Chapter Five

SCARLETT

" I 'll take a large pumpkin spice latte, extra pumpkin spice, extra whip cream, and nonfat," the woman in front of me demands before placing her phone back up to her ear to continue her annoyingly loud conversation.

I could warn her that there's no way any part of that drink will be low in fat, but she's too busy complaining to the person on the other end of the line about how bitchy one of her coworkers is. My guess? She's the bitch. She's a typical type of difficult customer: covered in head-to-toe designer athletic gear, fake blonde hair, platform shoes that are definitely not athletic, and a fanny pack strapped across the front of her chest. There's no point in arguing with customers like this. You just give them what they asked for, pray they don't complain, and send them out into the world to terrorize other poor customer service workers. I smile softly with my head turned down and walk away.

The machine in front of me whirs and buzzes as I approach. There was once a time when I was intimidated by the giant, stainless steel espresso machine, but now it feels comforting and familiar to stand behind the safety of its steam. I grab the jug of nonfat milk and slosh it into the steel mug before turning on the steam wand. The steamed milk whispers as the liquid spins and swirls. Satisfied with my foam, I drop the milk mug and let it continue warming. I move to the espresso grinder, clicking it three times to deposit the bitter powder from the hopper into the portafilter. Sliding the espresso filled cup into the machine, I place the shot glasses underneath and push the button. The machine churns and sputters as hot water pushes through the grinds, creating a tiny waterfall of caffeinated goodness. I pump eight pumps of the goopy pumpkin spice syrup into the cup and internally cringe. This is going to be a sugar bomb. Turning off the steam wand, I check that my shots are beautifully layered before dumping them over the syrup and swirling. I only have a moment before the shots die so I quickly add the warm milk, making sure to leave enough room for extra, extra whip cream.

"Large, nonfat, extra whip, pumpkin spice latte," I call out as I place the paper cup on the counter. The customer is too busy prattling into her phone to even acknowledge my smile or thank me. She grabs her drink and settles at one of the small round tables littered around the little cafe.

I know it's silly, but I take pride in each and every drink. Being a barista isn't a fancy career, it isn't glamorous, but I love it. I love the precision and the detail. I love making latte art and experimenting with drinks. There's talent to a good cup of coffee and I secretly like to think of myself as a little latte artist. It's stupid, but for me, it's comforting. And after last night, I could use some comfort.

Kyle's been rough with me before, sure, but he's never scared me like that. I was so convinced he was going to force himself further on me in our kitchen. There've been plenty of times when I gave in and allowed him inside me, even when I wasn't in the mood. But last night felt different. It felt worse—scarier. It can't be rape if it's your boyfriend though, right? I know he'll be pissed that I ran away but I needed to get out of there.

I stayed with my friend Sam. She works at the coffee shop with me and has been my friend for years. She stopped asking questions after I showed up at her door for the tenth time, always late at night, always with bruises and tears staining my cheeks. At first, she tried to convince me to leave him, but that would be like leaving my life. Where would I live? What would I do about rent money? I'd need an apartment that would accept pets so I could bring Samson. No, it'd be too messy. Eventually, she gave up trying to convince me to leave. Now, she just opens the door silently for me when I come knocking late at night. I never miss the look of pity in her eyes though. This time I didn't even have a chance to grab Samson before I left. Usually, the feline is always right at my feet, my little orange shadow, but he must have been scared by the loud crash of the window breaking and ran to hide. I'm worried about him; a sense of gnawing anxiety has been bothering me all day long. I plan to go check on him and make up with Kyle after my shift.

"Excuse me!" I'm ripped from my thoughts as a shrill voice rings across the small space of the cafe.

Coming back from around the espresso machine to the front counter, I'm met with a death glare. Miss large pumpkin spice latte, nonfat, with extra whipped cream is glaring at me from the other side of the counter. She looks pissed. Fuck! She must have ended her phone call, leaving her undistracted and able to focus all her angry energy straight towards me. Joy.

"Hello, ma'am. How may I assist you?" I put on my nicest voice, trying to placate her.

I quickly glance around the shop, looking for anyone who might be able to save me. Sadly, it's just the two of us and a few elderly male patrons sipping their black coffee and reading their newspapers in the back of the shop. My manager, Kim, ran to the bank just a minute ago. She'll be gone for at least another thirty minutes. I'm on my own to deal with her. Fan-fucking-tastic .

"Are you fucking kidding me with this shit? I asked for a pumpkin spice latte. I don't know what the fuck you made, but this is unsatisfactory. And there's barely any whip cream!" she spits at me, her voice laced with venom.

I want so desperately to tell her to take her shitty attitude and fuck right off. But, that would not really be the best for my employment status. So, I put on the kindest smile I can muster in the face of this small angry woman.

"I'm so sorry you don't like your drink, ma'am. I'd be happy to remake it for you if you'd like?"

Her brown eyes scan my face, looking for what, I don't know. They're the color of shit. She's an ugly woman with an angry scowl contorting her face and cold condescension radiating off her in waves.

"I order this same drink at Starbucks every single morning and it's always the same. But the one day I decide to be a good person and patronize a small business, you have to fuck it up. I expect you to remake it and offer me a gift certificate for my trouble!"

"I'm so sorry you were unhappy with your drink, ma'am. But, we use a different syrup than Starbucks so it might taste slightly different. I'd be happy to remake it but it's never going to taste exactly like theirs."

She sucks in a long, loud breath. Her eyes widen with fury, and I know I'm in for it now.

"Listen to me you stupid fucking cunt," she spits, leaning across the counter. "I'm sure you're too idiotic to understand this but I know what my drink is supposed to taste like and it's your job to make that drink. If you fuck this up again, I'll destroy your little shithouse coffee shop all over social media. I have over a thousand followers and I'm sure they'd love to hear my review of your shop."

It's not my coffee shop you dumb bitch .

"I understand ma'am. I can see you're upset. I'm happy to remake your drink for you but no matter what I do, it will never taste just like Starbucks." I'm walking a dangerous line here and I know it. If I argue with her she might lose it, but if I make her another non-Starbucks drink, she also might lose it. Yay for customer service jobs, right?

Hot and crazed anger blooms across her face. She looks like she might jump across the counter and throttle me. I take a step back. But instead of jumping the laminate barrier, she takes the lid slowly off her drink, exposing the sugary, hot liquid within.

"How dare you talk back to me you fucking piece of shit little—" her arm swings backward and down. I register that she's going to throw the drink at me and I start to move out of the way to try to avoid it.

Suddenly, a hand grabs her wrist and stills her motions. Sharp, blood-red nails dig into the woman's skin, making her veins pop up against the thin barrier of her fake-tanned flesh.

"You will put that drink down and apologize to her right now." A low and calm voice breaks the tense silence.

Standing there, holding the wrist of my angry customer in her fierce claws, is the woman from the costume shop. Her eyes are trained on the woman across the counter from me, a fiery blaze flicking through her gaze. She's wearing a tight, shimmering, white dress that pulls against her ample breasts and hips. Her dress shines in the streak of sunlight coming in through the window, slightly blinding me momentarily. I wonder for a fleeting moment if she might be an angel from the way she seems to glow. She's the same height as the other woman but her imposing presence makes her seem larger, like all the light is sucked from the room and funneled straight to her. Her scent—jasmine and vanilla—tickles my nose, overpowering even the strong aroma of coffee that usually clings to the air in here.

Fuck me. She's fucking gorgeous.

I thought she was beautiful the first time I saw her but the way she seems to radiate with power makes her look like a goddess. A fiery, powerful, sexy as fuck female. Who needs a white knight when you can have a goddess in glitter coming to save you, right?

"Excuse me?" My least favorite customer rounds on my savior. "Get your fucking hands off me, you bitch!"

"I will release you," she says, her voice deadly calm—too calm. She's like a predator, slowly working her prey back into a corner. "But when I do, you will apologize, take your drink, and go."

My goddesses' eyes finally flick to mine and my entire body lights on fire. She's so beautiful it hurts. Her blonde hair is styled in soft waves that frame her heart-shaped face. Her blue eyes remind me of the waves of the sea, shifting and swirling on a clear day. Her lips are covered with a sheer pink gloss that makes them look absolutely irresistible. The sudden urge to crash my lips against hers and taste her crosses my mind.

Now's probably not a good time for that though .

"And who the fuck do you think you are?" bitchy-customer-lady yells.

A slow and sinister smirk spreads across my savior's face. Her eyes seem to shift in color slightly, they're still the color of a calm sea, but now they seem to be ringed with red. Shit .

Her nails dig into the customer's wrist, blood pooling where the sharp edges are digging into the other woman's skin.

"Ow! What the fuck?" she shrieks, her panicked eyes flicking back and forth between her now bloodied wrist and my eyes, as if I'm going to save her. Yeah right, bitch. "Stop please!" Blood drips from her wrist onto the hardwood floors beneath her. "Fine! Fine! I'll leave! Just please let go!"

"I will let go when you apologize to the kind and beautiful woman behind the counter."

"Fine! Fuck! Fine. I'm sorry, okay?" The woman rips her wrist away, spilling her latte all over herself in the process. She doesn't even seem to care. She just runs for the door.

The beautiful goddess in front of me watches her prey scurry away hastily. An amused smirk plays across her features. There's something about her that is so hypnotizing, it's as if I couldn't pull my gaze from her even if I wanted to. I don't want to though, she's the most beautiful woman I've ever seen.

The fleeing customer throws the door open, casting one last fearful glance over her shoulder. The radiant woman in front of me gives her a wave of her bloodied fingers before telling her in a sugary sweet voice, "And don't come back soon!"

I cover my mouth to avoid exposing the smile that's spread across my face.

The customer is so busy fleeing that she collides into my manager as she exits the door. She plows straight into Kim, before running swiftly into the rainy parking lot without so much as an apology or second glance.

Kim enters the coffee shop with a perplexed look on her face. My manager takes in the bloodied floor and spilled latte. "What the hell happened here?"

Before I can answer her and apologize for the mess, the other woman does. "That customer was being rude, aggressive, and offensive towards your employee. I intervened to ask her to leave. I apologize if it caused any inconvenience to your shop, I was simply trying to remind that woman that customer service employees don't deserve to be treated as second class citizens." She flashes my boss a sincere smile that radiates warmth and kindness.

It's such a stark contrast to the powerful and fierce woman who stood before me a moment ago. I wonder if there is something unsavory about my new friend.

Kim's eyes flick to me. She assesses me. I'm sure I look like a mess. That whole interaction was…a lot.

"Scarlett, are you alright?"

"Fine," I manage to squeak out. My voice is small and hesitant. I hate how weak I am sometimes.

"Why don't you go take a break? Have some water, okay?"

I nod my head in agreement, lifting my apron up and over my head. I begin to turn to walk down the length of the workspace behind the counter when a hand grabs my arm. I spin to find the beautiful woman, my goddess, staring at me intensely.

"Have a cup of coffee with me while you take a break?"

I should say no. There's something about this woman that seems slightly dangerous. I mean, she just made a customer bleed all over the floor because they were rude to me. The way she stares at me, with such intensity, makes me feel as though I might spontaneously combust right where I stand. And yet, I can't seem to pull myself out of her orbit. She's like the fucking sun and I want to gravitate closer and closer to her, letting her pull me in. I desperately want her eyes and hands to stay on me and never leave.

"Okay," I manage to whisper. "I'll grab two cups of coffee."

"Keep mine black, princess." She winks at me before stalking off towards a secluded table up in the loft space.

Holding the warm porcelain mug carefully between my hands, I make my way up the steep steps. The loft area is set back at the very far end of the shop, opposite the register but tucked into the roofline in such a way that it creates a private little retreat. Not many customers choose to brave the steep, open-tread steps, leaving the area an awkward and rarely used space. It's my favorite part of the shop though. The entire back wall is composed of windows, giving the illusion that the light wood floors simply drop you off into the ocean beyond. On clear summer days, I've seen orcas splashing in the water from these windows. I usually take my breaks up here because it feels calm and quiet and safe.

As I reach the top of the steps I see that today is not unlike most. It's pretty much empty up here. However, one seat is taken.

My beautiful savior sits at a small, round, two-person table tucked right up against the floor-to-ceiling windows. She's looking out at the ocean. Her blonde hair hangs like a shimmering curtain around her face and down her shoulders. Her shimmery dress against her tanned skin is stunning. I wish I could look like her—poised and put together. She's radiant.

I hesitate as I round the banister, uncertain if I should approach her. She did tell me to join her for a coffee, but she looks so peaceful. And she doesn't even know me. What if when we start talking she finds me super boring, or I say the wrong thing? Then we'd be stuck up here in awkward silence. Ugh.

As if she can sense my thoughts, she turns to face me. When she spots me, a bright smile lights up her face. She's even more gorgeous when she smiles. She shines like the god-damned sun; further pulling me into her orbit. She's stunning, so much so it makes my palms start to sweat. A lump forms in my throat. I'm not used to having someone's attention focused solely on me. It's a bit unnerving.

"Come sit with me?" She motions to the chair across from her, inviting me to join her.

Part of me wants to run and hide. I worry my bottom lip between my teeth, picking at the dried pieces of skin. I'm too used to mean girls who pretend to be nice then rip you apart and make you feel like shit. I've never been pretty and popular. I'm not one of those types of girls. I bet this girl in front of me has always been popular. The way she lights up a room and draws people in, I imagine she's always been the center of everyone's focus. I have no idea what she wants with someone like me. Why would she even be wasting her time sitting and waiting for me?

But, I can't deny her.

"Thanks," I mumble as I slip a loose strand of dark hair behind my ear and shuffle across the rustic wooden floor.

I grab the back of the black chair across from her. It slightly scrapes against the floor as I pull it out and plop down on it. I barely look up as I slide the warm mug of black liquid across the table towards her.

"You didn't get anything for yourself?" she asks as her hands wrap around mine, trapping my fingers between the warmth of the mug and the heat of her touch.

When her skin makes contact with my own flesh it's as though I've been shocked. Electricity skitters across my nerves making my insides come to life. I pull my hand back quickly to avoid the abnormal sensation her touch elicits. I don't want to want this woman's touch as desperately as I seem to. My mind is telling me that she may be dangerous and slightly unhinged. My body, on the other hand, seems to crave her with every single ounce of desire it can muster.

What the hell is happening to me?

When I look up, my eyes meet hers. I'm blown away by the beauty of her gaze. She's somehow soft and hard; mysterious, yet comfortable. She's such an anomaly and a part of me wonders what it would be like to truly belong to this woman.

She cocks her head to the side, a slight smirk pulling at the corner of her full pink lips. It's only then I realize that she asked me a question, and like a fucking idiot I've been sitting here gawking at her instead of answering.

"Sorry. What?"

"I said," she begins with a slight laugh in her tone that makes my stomach flip in a very abnormal way, "you didn't bring a coffee up here for yourself?"

"Oh, no. I already had enough today." It's true, I've already made myself multiple espresso based drinks today. If I keep drinking caffeine, I'll be a jittery mess. Espresso on tap is the blessing and the curse of being a barista.

"What about some food? Water?" Her eyes narrow faintly as she assesses me. She seems to be sizing me up. Inspecting me. For what, though? I have no idea.

"I'm good," I mumble as I pull at the loose threads on the edge of my dark-knitted cardigan.

My style has always been a little alternative. While other girls were wearing Abercrombie & Fitch pink tee shirts and tight jeans, I opted for alternative grandma chic. Oversized sweaters, black dresses and skirts paired with fishnets, and black combat boots are kind of my uniform, so to speak. Some people used to call me goth or emo as an insult but it never really offended me. I like my alternative style. I'm not trying to be anyone I'm not.

I've never felt as self-conscious as I do right now, sitting across from the most beautiful woman I've ever seen in real life. Here I am in coffee-stained Chucks and she's sitting across from me in an angelic shimmering dress and high heels. I can feel her eyes on me, traveling across my turned-down face and slumped shoulders. Heat stings my cheeks as the weight of her gaze roams across my skin. I wish I'd put on more make-up or done my hair—something.

The sound of wood dragging catches my attention and I look up to see her moving her chair around the table. She slides the chair right next to mine and sits gracefully. Our thighs brush and I can't stop the summersaults my stomach seems to do in response.

"I'm Morgan," her voice is like a soft purr across my soul, so smooth and seductive.

"Scarlett," I mumble, keeping my eyes fixated on my lap, unable to meet her searing stare.

She leans in close to me and her distinct scent fills my nose. She smells like an intoxicating mix of vanilla and jasmine. It's what I imagine a witch or a siren would smell like. It's magical and alluring, yet also dangerous. Everything about her seems slightly dangerous, but I can't help feeling like her kind of danger would be worth the risk.

"You have to take care of yourself, Scarlett." Her fingers skate up and down my thigh in a hypnotically soothing rhythm. Her touch in such an intimate area of my body sends sparks straight to my core.

I don't want her to ever stop touching me.

"Let me guess," she leans into me as she speaks and her nearness is both comforting and anxiety provoking. I wipe my sweaty palms on the insides of my sweater sleeves. "You're the type that takes care of everyone else?"

I lift my eyes and am met with her intense stare. Looking into her blue eyes is like looking into the depths of the ocean—both alluring and alarming. I simply nod. She's right, but saying it feels…vulnerable.

Her fingers skirt higher and higher up my thigh, dangerously close to where I desperately do, and do not, want them to go.

"And who takes care of you?" She cocks her head as she speaks, challenging me to stop her.

"No—No one," I manage to choke out. She seems to have stolen all the air from the room and I can't get my lungs to gasp a full breath.

"Everyone needs someone to care for them. When you're down you deserve to have someone who will hold your hand and pull you back onto your feet. You deserve to be taken care of, princess."

Her words strike a chord deep down somewhere in my soul. It cracks open something I didn't even know was chipped.

"Maybe you need something—someone—different. Someone who can make you feel something…new." Her fingers are skimming dangerously high up my thigh. Her words, her touch, her mere presence is driving me insane. I want her so badly it hurts. The pulsing ache between my thighs is so intense I feel as though I might spontaneously combust at any moment.

"Yes," I manage to whisper on a jagged exhale.

"Tell me, lovely, have you ever kissed a girl before?" Her words send a jolt of electricity straight to my needy core.

I've never had the urge to kiss another girl before.

But I've also never been as absolutely desperate to kiss someone as I am right now.

"No."

As soon as the single word leaves my lips, she removes her hand from my thigh. My stomach drops from the loss of her touch. But just as quickly as her fingers leave my thigh, they find their way to my chin, gently turning my face so that I'm looking directly at her. Her eyes are filled with a blazing fire. I press my thighs together tightly, trying to alleviate the ache her heated gaze and suggestive words are eliciting.

"Do you want to?"

Her eyes track the path of my tongue as I lick across my bottom lip. The way she looks at me, like she'd consume me entirely, is so addictive that I'm not sure I'll make it out of this moment unscathed. And when I nod, giving her consent, she strikes.

Her hand cups my cheek as she roughly pulls me towards her. Her lips meet mine with a gentle ease I've never felt before. Kissing her is so soft and sweet. It's so different from kissing Kyle, or any other boy I've ever kissed. Her lips cushion mine in a gentle and consistent pattern that has me involuntarily moaning against her. There's hunger but it's as if she's begging, not taking. Her taste is amazing. It's a seductive mix of vanilla and powdered sugar. At first I'm shy, tentative about kissing another girl, but when her tongue lightly brushes along my lips, I instantly part my lips allowing her inside.

Her tongue skims so lightly over mine. It's like she's teasing me. Each short stroke of her tongue causes the ache between my thighs to grow even more. My nipples are hard and painfully needy as she expertly deepens our kiss. I never want this kiss to stop, and yet, I'm desperate to know how her tongue would feel against other parts of my body.

Then, just as suddenly as she started, she stops. I'm left breathless and wanting as she pulls away. I look up at her in confusion. A smirk pulls at the corner of her mouth. She reaches out to push a piece of dark hair behind my ear.

"So fucking beautiful," she mutters before slinging back the remainder of her coffee, pushing back from the table, and walking away.

I'm left desperate and confused as I watch my goddesses' seductive hips sway out of sight.