She got to work, chatting to the customers, making sure the tables were happy, checking on her baking, but all the while she found herself peeking at one particular new face. He looked at odds with the landscape she was used to. He looked like he was having some sort of crisis for one. His hair was dishevelled and he was tapping away at his phone, swiping screens on his iPad, and stuffing bits of paper back into his bag, which was filled with little notes. She smiled to herself, thinking that he looked a bit like a student about to take his final exams on five hours’ sleep and a ton of energy drinks. Still studying the menu, taking his time, he placed his fingers near his chin, and she noticed the light stubble running across it. As he was reading the list of dishes for the twentieth time, the glasses on his nose steamed up. He needed little wipers for his Clark Kents. Rebecca found herself wondering what the guy’s deal was, but that wasn’t part of her day. She had a plan, and helping weirdos wasn’t one of them. Distracting herself, she gave a couple their orders, and started to clean the empty tables on her way back, stacking the dishes in the dishwasher ready to go. After the weird morning with her mother, she needed the guy to leave so she could switch her brain off once more. Thinking too much about things was never good.
‘Nice place, it smells amazing walking in here.’
He was looking right at her now.
‘Thanks. It’s not mine actually. My friend Hans owns it, I’m just the live-in manager.’ She turned her back to him to clean a tabletop, hoping he would get the message and return to the note-strewn workspace he was currently creating in her sacred, neat café.
‘Well, it’s nice,’ he added, looking at her intently now. ‘Hans, eh?’
Rebecca nodded at him. ‘Yep, he’s the boss. You want anything?’ She raised the order pad, tapping on it with her pen in a determined manner. She didn’t look at him, keeping her eyes on her pad.
‘I’ll just have an Americano for now. I think I need to thaw out a little before I get some food. I didn’t mean the edgy comment, by the way. I just meant that you had a bit of an edge to you.’ He continued the conversation like they’d never missed a beat, and it was then that she realised what had been irking her so much. He was really annoying, sure but the thing that irked her was that she wanted to know more about him.
She passed him his coffee, taking the money and trying not to react as his hand brushed hers. She felt a push and pull towards him that was getting a little bit weird now. She wished he had a label, like a trinket on a shelf. She wanted to find out more about him, what his deal was, but she also wanted him to go away and never return so she could get on with her day. Hans would be here later, and she had stuff to do. He’d taken a high seat at the counter, taking his satchel type bag off the seat next to him and taking out a newspaper. Great, he’s really staying. Close too. Shurrup, Rebecca. He’s a person, remember? A customer. Feeling like she needed a distraction, Rebecca returned to her baking. She was soon back to her old self, though her eyes were a little busier than usual. Mr Scruffy, as she had now nicknamed him in her head, was reading the paper, she was doing her thing, and the other café-goers were all happy in their own little caffeinated bubbles. After looking at the perfect creations on her tray, she loaded them into the oven and started to clean up again to set up for the next rush.
‘Can I ask,’ Mr Scruffy began in a broad accent. It was gruff, deep and Northern, she noticed now. A thick accent from back home. She could barely make it out at first. Her Yorkshire radar was a little rusty, given the setting she lived in and the multicultural clientèle she crossed paths with daily. ‘What did you just make?’
‘Croissants, with my own twist.’ He looked at her, an eyebrow raised in question, and she gave him a knowing look. ‘You’ll see, if you’re still here when they get out of the oven.’
He drained his coffee cup, putting it back onto its saucer and pushing it towards her.
‘Well, better have a refill then.’
Rebecca, you great, big-mouthed tit. He won’t leave now! Never mention baked goods to a man if you want him to leave. Rule 101 of baking. Although, with Robbie, she wouldn’t have been able to coax him in the first place. Her ex-boyfriend wasn’t a carb-lover. Cake was an alien foodstuff to him. If she’d offered to whip him up a Victoria sponge when they were together, he’d have laughed in her face and skied for two hours to work off even the thought of the calories. She laughed to herself, before she remembered that she wasn’t that person back then. She wouldn’t have been baking. She’d have been on the snow with him, giving him a run for his money. If Robbie saw her now, he’d probably be relieved he got out when he did. She pulled the hem of her top down, suddenly aware that she was flashing her muffin top to the room. Robbie would have laughed at that too.
She filled the man’s cup up from the coffee pot, trying to turn her brain back onto autopilot. She had all the feelings today for some reason. About her mother, about the competitions she was avoiding yet again. About Robbie, the man she once knew so well, and
