I was stooped down wiping out the under-the-counter fridge when the door opened. There was a soft dinging sound that came from a speaker behind the counter, and I stood within seconds of hearing it.
"Hello," I said as I came out from behind the counter and saw that someone was heading my way.
"Whoa, you're like a jack in the box," the gentleman said, smiling.
I instantly swayed back and forth with my palms in the air, doing my best impression of a Jack who had just popped out of a box. I only did the motion for a second or two, but he must have gotten my joke because his smile broadened.
"Welcome to Roxy's." I said.
"Thank you," he said.
There was a row of barstools on the other side of the counter close to where I was standing, and the gentleman headed that way. I gestured toward the register and almost mentioned that he should meet me over there if he wanted to place an order, but I held my tongue. He was incredibly good looking and he seemed so confident and relaxed that I felt compelled to just stand there and watch him cross to a stool and take a seat on it. I figured there was no harm in taking his order from right there if he wanted anything.
But maybe he didn't want anything.
Maybe he was waiting on someone.
Probably his wife.
He was definitely married.
He had a casual appearance, but he smelled nice and his clothes were wrinkle-free.
My friend from high school, Amanda Carol, told me that if a guy's clothes have wrinkles, that means he's single. She said only a man's mother or his wife would make sure his clothes were straight. She said it was a sure-fire way to tell. There were, no doubt, exceptions to that rule, but by and large, I trusted it. I had seen it in my own life that even men with good hygiene were likely to look over this aspect of self-grooming.
This guy's clothes, while casual, were well-fitted and completely void of wrinkles. I wouldn't have normally looked for a wedding ring within the first minute of meeting someone, but I was curious enough about the wrinkles that I did with him.
He was roughly my age—mid to late twenties, and his hair was brown at the root with bits of honey blonde on the tips. It was a little shaggy, too. It wasn't long enough to put into a ponytail, but it was long enough to be messily brushed away from his face. He could have passed for someone who just came off of the beach, not someone who just walked in from the freezing cold and took off his hat and coat.
There was no other way to put it than to say that he was hot. He was hotter than hot. His face was basically perfect—the stuff of A-list actors. He had piercing green eyes and a certain magnetism about him that made me think I had seen him before. I wondered if he was famous. He was young and handsome, and so obviously wrinkle-free and married.
I inspected his hand, which had no ring.
It was an uncommon thing for me to look down at a man's hand, and I got nervous about it. I smiled and began talking. "It's cold out there, huh?" I said. And then I added, "Let me know if you'd like to order something."
I began rinsing the towel I had been using in the fridge, and I focused my attention on that instead of the guy.
"I'll have something warm," he said.
"Coffee or tea?" I asked. "Hot chocolate?"
"Coffee," he said. "And some food. A sandwich."
"The ham and cheese?" I asked.
"Sure. Is it the special or something?"
"No, it's just my favorite."
He smiled. "That sounds good."
"Would you like a cup of house coffee, or an espresso drink?"
"Either," he said. "Whatever you feel like making."
"If you let me choose, I'll probably pick something more complicated than house coffee." I patted the espresso machine. "I haven't made many drinks today. I'm missing my old friend."
He laughed. "Yeah, I see you're not very busy. You probably shouldn't even be working today."
"Oh, I don't mind," I said, smiling as I headed for the kitchen. "I'll be right back. Let me get this ham and cheese started for you."
All of our food was prepped so there was little to no actual cooking. Whoever prepped it used quality ingredients, but all I had to do was put on a glove, take it out of a container that was in the fridge and put it through this toaster on a conveyer belt. It would come out warm and ready to eat on the other side. I had the thought that I was going to make myself one just like it to eat for lunch when I got off work.
I went back to the counter after what must have been only thirty seconds. "That was fast."
"All I had to do was talk to the chef," I said.
"And by talk to the chef you mean toss a sandwich into the toaster," he said.
"Yes," I said, laughing. "That's exactly what I mean. So, you've obviously been here before."
"I have and I love that ham and cheese. I get it all the time."
"I do too," I said. "I was just promising myself that I'd have one when I get off work."
"When's that?" he asked.
"In an hour," I said. "Maybe forty-five minutes. One o'clock."
"Could I get you to put another one through the toaster for me?" he asked.
"Did you want two?" I asked, wondering based on our conversation, if he intended to give me the second one. That couldn't possibly be true, though.
"Yeah, I'll take two," he said.
"Sure thing," I agreed. "Let me run back and get that started."
I turned on my heel and went into the small kitchen area again. I quickly went through the motions of gloving up, taking a second sandwich out of the fridge, and placing it on the end of the toaster. The first sandwich was about a third of the way through its trip through the toaster. I knew I would have just enough time to make his coffee drink and then come back and get them. I was familiar with the layout of the coffee shop, and again, even with the process of gloving-up, it took me less than a minute to tend to the sandwich and make my way back to the front.
"Okay," I said, dusting my hands on my apron as I opened the swinging door.
"Are you the only one here?" he asked. He was smiling. He wasn't asking because I was giving him bad service. He just seemed curious.
I felt at ease talking to him. "I have help, but he went on break," I said. "Brandon," I added, since the guy had obviously been here before.
He nodded, but I couldn't tell if he recognized the name or not. His green eyes were utterly distracting.
"Your sandwiches will be ready in just a few minutes. Did you still want me to choose a drink for you?" I asked, going to stand in front of the espresso machine.
"I'd love that," he said.
"Any requests, like a certain kind of milk or sugar?"
"If I was ordering, I'd tell you I don't care for it to be overly sweet, but I’m not picky and I like to try new things. Milk doesn't matter, either. I like it with and without. You can't go wrong, honestly. I like everything on the menu."
"Okay," I said. I made a double shot of espresso and sweetened it just a little with raw sugar before steaming whole milk and adding froth to the top. I enjoyed a good cappuccino and I knew how to make one well. I added a sprinkle of raw sugar to the top of the froth before setting it in front of him.
"No flavors or anything," I said. "Just a cappuccino—slightly sweetened."
"Thank you," he said, smiling appreciatively at the cup as I slid it toward him. "This looks great. Do I need to pay you now?"
"I'll go see about your sandwiches," I said. "We can settle up when you're finished eating."
What in heaven's name had come over me? That was not how we normally did it. We were definitely a pay-before-you-eat coffee shop. I had no idea why I was even offering that.
"What if I dine and dash?" he asked.
"If you do that, I guess I'm buying your lunch," I said with a shrug. "Maybe you should do that," I added. "It'd probably make me feel good to buy someone lunch on Christmas."
As I was talking, I made him a cup of ice water to go with his sandwiches and set it on a n
apkin near his cappuccino. He thanked me for it with a smile and nod.
"How long have you worked here?" he asked, picking up his coffee.
"A year," I said. "But I don't really work here, work here. I mean I do, obviously, but it's not my main job. I'm just here a few hours a week."
"What's your main job?" he asked.
"I work upstairs at Stone Lion advertising firm. I'm a digital artist. I do all kinds of art, but there it's mostly digital. Graphic design, things like that. They do all sorts of stuff up there."
"I know the place," he said with a nod. "Twelfth floor."
I nodded. "You must work in this building too," I said. I felt like I had seen him before.
"Yeah," he agreed just before taking another sip of his coffee.
Just then, the door opened. A dinging sound happened and he and I both glanced that way to see that someone was walking inside. I recognized the people and I smiled at them. It was Christine and her young daughter Sophie. They were my regular customers who came in almost every Saturday morning on their way to the library.
"What's up you pretty ladies?" I asked when I saw who it was.
The man at the bar turned to me when I said that, and I glanced his way. He was stunningly handsome, but I couldn't let myself get distracted.
"Let me run to the back and get your sandwiches," I said. "I'll be right back." I turned to head toward the kitchen again. "I'll meet you girls at the register in just a second," I yelled to Christine from over my shoulder.
Again, it only took a minute to tend to his sandwiches. I served both of them on one large plate. I cut them twice diagonally, making triangles which I arranged into a circular shape that resembled a flower or a sun. I worked quickly and made it out there in no time.
I set the plate in front of the good-looking guy. "I'll go take their order unless you need anything else," I told him.
"This looks great," he said. "Thank you."
I smiled at him and walked over to talk to Christine and Sophie.
"Merry Christmas!" I said in an animated way as I went around the espresso machine and saw the mother/daughter duo.
Turns out, they had come there for me. They brought a tin of cookies and a beautiful Christmas card with personal drawings Sophia had done. It was a thoughtful and unexpected gift.
I made their regular orders—a tea for mom and a hot chocolate for Sophie. I had a conversation with them that lasted somewhere between five and ten minutes. It wasn't customary for us to check on or follow up with the people who were eating in our restaurant, but I glanced at the gentleman occasionally to make sure he was still enjoying his lunch, which he was.
I was so touched by Christine and Sophie's kind gesture that I ended up giving Sophie my favorite lucky cup.
Lucky cups were something I made up.
I was the type of artist who loved pen and ink drawings and who loved to draw on unexpected objects. Paper coffee cups turned out to be a fun medium for me, and I often drew on them. I took cups from Roxy's and worked on them during down time at home or at my other job, and I brought one of the newly decorated ones with me almost every time I worked a shift. I would slip them onto the outside of a cup of coffee and give them away to one lucky customer. Sometimes, I altered the logo in a funny clever way and sometimes I just drew a random scene or character. Most of the time, people would react to it, but every now and then a cup got thrown away without people even knowing they had received something special.
I had a small size cup with a masterpiece drawn on it sitting behind the counter. It had been there for weeks because Belinda, our manager, saw it, loved it, and set it there. That one had taken me hours to draw where most of them took far less time than that. But I grabbed the special one from its spot on the counter and put it on the outside of Sophie's cup. She had drawn me a beautiful picture of us at the coffee shop, and I felt the need to respond.
She and her mother both reacted to it. They knew the concept of a lucky cup. I had given Sophie one of them before and explained it to them. They loved the special one and talked about it being a "double-lucky" and things like that.
We were all smiling as they left.
Chapter 3
After Christine and Sophie left, I walked over to the gentleman who was still working on his ham and cheese sandwiches.
"What just happened?" he asked sitting up and dusting off his hands as he regarded me.
"That was my friend Sophia and her mom," I said.
He smiled skeptically like I was eluding his question, but I wasn't sure what he was asking. I stood in front of him and opened the tin of cookies.
"I think we have to try these. Look what they brought. Don't they look delicious?" I held it out for him to inspect.
He glanced inside and then at me. "Are you sharing?" he asked.
"Yes," I said. "That would be mean of me to show them to you and not offer you one."
He reached inside and took one of the cookies. "Aren't you going to have one?" he asked when he saw me put the lid back on.
"I will when I get off," I said. "I'll have more than one," I added making a face that made him smile.
He took a bite of it, eating over half of it at one time and making a chesty groan of approval as he chewed.
"Good?" I asked.
He nodded and finished chewing before eating the remainder of the cookie. "So good, thank you. I was asking you earlier what happened with you and that little girl. I heard you guys talking about some kind of special cup. I think I heard Belinda mention that one time."
I had no idea when or why Belinda would have ever mentioned my lucky cups to a customer, but I didn't take time to think about it.
"Oh, it's just something I do when I'm working sometimes. I doodle drawings on a cup and give it away. I like to tell people they're lucky cups so they feel special for getting one."
"That's fun," he said, staring at me. "I wish I'd get a lucky cup."
"Aw, shoot. I had one this morning that I gave to a guy who didn't even notice it, and that one I gave to Sophie just now was one I did a while back. If I see you come in sometime when I'm working again, I'll hook you up. I could whip one up right now, but it wouldn't be as good as if I took my time."
"Are you the only one who does it?" he asked.
"Yeah," I said. I was confident at first, and then I reconsidered. "I think so," I amended. "I know I started it, but maybe someone else is doing it if Belinda mentioned it to you. I don't really work here enough to know."
"What's your name?" he asked.
"Olivia," I said.
He was no longer eating, but he didn't seem to be in a hurry to leave. He just leaned back on a barstool like he was going to sit there and talk to me.
Feeling a little shy, I went to work absentmindedly wiping things.
"What's your name?" I asked after a moment.
"Eric."
I gave him a nod as I glanced at him, thinking he looked like an Eric. "Are you having a good Christmas so far?" I asked since I was a big dork and I didn't know what else to say.
"I am. I've been traveling for almost a month, so it's good to be home."
"Oh, wow, where'd you go?" I asked.
"All over. I went to Spain and France and then, most recently, I was in Costa Rica."
"Whoa, you weren't kidding," I said. "I've never been anywhere. Not like that. Kentucky's about as far as I go."
He chuckled at that, and I laughed right along with him since it was pretty random of me to use Kentucky as a boundary.
"I have family in Kentucky," I explained. "That's where my dad grew up."
"Oh, I see," he said, nodding. "I was trying to remember. I don't think I've ever been to Kentucky. I've been to Tennessee. Nashville, for sure."
"Then you probably drove through Kentucky."
"No, I flew."
"Well, then maybe you've never been there."
"I don't think I have," he said.
"I'm going in a couple of weeks," I said. "My brother's living
down there while he goes to college, so I'm going to visit him and the rest of my family. My cousins play basketball, so I'll get to see a few games."
"That'll be fun," he said. "Taking a break from your job at Stone Lion. You said you were a digital artist, but what is it you do up there? Graphic design?"
"Well, not yet. I'm working my way up. My first love is designing logos and doing product branding. Right now, I basically just draw little elements of designs for my bosses. They have big accounts, and I make royalty free drawings for them to use in their designs. One day, I'll be the one with the big accounts, but for now… I'm a grunt, basically. I'm learning the ropes."
"And you make lucky cups at a coffee shop twice a week," he added.
I smiled and nodded thoughtfully, still wiping things.
"What would you do for a product that was coming from Costa Rica?" he asked.
"What's that mean?" I asked, having no idea what he was saying.
"What kind of logo would you design for a product that came from Costa Rica? How would you brand that?"
"It depends on the product."
"It doesn't matter what the product is. I just wanted something to represent Costa Rica."
"Oh, it's for you?" I asked.
He nodded.
"What's the product?" I asked.
"Something everybody needs."
"Food?" I asked.
"They don't need it quite that much," he said.
"Banana juice? Blankets?"
He laughed. "No. They need this more than banana juice, and maybe more than blankets. At least I do."
"Coffee?" I asked.
He nodded. "How'd you know?"
"You're selling coffee?" I asked.
He nodded again. "From Costa Rica."
"Are you moving there?" I asked.
"No."
"Hmm. So, you're talking about a logo to represent coffee that comes from Costa Rica, but you're going to sell it here?"
"Yes," he said. "You know how the different coffees have their own logo." He pointed to a shelf that displayed all of our shop's different varieties and roasts.
Me & Mister Everything: A Romance (Tanner Family Book 4) Page 2
