Chapter 4

CHAPTER 4

Oliver

Business at the coffee shop was usually slow at first, no one wanted to be awake at such early hours, but picked up around eight when the morning commuters stopped in on their way to work. After four years, I could practically manage the front counter in my sleep. I had coworkers, of course, but most came and went so quickly that I barely bothered to learn their names. Everyone knew to just do whatever task I assigned them, and let me work on my own.

It wasn’t a bad job, and it did give me opportunities to express my creative side. Latte art was, perhaps, not the most refined medium, but it was fun, and it brought a smile to people’s day. A warm feeling bloomed in my chest every time someone stopped to take a picture of their drink, knowing that my creation would live on in the digital world.

I was a few hours into my shift when I got my first unusual order. A rather nondescript man stepped up to the counter and said that they were there to pick up a to-go order that they’d already called in.

This wasn’t unusual. Many people didn’t want to wait and would place their order ahead of time with the shop’s online app. However, when I checked the computer system, I noticed a green dot next to their name on the order.

Turning on the coffee press to start the man’s order, I stepped into the back room and grabbed another to-go cup that was waiting in a locked cabinet. It was already labeled with the man’s name.

This was why I kept the job despite the minimum wage salary not even covering the price of my brother’s nurse. The owner of the shop also secretly sold marijuana on the side, and paid me extra under the table to handle the exchange.

The owner would prepare the “green” orders the night before, and I just had to look for the colored dot next to a customer’s name. From there, all I had to do was grab their extra cup from the back, hand it over along with their legitimate order, and not ask any questions.

It was a good deal. For very little effort, I practically doubled my salary, making more than enough to cover Rowan’s nurse, plus a little extra.

Of course, this deal only worked so long as the owner’s weed business had to remain secret. The legalization of marijuana seemed inevitable in the near future. If that happened, the owner wouldn’t need to pay me extra anymore, and I’d probably have to find a new job.

Or possibly give in to Nana’s preferences and become my brother’s full-time nurse.

I was scheduled to work a double shift, from opening to closing. Throughout the day, several more “green” orders came in, which I handled the same as the first one.

By the end of the day, when there was only a few minutes left before we closed, I breathed a sigh of relief. Nothing too bad had happened, other than the typical customer rudeness. I’d even managed to send the other staff home a few minutes early. The cafe was empty so late in the evening, and I could handle the last bit of cleanup.

It was three minutes until closing, and I was in the back room making sure the special cabinet was locked properly, when I heard the service bell on the front counter ring.

Great. One last customer. Hopefully, they just wanted something quick so I wouldn’t have to stay too late past closing. It was Thursday, and I needed to get home as quickly as possible.

Grabbing a tray of clean mugs out of the wash, I brought them with me as I returned to the front counter, trying to finish my duties as soon as possible.

When I saw who waited for me on the other side of the counter, my irritation over the last-minute customer vanished.

He was tall, with dark olive toned skin and a full head of thick, dark hair. The black-on-black suit he wore was almost completely colorless, except for a pale blue pocket square that perfectly matched his eyes.

I would have said that he looked neatly put together, except for the tension around his eyes and unshaved stubble on his chin that indicated he’d had a long day. Most people who came to the coffee shop were tired in one way or another, so I was familiar with the look of someone who hadn’t slept in a while. Yet, this man somehow managed to wear his exhaustion like a fashion choice. It gave a rough edge to his otherwise refined appearance, like an elegant knife that was unexpectedly serrated on one side.

It had been a while since I found myself blushing over a man. Usually, I didn’t have the opportunity. Most people took one look at the scar covering the left side of my face and immediately averted their eyes. It made me feel contagious, like they thought my disfiguration would spread to them if they stared too long.

My typical defense was to dial my smile up to eleven and kill them with kindness. However, this time, that defense wouldn’t work. The man didn’t shy away from looking at my scars, and even seemed to be flirting with me.

When he spoke, there was a slight accent to his words. I couldn’t immediately place it, other than just a vague sense of foreign . His English was perfectly fluent, but I suspected he wasn’t originally born in an English speaking country. Perhaps somewhere Mediterranean, based on his skin tone, but the blue eyes threw me for a loop. Either way, it was way too easy to picture him on a beachside villa, dressed in nothing but the smallest swimsuit as he soaked up the sunlight.

I swallowed past the knot that had formed in my throat. My smile felt awkward on my face. There was no instruction manual for how to handle these kinds of situations, and I was severely out of practice. I’d flirted with people before, of course. Even participated in a few heavy make out sessions, but it had always felt like more of an obligation than actual attraction. Like I was just going through the motions because that was what I was supposed to do. The situation with my family always kept me so busy, I didn’t have time to think about anything else, and for a while, I’d even entertained the idea that I was asexual.

Well, that idea was now tossed right out the window. I was definitely attracted to the man. In fact, if I kept staring at him any longer, I was going to end up with a problem that would be hard to hide.

Quickly turning away from him, I started working on his order while silently begging my hormones to give me a break.

The man watched me as I worked. He wasn’t even trying to hide his hungry gaze.

I shivered.

Being stared at could be just as bad as being avoided. Some people were weirdly fascinated by my scars and treated them like an invitation to gawk at me like I was a zoo exhibit.

Yet, this man’s stare didn’t feel like that, either. If anything, he made me feel like a work of art, and he was trying to memorize every detail.

It took everything I had not to drop the cup when I finally handed it over.

“Impressive,” the man said when he looked at the cup.

I didn’t even remember making the artwork on top of the drink. My hands had moved automatically, bringing to life whatever image was in my head. I was just as surprised as he was when I looked down at the design. A phoenix. Of course. Whenever my mind was left to wander, my thoughts always returned to fire.

The man smiled. “I knew you were an artist.”

How had he known that?

I hadn’t said anything about it.

Had I?

Since first laying eyes on the man, I barely noticed the words that had spilled out of my mouth. Surely, I wouldn’t have wasted his time by blabbering on about my useless hobby.

When I asked him how he knew, the man made an obviously flirtatious comment about my hands.

Yes, the man was flirting. I wasn’t reading too much into it.

The only question was, why?

He couldn’t actually mean it. Even without my scared face as a deterrent, a man like this would not be interested in me. I was a poor little nobody up to my eyes in debt, and this man radiated power and money. His suit fit him too perfectly. This was not an outfit that he just pulled off the rack. It was obviously designer, and definitely bespoke. He didn’t wear much jewelry, but the few pieces he did wear made a statement. His watch, alone, could probably pay my over the table salary for half a year.

No. A man like this would not be interested in me. He was probably just bored and decided to entertain himself by making me hot under the collar.

So, distracted by my racing thoughts, I tripped over my words and ended up mashing two phrases together in the worst way possible.

“Uh, I mean…” I stuttered as he looked at me with one curious eyebrow cocked at a deadly angle. “You’re welcome. It’s my pleasure.”

There. That was two full sentences I’d managed to say without messing anything up. I wasn’t a complete embarrassment.

His eyes practically glowed with inner heat as he looked me up and down. “Not yet, it’s not.”

Then, with a few casual Italian words tossed in amongst his English, he disappeared out the door.

Not yet?

What was that supposed to mean?

Did it actually mean anything, or was he just being cryptic for the sake of it?

I stood behind the counter, dazed and confused from the whirlwind interaction, until my phone alarm shocked me back into action.

Fuck.

If I didn’t hurry, I was going to miss my bus.

Rushing through the rest of the clean up, I ran down the street after locking the door behind me.

I could not afford to be late. Not today.