for the fact that she might have Asian descent.

  Gwen shouldn’t have been surprised. Dave reacted like this to anything outside of his straight, able-bodied, cis-gendered, middleclass, white existence. She’d noticed that first-hand when she came out to him. In the blink of an eye, she’d gone from being a regular co-worker to being the only non-straight person he knew. This led to constant inappropriate questions and so-called jokes. He treated her as if she were some sort of animal at the zoo to be studied and giggled at. It had gotten worse when he found out she had clinical depression.

  Gwen was overcome by the need to get rid of him. “Sure, I’ll take the coffee over to her. You can go check your phone in the back and then come back and restock the pastries.”

  He looked up at her with raised eyebrows. “What? You’re the boss now?”

  She put herself in his personal space, loathsome as it was. “Hey, I said you could check your phone. If I were your boss I wouldn’t be saying that, I’d be firing your useless bum.”

  He sniffed and slunk off to the backroom in a sulk.

  Gwen sighed and gazed out the window as she lifted the tray. The sun had retreated behind dark clouds, which seemed fitting. Mocha had left, and Gwen was stuck here with Dave all day. Bloody marvellous.

  She took the coffee over to the woman in the saffron hoodie. She had graceful features, despite the deep scowl on them, but serious stay-away body language.

  “Looks like the weather is turning for the worse,” Gwen said conversationally.

  The other woman accepted the coffee and said, “Yeah.” She snapped her mouth shut as if that was all she was going to say about it but then added, “About right for a day like this,” before going back to whatever she was doing on her battered laptop.

  Gwen walked back to the counter, her shoulders slumping. Then it occurred to her: on rainy days Mocha sometimes came in for a treat lunch and an extra mocha with whipped cream.

  Gwen turned to the window, wishing those dark clouds would bring rain. What was more, she noticed her reflection in the glass was smiling.

  Chapter Four

  Self-Defence

  It was time for another self-defence class, and Aya had once more been roped in to help. Not that she minded. It gave her a sense of purpose and, of course, a chance to see that hot blonde again.

  Aya stretched while waiting for the instructor to finish greeting the group. She breathed deep, enjoying the gym’s familiar scent of leather and the menthol cleaning products that Bill used to mask the smell of sweat. Though the salty tang of sweat was gone from the air, Aya felt as if it were embedded in the building’s materials and the equipment. All the people who had expelled so much effort, ambition, and fighting spirit between these walls had left an echo of raw power that still pulsated all around her. She tapped into that atmosphere of strength and endurance, flexing her arm and shoulder muscles—visible through the tight T-shirt she wore tonight for that very purpose—and then, in slow motion, pounced on the class instructor.

  The instructor moved aside, spun, and pretended to jab her fingers into Aya’s eyes before kneeing her in the crotch. As Aya theatrically bent forward, cupping her groin, she caught a glimpse of the mysterious blonde. She let her gaze linger. The blonde wasn’t as fit as Aya but quite a lot taller, with a post
ure so impeccable she looked unreal. What had caught Aya’s eye the first time she saw the blonde was the way she held herself. It was just as impressive now.

  The class carried on, giving Aya plenty of chances to not only get a small confidence boost by showing her physical prowess, but to help the group learn how to defend themselves and understand the power of their bodies. She also got plenty of chances to watch the sexy blonde practise the moves. Aya had to learn her name. Even if she didn’t dare to talk to her or, god forbid, brave asking her out.

  As soon as class ended and the participants milled out, Aya stopped the instructor and blurted, “Can I ask you something?”

  “Sorry, I didn’t quite hear that?”

  “I wondered if I could ask you something,” Aya repeated more slowly, trying to sound normal and confident.

  “Sure! You can ask anything, considering I owe you for helping out with this class.”

  Aya waved that away. “Don’t mention it. I like helping, and I think everyone should learn to defend themselves, especially women.” She adjusted her ponytail, wishing this conversation would go faster so she could run out. “So, um, I wanted to ask if you know the name of the blonde in the dark red leggings?”

  “Hm,” the instructor said, tapping her hand on her thigh as she pondered. “Oh yes, I’m pretty sure her name is Susannah. She’s lovely. Always helps the others out and always good for a laugh. Why?”

  Panic rose in Aya. She hadn’t considered that there would be follow-up questions if she started asking around about people. “Um, I just thought I knew her from somewhere. I must’ve been wrong. Thanks. See you next time.”

  Aya hurried off before the instructor could reply.

  Susannah. Pretty name. Unusual around here, although not as much as mine, of course.

  As she walked down the corridor, gaze fixed on the ground, she said the name out loud, liking the warm sound of it. “Susannah.”

  “Yes?”

  Aya nearly swallowed her tongue. In front of her was the blonde. Responding to her name, which Aya, like a creepy person, had just said out loud.

  Bollocks!

  Their eyes met. Up close, Aya saw fine lines by Susannah’s eyes and full lips. Aya swallowed hard. What the hell was she going to do? How could she get out of this?

  “I… um…” Her heart was pounding hard enough that it could shatter her ribcage.

  “Well, there’s a coincidence,” said the instructor from somewhere behind them. “Aya here was just asking about your name, Susannah. She thought she knew you, but it turns out she was mistaken.”

  Aya said a silent thanks to all the heroes who helped tongue-tied people out.

  Susannah’s eyes twinkled. “I see. That’s a shame, you know. You’ve struck me as a person worth knowing.”

  “I have?” Aya croaked. “I mean, uh, I didn’t think you’d have noticed me.”

  What a ridiculous thing to say! Of course Susannah would’ve noticed her; she’d stood in front with the instructor during most of the classes.

  “Who wouldn’t notice you? That muscular body and the confidence you have in it. Not to mention your glossy, midnight-black hair. Simply stunning.”

  Midnight-black. Glossy. Such classy words to describe what Aya thought of as regular, black, flat hair. How did people have that kind of way with words? How did someone just say stuff like that without having to plan it in advance?

  Aya shuffled her feet. “T-thank you.”

  “Anyway, I came back in because I must’ve left my phone in here somewhere,” Susannah said while scanning the room.

  This was Aya’s big chance. She could be the hero. The charmer. She could find the phone, or at least say something helpful. Her brain raced, trying to find the right words and the right action.

  She opened her mouth and said, “Lost your phone? That’s bad of you. No! I mean bad for you.” She snapped her fingers as if looking for the right words. “I mean, um, it’s always a bad thing to lose stuff—I mean, like, not that it was bad of you to lose your phone. That happens to me. I mean that happens to everyone. Right? I mean, right?!”

  She stared wide-eyed at Susannah, wondering if she had blinked at all during that pathetic monologue.

  The instructor broke the confused silence by clearing her throat and saying, “I think I saw a phone on the shelf by the left wall. Could that be it?”

  “Oh, yes, that was where I put it,” Susannah confirmed. “Great. I’ll just go get it. Thank you.”

  She went into the room and soon came out with a sleek, posh-looking phone held aloft in victory. She walked past them with a “thank you again” to the instructor and a “nice to meet you” in Aya’s direction.

  She opened the door, letting the noises of people boxing flood into the tiny hallway that bridged the classroom and the boxing gym.

  Just like that, Susannah was out of Aya’s life again.

  The instructor patted her on the shoulder and walked out with a sympathetic “see you soon.”

  Aya stayed there. Alone. Clenching her fists. Wishing she was anyone but herself.

  Chapter Five

  Pining for Mocha

  A piercing, white-grey morning illuminated Stoke-on-Trent, making Gwen squint at the sharp light streaming in from the window. Her customers had so far been the usual Stokies: friendly, funny, down to earth, and tough enough to be suited for this underprivileged but stout city. So far, there’d been no strange customers and minimal amounts of nonsense from Dave. In short, it had been a good morning despite another night of sleeplessness and the severe, cloud-filtered light hurting her eyes.

  She fetched a cloth and wiped down the counter. She daydreamed about Mocha, about laying in summer sunshine on a picnic blanket and kissing to be exact, while keeping an eye on the door.

  She didn’t have to wait long for a new customer. It was a woman about her own age, maybe a little younger. She carried a rolled-up magazine and had her gaze set on her feet. Something about her was familiar. When she unzipped her canvas jacket to reveal a saffron hoodie underneath, Gwen recognised her as the coffee drinker from yesterday.

  “Hello again,” she said with her customer-facing smile. “Another grey day, huh?”

  The other woman glanced up from her magazine, showing Gwen a flawlessly sharp jawline and a puzzled look. “Um, yeah, I suppose it is. Can I get a large, black filter coffee, please?”

  “Of course.” Gwen checked the coffeemaker. “The pot is nearly empty, though. Can you wait while I brew more?”

  “Sure, duck. I’m in no rush.” The customer leaned against the nearest wall and returned to her magazine.

  “Great,” Gwen replied, putting on a fresh pot. While her back was turned, she heard the bell above the door and peered over her shoulder to greet the new customer. Mocha! Gwen checked her watch. She was early again. Thank goodness she wasn’t on break this time.

  Mocha strode up to the counter, adjusting her coat collar with her usual elegant, confident movements. “Gwen! Phew, you’re here. I worried I’d miss you since I had to come in early again. How are you, my lovely?”

  A flutter of gossamer wings filled Gwen’s chest. “I’m good. How are you?”

  Mocha wasn’t making eye contact anymore. She now perused the pastries and sandwiches in the glass cabinet next to the till.

  “I’m well. Now. I have a long day ahead, so I’ll have to force down some breakfast. Does the pesto and mozzarella on sourdough there have pine nuts?”

  Gwen went through the ingredients in her mind. “Um, nope. Are you allergic?”

  “No. I just cannot stand them. Vile little things.” Mocha winked.

  Gwen laughed. “I see. Well, I’m 100% sure that there are no pine nuts in that or any of our sandwiches.”

  “Excellent. Get me one of those, then. I’ll have my usual drink.”

  “Of course,” Gwen said, already picking up the takeaway cup for the large mocha. “So, you said you have a long day ahead?”

  Mocha groaned. “Bloo
dy hell, that’s an understatement. I have masses of projects to finish up before I leave.”

  “Oh, going on holiday?” Gwen paused the espresso machine so she could hear the answer.

  Mocha was reading something on her phone and glanced up distractedly. “Sorry, what was that?”

  Gwen kicked herself for disturbing her. “I only asked if you were going on holiday?”

  “I wish,” Mocha drawled. “No, I’m being transferred to my company’s head office today. They need me there ASAP. Ruddy nuisance as it is, it’s a much better job, and I’ll be moving into a much nicer house, too.”

  The bottom fell out of Gwen’s world. Mocha was leaving Stoke? She swallowed and finished making the drink before saying, “I see. Where is this head office, then?” She managed to sound normal, but her hands trembled around the takeaway cup.

  Mocha tapped her screen and then put the phone in one of the pockets of her stylish, mocha-coloured coat. “It’s over in Chester, so only around an hour by car.”

  “Okay,” Gwen said, holding out the cup. “Well, that’s good, I suppose. Not too long a drive for the move.”

  “No, and since I don’t have much to pack, mainly souvenirs from travels and my clothes, the move should be done with rather quick. I plan to be settled and ready for work before sunset.”

  “Great!” Gwen said, forcing what she hoped resembled a smile and not a death spasm.

  “Absolutely. Then I need to search out a café that makes mochas the way I like them and employs a charming server like you.” Mocha tapped her mug and gave her a conspiratorial wink.

  Gwen didn’t feel like she was in on the chummy banter. She didn’t want Mocha to find another barista. Or to move at all.