13. Chapter 13

Chapter thirteen

Fenella

Me: I got a job!

Lavinia: Why?

Coral: Doing what?

Rupe: Did Daddy C finally agree to hire you?

Me: Not yet, but now I have experience as a barista, how can he say no?

Milo: What has small-town life done to our Fen?

Ashton: Is this to pay for the car?

None of my friends have ever held a job. Nor have they ever wanted to.

I feel like an explorer, setting forth for a new world.

In my yellow Dodge Charger.

Silas invites me behind the counter like he's welcoming me to a party. Or inside a secret club. Or to join a team…

He hired me—sort of.

It doesn't matter. I want this job. I'm excited about something. For the second time in less than twenty-four hours, Silas Bell has snapped me out of what might have ended up being a pity party, had I let it go on, and given me something to look forward to.

And it's a job.

I got a job.

When I was nineteen, I had a fling with a barista who worked at the local Starbucks. My mother was appalled, which is why I did it. Dirk had no idea who my parents were, and I liked it that way. The anonymity I had every time I went to see him was a heady feeling. It made me giddy.

It made me fall for a guy who, even if I had been a regular girl, would have been nothing special.

I feel that way with Silas. Not that he isn't anything special—I'm beginning to think he's the opposite, which is another problem—but the way he treats me like everyone else? Like I'm a regular girl?

It's been a long time since I felt anything close to regular.

Dirk of Starbucks also taught me to love coffee in ways that I have refined in the years since. Being behind the counter at Coffee for the Sole might be like peeking behind the wizard's curtain, but it also feels familiar, like I'm not totally out of place.

The counter that separates those who work the magic and those who drink it is a long slab of dark, fake wood, covered in all sorts of things: cups and lids and sleeves, gift cards and—

"Colouring pages?" I hold up a sheet of paper covered with outlines of fish. "Do you have a lot of customers who come in to colour?"

"No, but we get mothers with little kids who need to be distracted so they can have a moment to enjoy their coffee," Silas tells me. "Why don't we give it a test run? Make me your favourite coffee—not pumpkin spice," he adds quickly.

"Why not pumpkin spice?"

Silas leans in close enough for me to breathe in his Silas scent. "I can't stand the stuff," he admits in a low voice.

"How is that possible? You're autumn personified."

He gives a twist of a smile. "How do you figure?"

"Flannel." I tug at his sleeve. "Constant flannel." Today, he's wearing a red Buffalo plaid shirt and even though I'm not a fan of the fabric, it looks unbelievably cozy with Silas wearing it.

He's my boss. I shouldn't be thinking that anything about him is cozy. Or good smelling.

"That's all it takes to be the personification of a season?" he asks. "Because you look fall trendy today as well."

This morning, I paired my black stove-pipe jeans with a rust-coloured long-sleeved cashmere T-shirt and a wide silver belt. "You have to be careful with this colour," I say, plucking at the material. "Anything more of an orange shade, you end up looking like a pumpkin."

"I doubt you could ever look like a pumpkin, Fenella."

That is admiration in Silas's eyes. I can tell.

"You two about finished here?" Leodie leans against the counter watching us with a questioning smile. "I'm waiting for the test run."

I take a step back. I hadn't realized I had been leaning toward Silas, like a tree preparing to fall.

"Favourite drink." Silas's cheeks are pink. "Not pumpkin spice latte."

"Maybe you just haven't been making it the right way," I muse, elbowing him aside to check out the espresso maker, with the dual handles and steamers. "Shiny."

"Silas's pride and joy."

Beside the machine is a drip coffee maker and a hot water tap for tea. Bottles of syrup and bags of beans line a shorter counter behind me.

There's a distance of about five feet—plenty of room for three people to move around— and yet, I am standing very close to Silas.

Does he even realize he's a distraction? "This isn't my favourite, but it's good." Rifling through the collection of tea bags, I find a ginger and lemon blend as well as turmeric and add both bags to an inch of hot water. Then I steam oat milk until it's frothy and add it to the cup and drizzle a healthy dose of honey and present it on a saucer to Silas .

While he gives a tentative sip, I start making a mochaccino with an extra shot of espresso and chocolate, with cinnamon and chocolate sprinkles. "I don't know how you make the unicorn foam yet," I tell Leodie as I hand her the mug.

"We'll get you set up and then I'll give you a lesson," Leodie promises. She sips at the coffee. "This is good." She hands it to Silas to try and they swap cups.

"So? How did my test run go?" I ask, trying not to sound needy. Because while I've never been a needy person, I really want to work here.

The possibility gives me more of a burst of energy than three lattes.

I've never had an everyday job, like a waitress or a sales clerk, or Maurizio in Monte Carlo, who sells yachts and other boats. I've modelled and… that's about it.

Silas and Leodie have a conversation with just their eyes. "If you really want to, we can see how it goes today," Silas finally says.

"I really want to."

He shakes his head. "I have no idea why," he mutters.

"It'll be fun. I'm fun," I promise with a big smile.

Silas opens his mouth like he's about to reply, but closes it without saying anything.

I have a job.

I haven't given much thought to the fact that I have zero work experience. But following Leodie around the shop for the first hour, I discover there is a lot I don't know about dealing with customers.

Like the fact that you have to smile and bite your tongue when they order one cup of tea and two cups of warm water. Or a cup of water for their dog. And when you mess up an order and give them regular milk instead of oat in their frappuccino, you should expect them to come rushing back in to use the restroom fifteen minutes later.

"Hello and welcome to Coffee for the Sole," I chirp at the older woman at the counter who looks like she applied her makeup with a shovel.

Still, she's my real first customer. Leodie gave me the go-ahead to serve her myself. "I'm Fenella, and what can I get you? A pumpkin spice latte? A caramel macchiato? Or how about a flat white with…"

The woman flicks her gaze to Silas with a frightened glance. "Morning, Mrs. Pebbles," he says quickly. "She'll have a flat white, Fenella. And a cinnamon bun?"

"Always," Mrs. Pebbles says.

"I can do a flat white," I tell him.

"I know you can." And Silas smiles down at me.

That distracts me, but I manage, even decorating the micro-foam with a leaf decoration.

Silas has a great smile. I don't love the scruff of beard or the bit of mustache that hasn't quite filled in yet, but the smile is first-rate. It makes his green eyes crinkle. I like that he's so open with it, bestowing it on anyone who comes in the shop, not just a select few.

I like the way he smiles at me.

"Do you know everyone's order?" I demand after Mrs. Pebbles takes her order to a table where she gives half her bun to her overweight dog. People seem to feed pastries to their dogs a lot here.

"If they're regulars."

"How long have you worked here?"

Leodie gives a cough behind me. "He owns it."

I glance around the shop, seeing the tables full of satisfied customers, comfortable to sit and have their coffee. I see the pictures on the wall of long-ago Battle Harbour, the fishing paraphernalia, the cups and plates… and the hominess of the place.

It makes sense that Silas owns it.

"It's not much," he mutters.

"It's everything," Leodie argues. "This place is the cornerstone of the town. Silas took over ten years ago when his parents retired and doubled the income within a year. It was great with Mr. and Mrs. Bell but—"

"You made it your own," I interrupt. "You made it… home. It feels like home. Friendly and comfortable and… you." I see him in a new light. "I've never done that with anything."

"It's just a coffee shop," he mutters, ducking his head from my scrutiny .

"It's not, it's the cornerstone of Battle Harbour," I echo Leodie's words. "I could go anywhere in Laandia, but I come here. Over and over again. There's a good reason for that."

"I thought it was because of me." Silas's eyes widen as if he can't believe he had just said that. "Because you like my pumpkin spice lattes."

"I do like your lattes," I muse. "But it's more. What you've created is impressive."

"Thanks," he says.