After getting no response, she adds with emphasis, “and no sugar.” The speaker, a tall shapely blonde wearing a colorful silk neckerchief around her swan-like neck, looks over the stains on my apron and sleeves with disdain. She is holding a beautifully crafted leather handbag in one hand and her platinum credit card in the other hand. The same membership tier as her rich daddy. Penelope Winston has not only inherited her father’s real estate business, but his snobbishness as well.
I think the only reason she comes here a few times a week is just so that she can relish seeing me working behind the counter, or even better, cleaning the bathroom. Last time, she intentionally kicked up a wad of used tissues into my face as I scrubbed the toilet in the next stall. Then she took her double latte to whatever fancy luncheon or hair appointment she had next. She does this periodically just so she could feel good about herself, even though she leeches off of her rich father and is a waste of clothes and dyed blond hair. I think she doesn’t like me because I refuse to kiss her ass, despite me not having any money. Because I know that there are things that money just can’t buy, like good manners.
“Oops,” she grins as she opens her perfectly manicured fingers and her credit card slips out and falls behind the counter. I glare at her as I take a deep breath and then stoop down to retrieve it from the floor.
“Sure, no sugar.” I straighten up and give her a plastered smile. I try not to stare with jealousy at her leather bag and expensive five-inch heels. I remind myself that my discount sneakers are much more comfortable for working on my feet all day.
Her grin splits wider now. Gosh, how much makeup is this woman wearing? I can see the bits of powder flaking off of the corners of her scarlet mouth.
“Please remember, unlike last time,” she says to me as if she is chastising a disobedient child, “I can’t eat any sugar if I want to keep my figure. I honestly don’t know what you’ve got for brains,” she spits out.
I swipe the credit card across the machine with enough force to break it in half, silently vowing that I’m going to dump so much sugar in her coffee that it’ll give her diabetes. I turn my head away from her while I wait for the transaction to go through so that I don’t punch her in the face because of the next thing that comes out of her bright red mouth.
“Hello? Are you even listening to me?” Her voice raises even higher.
Come on. Come on. I chew on my lower lip and tap my fingers on the counter. Ping! The transaction finally goes through and I eagerly hand back her credit card.
“Ugh, is this how you treat your customers, freak?” I try really hard not to roll my eyes at her.
“No,” I reply as I push her credit card across on the table. “This is how I treat you. Also, my name is Amelia, not ‘freak.’ Please remember. Or has money rotted your brains along with your heart?”
“I don’t care what your name is. You can’t talk to me like this,” she hisses. Uh-oh. I can see the nasty scowl on her blood-red lips. People like her don’t like it when other people cross her, so she won’t stop until they get what she thinks they deserve. “I want to see your manager.”
I slam my palms down on the counter and tilt my head defiantly. “My manager doesn’t come here in the mornings.” My boss, Charlie, a blond surfer who cares more about catching the waves than his business, could care less about what she thinks. He treats me like a kind big brother and lets me run the cafe completely on my own. Also, what can he do if he gets mad at me? Fire me? I took the last job in town that no one wanted. He’ll have a hell of a time trying to fill my spot. The only perk of being at the bottom of the food chain.
“Watch your back, freak, because I’m going to have a talk with your manager later!” She crosses her arm in front of her chest. Her pale eyes are flashing with anger and there is a small thin vein pulsating on her forehead. “I’m going to let him know that you’re a terrible barista! You’re the worst.”
I roll my eyes at her toothless threats.
“Pardon me,” a deep, clear voice says with a tinge of humor. I look up to find a pair of deep-set hazel eyes staring into mine. “Sorry to interrupt. But may I have one small black coffee, please?” A tall, well-built figure of over six-feet covered in a tailored Italian suit hovers behind us. Nicely coifed dark brown hair is smoothed over a tanned face with an angular nose and a square jaw. A genuine, toothy smile beneath a pair of brilliant eyes.
Both Penelope and I stare at the handsome, well-dressed man for a full minute. Penelope’s jaw is on the floor and I am a speechless idiot.
“Sure—sure, any cream or sugar with that?” I mutter and fumble as I try to remember what else goes into coffee. I give the well-dressed customer another stealthy glance and suddenly recognize him. The man from last night! I almost didn’t recognize him in the daytime. He also got a clean shave and is now wearing a full suit. I turn red as I remember that I still owe him the money to fix his garage door. Is he here to talk to me about that?
“Oh, Fletcher. Fletcher Payne.” Penelope’s cloying voice raises goosebumps on my forearms. “I didn’t know you were in town!” She bats her
