3. Sara

Chapter three

Sara

"All right, that's one peppermint latte, large. Bianca, can you get that?"

Bianca salutes, heading to the back to create froth for the latte. We have a couple of specials still on the menu. Despite it not being winter, our manager Lukas adores peppermint and just puts it on just because. Why not?

I don't get it, but I'm not going to fight him on it.

The woman inserts her credit card and pulls it back out immediately. The machine beeps twice, and the receipt prints. A "Decline" sits on top.

Yeah, she pulled it out almost immediately. I gesture to the machine.

"Um, you took your card out a bit early."

"Oh. I thought these machines were supposed to be fast."

What the heck is that supposed to mean? Before I can respond, she shoves it in there again. It beeps once, then twice, approving the transaction.

"You can take it out now."

"Oh, so now I can," she mutters belligerently.

"It's not a big deal. Anyway, here's your receipt."

I hand it to her, and she snatches it out of my hand without a second thought.

"Thanks," I mutter.

The woman walks away, her black high heels clicking ominously until she gets to the waiting area. I smile, but inside, I want to scream.

I swear, it's like all of the rude customers decided to crawl out from under the woodwork to drive me crazy this week. I watch Bianca finish with the drink and leave it on the counter.

The woman snatches it like she did with the receipt and storms off. As the door closes, I roll my eyes.

"What a lovely person," I say nearly under my breath.

"You're telling me. Well, hopefully, that's the last of the upset people today."

I can only hope. At least I had a couple of days at the sanctuary. I got to brush the horses and to help one of the senior dogs who needs lots of help go for a walk, which was super fun. Just thinking about my work there makes me smile. It's not really work at all. It's a calling.

A good half-hour goes by with nary a mean customer in sight, and Bianca and I both enjoy the few that come in and have nice conversations with us. Makes me almost forget the woman in the clicking heels. I giggle to myself as I honor her with that tag!

Checking my phone from under the counter, I see a text from Katie, my best friend, flash across the screen.

Are you coming home later?

Katie and I live together. She's convinced that I live at the animal sanctuary and that the apartment is a front. I wish, but it's not true.

I text her a quick "yes" before setting my phone back under the counter. The door rings again as another customer walks in.

I look up, and my green eyes meet a set of crystal blues, which gaze directly at me. It's like he sees right through me, staring into my soul.

Bianca turns, her mouth agape.

"Oh."

She dodges into the back room as the figure approaches the counter, and I process who this is.

It's the rude customer from the other day. The hot one, who got onto me for making his drink wrong. He approaches the counter, focusing on me intently.

"Hello there, what can I get you?" I ask, grinning. The best way to handle a mean customer is to put a smile on my face.

His hands fumble for his wallet, and he takes it out. There's that platinum card again. I spot at least three of them in his wallet.

How rich is this guy?

He holds his wallet in his hands as he looks up at the suggestions, taking them all in. I bite my lip, unsure if he wants me to help or not.

"Do you need me to—"

"Give me a second," he mutters, looking over the options once again before turning to me. The suspense almost kills me.

"I'll take the ginger cortado. No sugar, please."

"Sounds good."

I ring that up, knowing I'll have to make it. There's no way that Bianca's going to make it for this man after what happened the last time. He places his card in and then takes it out when I gesture to the machine.

"Here's your receipt."

"Thanks."

He takes it gently, much nicer than that previous woman, and then walks over. I head to the back, making a ginger cortado. It's a simple, frothy drink, but we just don't get many orders for it because most of the patrons prefer just a simple coffee with an espresso shot.

I top the drink with froth and rest it on the counter. "Here you are!"

He approaches, taking the coffee. "Thank you very much."

I expect him to walk away. I don't actually know why he's here in the first place. He looks away but stands there, waiting to say something.

"Do you need something else?"

Our eyes meet. Seeing him like this instead of in front of a cash register is like night and day. He's incredibly attractive.

"I just want to apologize. For the other day."

"Oh. It's, uh, fine. I just thought you were in a bad mood."

"I was. I shouldn't have taken it out on you, though."

He slips his receipt and something else back to me.

"Here. Keep the tip."

He turns around and walks out the door. I stand there, unable to move as I process what the heck just happened.

This is the first time that a customer actually apologized to me. I never let their words get to me, but this throws me for a loop.

I reach for the receipt held in my hands and figure out what's attached to the receipt a moment later.

"Holy—"

It's a hundred-dollar bill. The guy gave me a freaking hundred-dollar tip! I scan around to see if he's still here, heading out the door to catch him. There's no way I can just accept this without talking to him. I step outside, seeing all of the cars bustling about. There's no sign of him. He gave me that tip and left, just like that.

What is he trying to do? I race back inside, heading to the back. Bianca's in the back on break drinking some water and eating a sandwich.

"Bianca, can you man the counter?"

"Sure, but what is—"

"I have to check something," I state. I duck into the bathroom and sit in the stall.

My hand unfurls the receipt, and I place the hundred inside my wallet. I tuck it way in the back to make sure it doesn't fall out. I look at the receipt and the message at the bottom.

I'm really sorry for being rude the other day. I'd like to take you out to dinner if that's possible.

My hands shake. This can't be happening. I put the receipt in my apron and head back out there. I try to maintain a poker face of customer service, smiles, and a high-pitched voice, but inside I'm reeling.

He wants to see me .

I close up right at two and head back to my apartment. The TV drones on as I walk inside, with Katie sprawled on the couch, watching some reality TV show. I hate those things, but they have an absolute chokehold on her.

"There you are, Sara."

"Sorry. Been a long day at work."

I flop on the armchair next to the couch. Katie grabs the remote and mutes the TV before turning to me.

"What's going on?"

"It's . . . complicated, to say the least," I explain.

"Yeah, no joke. You look like you've seen a ghost."

She rests her arm on my shoulder. I sit there, trying to process what happened. The customer, and of course, the number.

"Remember that customer from the other day I complained about?"

"Oh yeah, the rich one who got on your butt for messing up a latte."

"Yeah, well, check this out."

I slip her the receipt. Katie's jaw drops.

"No freaking way."

"Yeah, way. He came back, apologized, ordered a freaking cortado, and then gave me this."

Katie's eyes look it over and over.

"So, Robert, eh?"

"I didn't even look at the name." I never bother to check those. Sure, I ask for names with the order, but I forget them a second later.

Katie giggles, sitting back. "Oh, this is so exciting!"

"I don't know. He was kind of mean at first. I don't know if I want to deal with that—"

"Come on! He's hot, right?"

"Yeah, and so much older than me. He has to be in his thirties, at least. We're from two different worlds."

That doesn't stop Katie from reading this over again, giggling like an idiot. "Oh, come on, Sara! Older men are, like, so hot."

"I know, but crushing on a celebrity is different. This is real life. Just because I find Ryan Reynolds hot doesn't mean I'm going to date a guy that old."

Katie pouts, scoffing.

"You're such a goody-goody, Sara."

"And you act like this is all just normal."

She places the receipt down, and I take it back, nestling it in my pocket.

"You should call him."

"Call him? I barely got a word in when I talked to him."

"Yeah, and right now, you've been given the golden opportunity."

This is ludicrous. I know that Katie's obsessed with rom-coms and thinks that the guy gets the girl just like that, but this is insane!

"Katie, I doubt this is going to turn into anything."

"You never know, hun," she replies as she lies back down. "I think you should take it."

I'm left at a crossroads. Sure, he's hot, but do we have anything in common? I doubt it.

"I don't think we have anything similar. He's older and grumpy. Probably likes stuff like doing taxes."

"Sara, people over thirty don't just sit around and do taxes until they rot and die."

"Yeah, but you never know!"

I stand up, flustered by her words. My face reddens, and Katie groans.

"You're red."

"I am not."

"Girl, a tomato is less red than you! Anyway, I think you just need to stop waffling around and just take this chance! If it ends up sucking, well, there you go."

I sigh, annoyed by Katie. She means well, and her being a hopeless romantic despite not having a boyfriend contributes to this sentiment. She has lived through me ever since that guy in high school asked me out. We went on one date, and it kind of sucked, but she was salivating, hearing about it.

"Anyway, I'm not sure what I'll do."

"Think about it. In fact, sleep on it, and then see what happens."

I nod, taking in her words. She does have a point. It's not like I have to just decide right this minute.

"I suppose you're right?"

"Suppose? You know I'm right."

I head to my room and lie down on my bed, thinking about what Katie said. Sure, this is so different from what I'm used to, but at the same time, I'm not completely against it.

I reach for my phone and get the paper out. My eyes scan it over, seeing his number. With hesitation, I push the buttons, dialing his number. I sit back, waiting for the phone to ring. A moment later, I hear the click.

"Harrington Properties, Robert speaking."

I sit there, unable to find the right words. It's like my voice is lost, nowhere to be found. I have to think fast.

"It's Sara." Silence fills the line. I take a couple of deep breaths, remembering the meditation techniques to help with anxiety. It doesn't stop the roaring fear in my heart, but it does help slightly. "From the…coffee shop. The barista."

As I say those words, I question whether I want to do this. Am I ready to take a chance, even if it means possibly getting hurt by some older guy I barely know?

The answer is yes.