3. Creed

CHAPTER 3

CREED

I eased the car into a free spot on the street and shrugged off the sweatshirts I had layered during the night. I was left in a pair of black pants and a checkered button-down shirt. Slipping off my beanie, I ran a hand through my short, dark hair, combing it neatly to one side. I got out of the car and strolled toward the coffee shop.

The aroma of freshly baked bread wafted towards me as I walked past the block housing the bakery. My stomach rumbled in response. Hopefully, I would get a cup of freshly brewed coffee after the interview. I wiped my sweaty hands on my palms as I looked up at the sign of the coffee shop. This was it. My fate was about to be decided today.

And just like it did on my first day as a marine, my stomach plummeted, a mix of excitement and nervousness.

I walked in and was directed to the seating area of the cafe. Seconds later, the store manager joined me. I tried not to gawk. It was not every day I, at six-foot-three, had to crane my neck to look up at a female.

"Are you Creed? I'm Julianne." Her voice was warm, a stark contrast to the tension in my chest. She extended her hand, fingers slender and confident, her expression open and patient.

I nodded, but the movement felt stiff, my head jerking slightly too fast. My throat felt like sandpaper, every swallow making the roof of my mouth stick to my dry tongue. My pulse thrummed in my ears, loud enough that it almost drowned out her words. I had to reach out, to return the gesture, but my arm felt like it weighed a ton.

Get it together, Creed. It's just a handshake.

My hand met hers, the contact a jolt against my clammy skin. Her grip was firm, steady, the kind of confidence that seemed to radiate through her touch. I squeezed back, forcing my own fingers to match her steadiness, hoping she couldn't sense the tremor in my hand.

"You look good. How did you know how to dress for this?" Her tone was playful as she spoke. I had a good feeling about this.

"I asked some of your employees questions on how to make a good impression for an interview here."

Julianne smiled at me and dropped into her seat. I waited until she was comfortably seated before I followed suit.

"Tell me about yourself, Creed," she leaned towards me, a conspiratorial smile plastered on her face. I couldn't help running my hand across my forehead. There was no point in lying to her when there'd be background checks that confirmed otherwise.

"Creed Markham is my name. I'm an ex-Marine sergeant."

A stunned silence followed.

"Seems like you're overqualified for this position," she said, her tone suggesting she had already made assumptions about my past. She didn't probe further, and that was when I knew I'd lost again. "What's your favorite drink?"

Eager to impress her, I didn't think twice before answering the question.

"A martini cocktail with a lemon twist." It was my favorite each time I headed out with the boys to a bar to celebrate one occasion or another.

She touched her cheek with her index finger. "Don't you think you're at the wrong place, Creed?"

Sweat beaded across my face. "I didn't think lying to get a job was appropriate. It also shows I'm not in this for the benefits."

"I'd rather have you in it for the benefits, knowing you're passionate about what you are doing and emotionally involved in the process too. It's only going to be a matter of time before you get bored of following a routine and mess things up."

I had expected her to offer me a drink but that did not seem like it was forthcoming either. I contracted my stomach, trying not to squirm as pangs of hunger ravaged me.

"Believe it or not, Julianne, I am passionate about this," I insisted, my voice trembling slightly. "I may not have a pristine record, but being a Marine taught me discipline and dedication. I want to apply those skills here."

Julianne studied me intently, her eyes narrowing with curiosity. "I can see determination in your eyes, Creed. But what makes you think you'll thrive in the fast-paced environment of a multi-national company? It's not just about making coffee, you know."

A surge of determination fueled my response. "I understand that, Julianne. This is more than just a coffee shop—it's an experience. It's about connecting with people, providing exceptional customer service, and creating a welcoming atmosphere. And after going through what I've been through, I've developed a strong sense of empathy and resilience."

She leaned back in her chair, her gaze unwavering. "Those are important qualities to have in this line of work," she acknowledged. "But tell me, Creed, why should I take a chance on someone with a less-than-perfect background?"

"Uhmm, to be honest?—"

"Wrong answer. Your honesty, while appreciated here, comes second to your enthusiasm for the job and coffee."

I controlled the urge to shuffle my feet on the floor. As far as I was concerned, this interview was over and whatever else the person in front of me said was an attempt at hiding her bias against me.

I couldn't blame her, though. The stigmatization that followed dishonorably discharged officers had spanned decades and she was only doing what anyone else in her position would do, including myself.

Julianne stretched out her hand to me. This time, her smile was not as wide as it had been when she first approached me.

"I'll be in touch with you."

It was a lie but I didn't plan to make her more uncomfortable than she was. It wasn't her fault that things had turned out this way for me.

"Alright. Thank you."

As she walked away, I took in her tense shoulders. I slid out of my seat and walked close to the counters—not close enough to be mistaken as a customer—and closed my eyes while breathing in deeply.

I took a step away from the counter where fat, fluffy pastries glistened temptingly behind glass windows, as any self-respecting individual would do. I was too broke to afford coffee and there was no point loitering like a destitute human, even though the Lord knew that I was just one meal away from being categorized as one.

The soup kitchen wouldn't open for another hour. I sighed inwardly. Waiting in line at the soup kitchen with other homeless folks was disconcerting. The thought of bumping into anyone I knew on my way out or having to listen to dreary sermons about the eternal love of a father that did not give a fuck about me would worsen my already bruised ego.

I sighed again, this time physically. I needed to leave the coffee shop and put my disastrous interview behind me. I forced my eyes open and scanned the room. It was half empty with customers coming in trickles. At the table closest to where I stood, two blonde girls were chatting animatedly, and gesticulating with their hands. Another table had a teen boy that was completely plugged into his laptop: headphones on, eyes fixed on the screen, and fingers dancing across the keyboard. It was clear that life was going on for everyone else even though I seemed to be at a standstill.

My eyes darted in the direction of the door. I took my first step towards the exit and then the door opened. The tiny bell above it jingled, announcing his entrance. I stilled at the noise, freezing at the burst of cold air rushing in. I didn't dare blink as I made eye contact with him.

Judging from his appearance, I made him out to be in his mid-twenties, around the same age as me. But that was where the comparison ended. In terms of class and success, we were worlds apart. It was probably vain to compare a stranger whose life and struggles I knew nothing about to myself, but then the differences were visible for anyone to see. A hot tide of embarrassment washed over me.

He took off his black fedora hat, showing off his espresso-brown hair styled in a neat, curly quiff that looked great on him. His hands, covered by chic black leather gloves, rubbed against each other for warmth just before he dug them into his expensive dark wool overcoat. I swallowed, thinking of how warm those gloves could have gotten me. They probably cost as much as the deposit for an apartment.

The guy's entire 'fit screamed sophistication and wealth I could only dream of.

Damn.

My gaze fell upon his amber eyes. I didn't realize I'd been staring but even now that I was caught in the act, I still found it hard to tear my eyes off him. We observed each other from across the room. The handsome stranger stared at me for a second longer and then his eyes lit up in a smile, open and inviting. I couldn't help but return the sentiment, forcing a cocky smile on my face.