“Kera, right?”
I look up into the smiling face of Terry, the barista who has made my coffee before.
“That’s me!” I give a little wave though I’m the only other person in the shop.
“Welcome to your first day on the job!” Terry smiles at me. He has one of those smiles that dance around in his eyes. It’s so genuine, it’s impossible not to feel instantly at ease.
“Thanks!” I smile back.
“I’m sure you’ll pick up on it all pretty quick,” he says. “It ain’t rocket science, yeah?”
“Yeah.”
He’s right. It isn’t. Put coffee in the container, add extras, blend, and pour. Not a lot to it, and I figure it out without a lot of trouble. Within an hour, I’ve served my first customer.
“Once you get used to making the drinks, I’ll show you how to run the cash register,” Terry says. “You didn’t put anything down on your work history. Have you ever run a cash register before?”
“Never,” I tell him. “This is my first job, really.”
“Whaa?” Terry places his hands on his cheeks and makes a face like the kid in the Home Alone movie. “I thought you were like, twenty or something.”
“I am.”
“And this is your first job?”
“I’ve been in school.”
“Ah, that makes sense. Well, no worries. You’re the only one who applied.” He snickers. “No cash register experience, but you don’t appear to be an idiot, and I’m going to take a wild guess and say you have a smartphone, yes?”
“I do.”
“Well, the cash register is just an app on an iPad. The owner likes to think he’s very high tech, but really, he figured out how much cheaper this was than replacing the old machine when it broke.”
“I suppose that’s important.”
“He thinks so.” Terry laughs. It’s a big laugh that matches his smile.
Within a couple of days, Terry and I fall into a comfortable working rhythm, alternating customers and splitting the tips at the end of the shift. It feels good to make my own money although Deklan says we don’t need it.
I wonder how much money Deklan actually has.
“How long have you worked here?” I ask.
“Let’s see”—he taps his finger against his chin—“about eight months, I guess. I moved here last summer. Worked at one of those mini gas station kiosk places for a month before a tornado flattened it.”
“Seriously? Were you in it?”
“Nah, I wasn’t working at the time. The dude who was working that night was okay—just a few scratches. He was lucky.”
“I guess so.”
“I like it here better anyway. People who come in to buy cigarettes at gas stations tend to be very grumpy people, in my experience. People are happy when they get their coffee, especially when they get extra whipped cream.”
I glance over at him and raise an eyebrow when he winks at me.
“You do realize I’m married, right?”
“Whaa? No way!”
“I am.” Apparently, flashing my ring at him when I picked up my coffee had been ineffective.
“You’re too young,” he says. He turns his smile back to a woman ordering a caramel macchiato. “I take it you have a kid or two, then?”
“No, no kids.”
“Why did you get married so young?”
I glare at him, wanting to be angry at the intrusive question, but his expression reveals nothing but genuine curiosity.
“It just worked out that way.”
He looks like he wants to ask more, but a bunch of customers come in all at once, and we are both busy for the next couple of hours. By the time we get a moment to breathe, Terry seems to have forgotten the topic.
“Ah, hells.” Terry stands up from where he was crouched in front of a refrigerator. “Out of Half and Half up here. I need to grab more from the back, and it’s buried behind four hundred bottles of vanilla flavoring. Do you think you’re okay up here by yourself for a few minutes?”
“I think so.”
“I’ll be quick.” Terry jogs through the door to the kitchen, and I’m left alone up front.
Thankfully, the next two orders are easy, and then the line goes dead for a bit. I clean some dirty cups off of tables and rinse out the mixers before the next person comes to the counter.
“Hello there, former betrothed.”
I jump at the sound of the voice—I hadn’t heard anyone come in. It’s Sean, and he’s smiling. His smile is nothing like Terry’s; Sean’s smile is full of lightning and poison.
“Hi.” I don’t know what else I should say, and I end up just staring at the counter.
“Well, are you going to take my order?” He places his hands on the counter and leans forward. “This is a coffee house, isn’t it?”
“Yes, um, what would you like?”
“A nice, wet pussy.” Sean crosses his arms and leans even further across the counter—far enough that I take a step back. “Doesn’t seem to be on the menu, so I guess I’ll just have something else hot and creamy. What would you recommend?”
All the hairs on my neck are standing at attention. I can barely breathe, let alone look him in the eye and make polite suggestions about what kind of coffee he might want to drink.
“Do you think I have an infinite amount of time to spend with you?” Sean asks. “If I did, you would definitely be horizontal. Since you’re standing on your feet, my time must be limited.”
I have to come up with something, so I say the first thing that comes to mind.
“Um…a latte?”
“Well, wouldn’t that be positively decadent!” He slams his palm against the counter, and I jump again. “Make me a fucking black coffee without any crap in it.”
I turn around and quickly grab a large cup. He didn’t specify size, and I don’t even care at this point. My hand shakes as I write his name on the side of the cup. I’m not sure why I’m bothering, since I already know exactly who he is, but it’s part of my training, and I seem to be on automatic.
“Here you go, sir.”
“Ooh—sir. I like that.” Sean reaches out to take his cup but grabs my wrist instead. He squeezes just hard enough to make me freeze. “I kinda like this whole idea of you servicing me.”
“It’s just coffee.” My eyes are starting to burn. I glance around the shop for the guy Deklan has following me, but he is surprisingly absent.
“For the moment.” He takes the coffee with his other hand, still holding tightly to my wrist. He turns my hand palm down. “I bought this ring, you know. Gave it to Dek when he asked what to do about it. Had to get a different one for him, of course. The one made for me barely fit on his little finger.”
I want to call Sean a liar, but I have the feeling what he’s saying is true. Deklan wouldn’t have had time to pick out a ring for me. He had even less notice than I did.
“Please let go of me,” I say softly. “I have work to do.”
“There’s no one else in line,” Sean says. “I’m the only one here who needs your assistance. Do you think you can assist me?”
“What else do you need?”
“I think I need to find out exactly what I missed,” Sean says. He tightens his fingers around my wrist painfully. “I need to feel those lips wrapped around my cock.”
I gasp, and a single tear escapes from my eye. For a moment, I smell dead fish and hear the lapping of water against wet wood. My stomach churns, and I startle at a noise behind me.
“Woo hoo!” Terry appears from the kitchen with two bottles of half and half—one in each hand—and a big smile. “Found it! That stuff was really buried back there!”
Sean releases me and takes a step back. He tilts the coffee cup slightly to read his name scrawled on the side. He sneers when he drops the full cup in the trash as he walks out.
“Who was that?” Terry asks. “Not happy with his coffee?”
“I guess not. He didn’t actually say anything about the coffee.”
“Did he ask for his money back?” Terry asks. “If he did, there’s this form—”
“He didn’t pay for it.” My stomach cramps up again. I can’t get the smell of dank, wet wood out of my head. Why is Sean doing this? He gave me up. He said he didn’t want to marry me, so why is he doing this now?
“Kera, you know you have to ring it up before…”
Terry’s words fade. I’m not sure if he’s still speaking or not. I feel a hand on my arm, and I cry out, pulling away and backing myself up against the coffee machines behind me.
“Hey, are you all right? What did that dude say to you?”
“It’s nothing.” I can’t keep my voice from shaking. “I just need a second—a bathroom break, I mean. I’ll be right back.”
I slip through the kitchen door and into the back hall where the employee’s restroom is located and lock the door behind me. I splash cold water on my face, but it doesn’t help—I’m still shaking. It takes several minutes before I even begin to calm down.
I don’t understand why Sean is doing this. My first thought is to tell Deklan what happened, but I fear that will make matters even worse. Sean is Dek’s boss. If Deklan gets angry and confronts Sean, what might happen to him?
I remember how he looked in that hospital bed, and my mind immediately conjures up a much worse version: Deklan unconscious with tubes running out of him and Dr. Henry telling me he’s not going to make it.
Sean would do it, too.
“Kera? Are you all right?”
“I’m fine, Terry.”
“Are you sure? I shouldn’t really leave the counter, but you’ve been in here a while. Are you sick?”
“I’ll be out in just a minute.”
“Okay.”
I hear him walk away, splash more water on my face, and stare into the mirror. My eyes look hollow and red. Had I been crying? I can’t remember. I wish I had brought my purse in with me so I could at least fix my makeup.
My purse.
My purse has a small, .22-caliber pistol in it. Deklan insists I keep it with me anytime I leave the apartment. Both of them are in the employee break area, inside a locker. Maybe I should keep it on me, but I have a feeling management would frown on an armed barista. Besides, what would I have done with it? Threatened Sean Foley? Shot him?
I shake my head to rid myself of such ridiculous thoughts, take several deep breaths, and return to my station.
Several people are already in line, and I manage to throw myself into making mochas and lattes. I focus on the ratios of coffee to cream to various flavorings and push thoughts of Sean Foley out of my head completely. By the time business slows down, and Terry asks me how I’m doing, I am able to smile sweetly and tell him everything is fine.
That evening, Deklan is harder to convince.
After dinner, we sit on the couch with the television turned on to the news. The reporter is talking about increased violence on the east side of town and possible connections to organized crime. I sit with my e-reader in my lap, but I can’t focus on the words long enough to actually read.
“What’s on your mind?” Deklan suddenly asks.
“What?” I glance up from the screen. “Nothing.”
“You have been staring at that same page for a half hour. You obviously aren’t reading.”
I shrug. Anything I say will just remind me of my encounter with Sean Foley, so I say nothing. As Deklan continues to ask questions, my muscles tense, and I clench my teeth. He wants to know everything I did all day long, but he never tells me anything about what he’s done all day. He never tells me anything about himself at all.
“Tell me about your day at work,” he says.
“I made a lot of coffee.”
“Come on, Kera.” Deklan turns toward me and takes my chin between his fingers. “You’re obviously upset about something. Apartment life bores you, so it has to be something at work. Is one of your coworkers giving you shit?”
“No, Terry is fine.”
“Terry?”
“My coworker.”
“What is it, then?”
“Nothing.”
“Dammit! Will you stop saying that? You’ve barely uttered ten words since I got home. Tell me what’s going on!”
“Why don’t you tell me what you did today?” I stare at him pointedly. “How’s business?”
“You know I’m not going to talk about that. I’m not putting you at risk.”
“Well, the coffee business can be pretty risky, too.” I toss my e-reader on the coffee table and lean back, crossing my legs in front of me with my arms across my chest. “You never know when you’re going to run out of Half and Half.”
“What the fuck has gotten into you today?”
I’m being pissy, and none of this is Deklan’s fault. Guilt washes over me, but I know I need to come up with something else, or he’s just going to keep pressuring me. Dad always said the best way to lie was to give it an element of truth, so I go with something else that has bothered me.
“I’m just…annoyed.”
“About?”
“It’s just…just…”
“Just what? Jesus, Kera! Out with it already!”
“I don’t know anything about you!” I pull my knees up to my chest and put my chin on my knees. I glance sideways at Deklan.
He pauses and his eyes darken. Pushing himself from the couch, he stalks out of the living area and into the kitchen. He leans heavily against the counter for a moment before pulling a bottle of whiskey from the cabinet. He takes a long pull from the bottle before he puts it on the counter with a loud clunk that echoes around the room.
“What do you want from me, Kera?” he asks. “Do I need to tell you my life’s story or something?”
“Yes.”
“Fine.”