Chapter 14

fourteen

SYDNEY

I wish that mornings in December meant more good moods from other people at least, but it doesn’t seem to be in the cards for me. Since we opened up, the college kid I’ve been training has fucked up at least fifteen different drink orders and given the wrong change to another ten. The best thing I have him doing is bussing the tables because a busy morning is just not the time to train him.

Usually, I have patience and have no problem teaching someone, but when his repeated response to his fuck ups is “oops,” I tend to lose my patience. To add to that, the stupid reindeer headband I’m wearing is heavy and keeps sliding in my face. I’m one extra large chai soy mocha with three pumps gingerbread, two pumps vanilla, and one pump cinnamon with extra whipped cream and toffee topping from losing it.

“Did you get that?” The man in front of me snaps, actually snaps his fingers in my face while I’m looking at the order screen, trying to find the option for oatmilk. We carry it, but so few people actually order it that my eyes keep skipping over it on the screen.

“Yes, I did,” I tell him as calmly as I can .

The bell ringing over the door drags my attention from the man who is ordering another complicated beverage down the line of six customers to where Dennis stands at the back. He gives me a wink, and it’s enough to set my entire body at ease. Tonight, we’re going to the pet store so I can use what is left of my paycheck to buy all the toys a dog could want. Things between us are moving weirdly fast, but I want to spend all my time with Dennis. I want all my tomorrows to be with him, however many tomorrows that may be. It’s Christmas time, so of course, I’m still waiting for the other shoe to drop with him, but with each passing day he’s feeding into my desperate hope that it won’t.

“Will that be all?” I ask, interrupting this grump. He has to be a tourist because his fast-talking accent is unlike anything we have near here. New York maybe, or New Jersey.

“No, I was trying to order a large two shot eggnog mocha latte with almond milk with a double pump of cinnamon but no whip.”

I look back at the screen and tap the buttons with each part of his order.

“For here or to go?”

“Go. I can’t spend another minute in this place.”

“Right, will that be all?”

He rolls his eyes at me. “ Sure .”

I hate his sarcasm, but I ignore his annoyance and tell him the total. As he swipes his card, I go to start preparing his order of four drinks. The hot chocolate is the least complicated item, but he still asked for modifications on it, so I’m slow, much slower than I want to be as I make it.

“What happens if I break a mug?” The monotone voice beside me startles me from what I’m doing.

“What?” I ask. as I load the espresso machine .

“I broke a mug. What do I do? Does it get docked from my pay?”

I try taking a deep breath in through my nose. I know the town was talking about starting yoga classes. I’ll have to see if Holly Raymond knows anything about that because I am seriously going to lose it.

“No, it doesn’t get docked from your pay. Set the pieces aside. Usually, Mary likes to repair them and use them as decoration.”

“Cool.” The kid plops the broken pieces down on the counter next to me, spilling the finished hot chocolate all over the counter. I barely jump back in time to avoid getting it on me.

“Can you go back to bussing tables? Please? Or see if anyone in line only wants a pastry item and they’re paying with a card.”

“Need help?” Dennis asks from across the counter. He’s standing next to Mr. Grumpy Tourist who is actually tapping his foot at me.

“No, thank you. I just need–”

“Maybe less time talking to your boyfriend and more time actually doing your job?” Mr. Grumpy interrupts.

I really shouldn’t curse out the customers, so I let out another breath instead. “I am working on it, sir .”

He huffs, and I go back to what I was doing, reading and rereading the side of the cups a hundred times before finishing them. Dennis glares at the guy and opens his mouth to say something, but I shake my head vehemently, sending a mental message not to engage. There are some people who will never be happy. I’ve been doing this long enough to know that.

Once I’m done, I hand over the full drink carton, but I don’t give him a smile. There is no way this man left me a tip, and I’m not about to bend over just to play nice. I’ve been nice enough.

I’m starting to pull together Dennis’s order so he can get back to work, even if that means he’s cutting everyone in line. When I glance up, I see Mr. Grumpy checking each of his drinks before picking up the one meant for him I guess. He takes one sip and turns to look at me.

“I ordered oat milk. I thought this place was supposed to be full of Christmas fucking spirit.” He doesn’t shout it the way I would have expected someone to deliver a statement like that. No, he hisses it at me. Before I can apologize and offer to make him a new one, he launches the steaming hot cup at me. “Merry fucking Christmas.”

The lid pops off as it connects with my body and the hot liquid hits my neck and face and drips all down my body.

“What the hell is happening here?” Mary demands as she walks through the front door.

The liquid is scalding, and I’m trying to pull my shirt and apron away from my skin before it burns any more of me.

“Sydney, are you okay?” Dennis asks.

When I look up at him, I can feel the tears welling in my eyes from the pain, from the embarrassment. I give him a small nod because it’s all I can manage while my hands shake as I try to untie my apron. He looks conflicted between going to my side and taking the man down.

“Not cool, man.” the kid I was training scolds.

“Is this your establishment?” The man turns on Mary, but she never has a chance to respond. I’m thankful one of our regulars has come to my rescue and has come behind the counter to help me get my apron off. She’s grabbing towels and gently pressing them to my skin to capture the coffee. I don’t know if this is the best action, but I want the liquid off me. I hiss with each contact. I need cold water on this before the burns get worse. You can’t work in a coffee shop without coming into contact with something hot at least once, so Mary made sure we knew what to do in the event of a burn .

“Put the drinks down and your hands behind your back,” Dennis orders.

Grumpy whirls on Dennis, and it’s then that he seems to realize Dennis is in his uniform and has a pair of handcuffs in his hand.

“What the fuck is this?”

“This is you getting arrested for assault. I can add resisting arrest if you’re really feeling up to it.”

“I didn’t hit her!” the man objects like he didn’t just throw hot coffee on me.

“Why don’t you go and change your shirt?” Mary suggests to me. “I’ll take you to Doc once you're done. But I want those hot, wet clothes off.”

I sort of want to stay and hear what is happening with this guy, but I do as I’m told. The last thing I want are burns. I go to the break room where we have a large slop sink and extra shirts that Mary sells, lying around.

From what I remember, you’re supposed to run cold water over the burned skin, but I have no real way of doing that without making much of a mess. I’m lucky that Mary has one of those hose attachments to the sink, so I lean over the counter and spray the cold water on my chest and neck.

It stings like a motherfucker, but once the sting is gone, the tears come in full force. I’m glad my apron took the brunt for my legs, but the delicate skin of my chest, breasts, and neck are smarting in the worst way.

The door to the break room opens and I startle back, dropping the hose and spraying everywhere.

“Are you okay?” It’s Dennis’s voice calling out before entering the room. It starts a fresh wave of tears.

“Shouldn’t you be out there? What is happening? Did you really arrest him?”

“Yes, I did. Someone else must have called the station because both Wolensky and Drew Westwood are out there taking statements and Mirandizing this guy. But are you okay, sugar?” He steps further into the room and over to me, where he can see my red and angry skin. He clenches his jaw, but when his gaze meets mine, he softens again. I hate the pity shining in his eyes.

“I don’t know if I’m okay,” I tell him honestly.

“Someone called Doc and he’s already on his way over.”

A hiccuping sob breaks loose. “Can you just take me home?”

It takes some maneuvering to find something not painful against my skin, but he wets some rags with cold water and lays them over my chest before wrapping my coat around me. Everyone is gawking at me as Dennis leads me out the front door.

Drew calls his name and tosses him a set of keys that Dennis catches easily. Out front, I can see one of the squad cars that the town has.

“You going to make me sit in the backseat?”

“Depends. Are you finally ready to confess to your crimes at a certain key party?” He’s teasing, but it hurts more than the burns. Is this thought always lingering in the back of his mind that I’m a thief? He’s never given me any indication that he was hung up on this. While it’s only been two weeks, I genuinely thought we had moved past it. Maybe this is finally that other shoe.

“Dennis,” I croak.

He turns to look at me, and I don’t know what expression he sees on my face, but he stops and cups my cheeks.

“That was careless and I didn’t mean anything by it.” The look of horror on his face conveys the honesty behind his words.

“But you still think about it.”

He takes a deep breath in through his nose, and that is answer enough for me. Before he can say anything, I cut him off.

“Can you just take me home?”

He presses a chaste kiss to my forehead. “Of course.”

To say things are awkward between Dennis and I when we get to my house is an understatement. He’s careful and doting, telling me he got someone else to cover his shift so he can stay with me while Doc looks over my burns.

I’m lucky, or so I’m told. It could have been a lot worse, but my apron protected my skin, and the cold water on it saved me a lot of pain down the road. For a first degree burn, Doc leaves me with some petroleum jelly and some non-stick bandages before producing a lollipop from behind my ear and heading home. He leaves with one last warning of no strenuous activities for a week.

Thank god for small town doctors that make house calls in cases like this. I don’t think I could have tolerated showing my face in public. I didn’t do anything wrong, I’m not embarrassed about that. It’s the whispers behind people’s hands and the gawking. In the same breath I can be thankful for a small town doctor, I can also curse the small town rumor mill.

Dennis takes care of everything for me once Doc leaves. I’m pretty sure if he could pee for me, he would too. He gets me water and some painkillers before stepping out to call the station to fill them in and find out what happened with the guy who threw the coffee at me.

I’m curled up on the couch with one of my comfort shows on when he comes back in.

“I’m sorry.”

“I don’t want to talk about it right now, Dennis. Please. I’m emotionally fraught, and I should be mad, and we do need to talk about it because it wasn’t okay, but I’m not okay, and I need your comfort more than I need to have this conversation. ”

It’s not a lie. In the short time we’ve been together, I’ve come to rely on him and I don’t know how it makes me feel. I’ve always prided myself on being independent. I have my own place, and I have vibrators to get me where I need to go, but sleeping beside Dennis provides a level of intimacy and physical comfort that I can’t replicate with toys or myself.

“Okay,” his voice is quiet as he walks into the room with drinks and snacks aplenty for us to hang out on the couch.

At some point I fall asleep, but when I wake up, I’m tucked into bed with an arm wrapped around my middle. I bring his hand up to my lips and press a kiss to his knuckles, thankful that Dennis heard me today about not being ready to talk about it. His words still linger in my mind as I try to fall back asleep, wondering if Carmen was right and he’ll be ready to go back to wife material once he’s done playing on what he thinks is the dark side with a thief.