“Yes... and?”
She laughs. “He doesn’t speak to no one Liz. Unless it’s business.”
Well, I was sat across from him at the event he did organise. So he didn’t really have a choice, I tell myself.
“Cate you’re being silly.” My pupils do a loop-de-loop.
“No seriously. Pete’s Sister had to go to his apartment to cut his hair because he wouldn’t come to the salon, and she came back traumatised. Mind you, she did get a great tip. Three hundred smackers,” she says in a gossiping tone. “He made her cut his hair by candlelight during the day. She couldn’t see what she was doing. And as for conversation, he simply told her to shut her mouth.” Her eyes widen.
I scowl at her. I really don’t want more questions about him floating around inside my head. I’ve been fighting to get rid of the ones I’ve already got.
Why did he kiss my hand that way? No one does that anymore.
Why did he single me out?
And how has he made me so irrational?
“But you’ve got a little thing for him haven’t you?” Cate sings. “Many have Liz. Get him out.” She taps her finger on my temple. “He’s a player chick, and he has women coming out of every orifice. You didn’t give him a thing did you?” she asks, concerned.
“No... I’m not interested,” I lie. “I’m glad I don’t have to see him again.”
She pats my hair. “That’s my girl.” She uses the door frame to guide her unstable body back to Pete.
I WAKE UP FEELING GROGGY, and half-open my eyes. It’s mid-afternoon, I’m on the late shift at Aroma, and I have to get ready. My head is banging and I can’t focus. I have no choice. My fingers stretch out to pick up my black thick rimmed reading glasses from my bedside table. I slip them over my nose and squint. It’s a little better, not by much.
I tap on the bathroom door. I’m now running late. I wait impatiently for approximately three minutes, growing more and more frustrated. I skim my fingers through my nest hair, knock on the door again, and cross my legs.
“Cate,” I yell. “Hurry it up will you. I’m gonna pee on the floor any second!”
The door flies open and out comes Pete. Shit. He’s topless with a towel wrapped around his waist. Jeez, I’m trying not to look at his skinny pigeon chest, but it’s right there in my face. I blink slowly. I shouldn’t be embarrassed in front of the likes of him, but my cheeks inflame. To have Pete fantasising over me peeing my pants, is absolutely deplorable. I shudder at the thought, barge by him, and slam the bathroom door shut.
I turn the knob on in the shower to number four. Not freezing, but cool enough to wake me. I wash quickly, lathering my dry hair with conditioner, then rinse. I wrap my thumping head in a towel, and check out my image in the cabinet mirror. I wipe away the condensation and wish I hadn’t. I have eye bags, whopping huge ones that reach the top of my cheeks. Only one thing for it, aloe vera. I smear a small blob under each eye, and I will not look at my reflection for the next fifteen minutes. By then the cream will have worked a miracle, I try to convince myself.
I get dressed into my light grey and dusky pink uniform; a pull over dress with attached apron. It’s not the most flattering garment I own, but suitable for serving coffee in. And it has my name sewn in, just in-case I ever forget it.
I pull back my hair into a messy bun with the usual stray strands and take a leap of faith, looking in the mirror. No wonders have taken place and they’re still there, the mammoth dark circles. I slip my glasses back on, appreciative of the thick rims for once.
Tonight I work eight until midnight. It’s a coffee shop, who drinks coffee so late? Well it’s surprising. I serve shift workers, insomniacs, and those who need to sober up sharpish. I do prefer it to the morning shift. People tend to be in a rush, rude, and unthankful first thing.
I zip up my faux leather jacket to the top tooth and wiggle my fingers into my gloves as I descend the building steps. It’s got to be at least minus one tonight, the vapour I’m exhaling tells me that. I dodge the night owls and those dressed up for a night on the tiles, with my eyes aimed at the pavement.
As I move by the avenue of twinkling trees, decorated in blue Christmas lights, I pop my earphones into my ears. Music might just improve this tiresome walk, and block out this painful headache.
A PLEASANT WARMTH HITS me as the bell rings above my head. There are three customers in total. A loved-up couple kissing over their steaming coffee mugs, and a builder wearing a white hardhat, who looks to be engrossed in a tacky tabloid newspaper article.
I remove my gloves and open the hatch. “You can get off now, Racheal,” I say, slipping my arms out from my jacket.
Racheal finishes sweeping up muffin crumbs, and tosses the dishcloth in the sink. She hates the job, especially the shift she’s just done: two until eight. She’s worked here for six months now, and is not really a people person. Though, when Harry the boss is around she’s all smiles, thank you, and have a nice day.
Like a shot she grabs her things from the coat hook, and she’s through the door without even a goodbye.
I drop the tangled earphone wire in my bag, and take up my position. I’ve worked here for two years now and have my set routine. I wash out the spillage trays, then I climb up my three step ladder to replace all the filters, so they don’t need doing again until Harry opens up in the morning. After I’ve conditioned the stainless steel goliath, I rearrange the pyramid of muffins, toss away the stale, and any teetering on the verge, I can eat. But it’s only when I’m famished I will.
The bell rings as the builder opens the door on his way out for my first customers of the night. It’s Carl and Vicky. Primary school teachers who hate their job so much, they go to Finley’s (an Irish bar across the road) every day after work. They always order the same, Cappacoco to go, while wittering on about how much they despise kids.
I click the plastic lids down and open the till as the bell above the door rings again. I’m not familiar with this lady, and she’s having great difficulty controlling the four bickering kids behind her.
“Thanks, have a good night,” I call after Carl and Vicky, but like always I’m ignored.
The frazzled lady stands at the counter, looking up at the chalk board menu. The kids, who I’m guessing are around fourteen, giggle and push each other near the door.
“I’m so sorry.” She looks at me and turns back. “Will you lot quieten down,” she yells.
“It’s fine, what can I get you?”
“A tranquiliser gun would be good right now,” she huffs. “I’ll have a latte to go. Oh and extra foam please.”
I grab a card cup from the pile when the bell above the door sounds again. I can’t see who it is. Someone tall in a black hoodie, wearing of all things, sunglasses.
The black hood peers out slightly from behind the boys and makes me a little apprehensive. Is the shop about to be turned over?
The young couple slip by the ominous figure to get outside as I place the cup under the spout. All the while I keep an eye on the potential thief in the reflection of the stainless steel. The kids finally move to the right so I can get a better view.
God it can’t be. A fast beating gallop stops my lungs working temporarily. That jaw and those lips. Is that Adrien Knight? Oh crap.
I overfill the cup so it splashes and scolds my hand. Get it together Liz, you can’t tell if it’s him unless you turn your head to see.
I take another cup, listening to the lady I’m supposed to be serving drumming her fingernails on the counter. I slightly angle my neck and promptly turn back to the cup. Blood surges beneath my skin as I battle to hide the blush which has taken over the whole of my face.
Be professional, you’re falling apart here Liz.
I top the latte with extra foam and click on the lid. The lady hands me a five pound note, and the price of a latte is three pound eighty-five. Can I do mathematics right now? Hell no. Even the basics have eluded me. With a shaky finger I use the cash register to add
up for me, trying very hard not to notice him. I hand the lady her change, only to receive a frown.
“You owe me a pound,” she utters with her palm open.
“Hmm, sorry.” I quickly sort out my mistake. “Have a nice day... night... sorry,” I call, as she shoves the boisterous brats out onto the street.
Mr Knight stands back, peering up through his shades at the menu. I take the dishcloth from the sink, and begin to pointlessly wipe down anything in sight. I swallow again and again, hearing the fabric of his black combat trousers move nearer. His approach is deafening to me.
I take in a gasp of air and turn, appearing as though I’ve only just this second realised who he is. I bite my bottom lip, pressing my sweat laced hands flat out on the counter, tapering my eyes while tilting my head.
“Mr Knight?” I aim to be surprised.
He monitors me over the top of his shades, which are perched on the ridge of his nose. He gazes and there it is again, that red-hot ray. His lips curve for a short-lived smile.
“Miss Lovell.” He mutes, still staring.
I notice his skin. His complexion is much paler than the perfect olive smoothness I remember. Perhaps it’s the bright lighting in here. It doesn’t lessen the effect he’s having on me. He could be any shade tonight and still make me weak at the knees.
I grin. “Call me Liz.”
His glasses slip further down as his brow deepens. “So Elizabeth.” Okay, don’t call me Liz then, that’s absolutely fine Mr Knight. “Someone told me this place serves the best coffee in the city,” he says.
Wow, he remembers that prickly conversation; me promoting this place. I should have worn a billboard to that charity banquet.
“Yes, I did. So what can I get you?”
Again he lifts his head to see the menu. His muscular shoulders become prominent as his Adam’s apple descends beneath his skin.
Don’t look Liz. Just for once, listen to the sense in your head. Hopefully he will order to go, then you can collapse in a heap of frustration under the counter.
“You’re the expert, what would you recommend?”
Ha. I’m the expert. Why is he making this so difficult? Order coffee, pay and go. Why does he need me to offer an opinion on that? It means talking, and the more I talk in this state, the more nervous I become.
Be professional Liz. “Well, I would recommend not ordering coffee... not if you want to sleep.”
“I don’t sleep,” he replies abruptly.
Fine. He’s a wandering insomniac. I know a few of those.
“Well, if you want to stay awake, I’d go for the espresso with spice.” I hum. “Or, if you want to sleep tonight, then you could either have the winter coco, or the light blend.”
I see my reflection in his shades and become aware of the fact I look like death. I fidget, hoping he hasn’t detected my scruffiness, while casually threading my ratty hair behind my glasses.
“I asked for your recommendation, not another list.” His face freezes on me. “I don’t sleep... so?”
If the cellar door beneath my feet was open right now, I would jump down into the darkness. As Harry taught me, customers have bad days. It is our job to cater to whatever mood they’re in. Always serve with a smile. So fucking smile Liz.
“Espresso.” I turn away before he bites off my head again. “Drink in or out?” Please, please, please, say out Mr Grump.
“In,” his deep reply makes my heart hurdle.
Shit. Right, he’s offended me, been stuck up rude, and what’s with the shades anyhow. Who wears shades in the dark of winter?
Deal with him Liz, you can do this. He might have inflicted you with dark thoughts and desires, but you need to put a stop to it before you give in.
“Take a seat Mr Knight,” I snap.
Out of the corner of my eye I watch as he shuffles around the empty tables, taking down his hood. His hair is dishevelled and to the side, and the back of his pants are creased. He’s rugged this evening, and I like rugged a lot.
I fix his coffee, trying very hard not to gawp as he sits with his back to me. The enhanced curve of his spine that I want to run my hands over, has created wicked images in my head.
I sigh, placing the porcelain cup on a saucer, then begin my slow approach. But hell, my fingers can’t grip through the shakes, and now the damn cup is rattling.
I arch at his side, a little too close. His fiery glare meets mine and his sweet scent ignites my nostrils. I drop my head instantly, using both hands to set the boiling cup down on the table before it falls into his lap.
I cough as I straighten up. “Mr Knight... enjoy your coffee.”
I go to walk to my comfort zone, when his hand grasps my forearm. I blow out aloud as the nerves overwhelm me. What is it he wants from me? Is he doing this so he can be entertained by me having a full-on panic-attack?
“Elizabeth.” I reluctantly look at him as he removes his shades to reveal his super stare. “Forgive me,” his deep, sexy as hell tone appeals. “I’ve had a testing day. Please join me.”
I look around the shop. It’s just me and him alone in this fine mess. I can’t do it, not after what Cate told me. Perhaps he’s looking for a bit of low end action. Looking for someone who will not be hard to please. Someone who will not say no to the likes of his fine-self. I bite my cheek hard, feeling the strong current from his delicate grip.
“I really have a lot of work to do... so... so.”
He looks around the shop and grins charmingly. It’s very pleasing to see. But never mind that Liz. You have lots to do. Clean out the spillage trays again. They’re probably very dirty by now.
His view comes back up to me, as his fingers create static throughout my nervous system. “It will make my day,” he says.
Oh god, I’m so easy. A few charismatic words and my legs go to jelly, preventing my escape. I drop into the chair across from him with my fiddling fingers on my lap. I share nothing in common with him, and whatever I say will be tediously dull. I’m going to show myself up as a complete idiot.
“So, other than my recommendation, what brings you to this part of the city, Mr Knight?” If that is an attempt to break the ice, it sucks Liz.
He rotates his espresso, then folds his arms across the table. He likes to take long pauses before he speaks. A kind of, ‘I’m weighing you up,’ reflection. It’s difficult to read him, unlike myself who is giving everything away with every word, breath, and movement.
“I have recently purchased a property, the old Smiths Mill, so thought I would take a look at how the renovations are coming along,” he explains, his hazel eyes on me always. “I run.” I frown unintentionally. “I’m a night-time jogger,” he clarifies.
A fitness fanatic. That explains his exceptional physique. A tick against the first thing we don’t have in common.
“So...” I think briefly. “These are for?” I touch his shades.
His eyelids rapidly narrow. Shit, he doesn’t like the question, or me touching his thousand pound accessory.
He gradually straightens his back. “I suffer migraines. The glasses help.”
Hmm, so this today I’m familiar with; the feeling of being pummelled in the head.
“I take it you suffer the same ailment?” he asks.
“Sorry?” I squint, believing he can read my mind.
“The glasses.”
I completely forgot I had them on. I hate wearing them. The only reason I got them is because they were the cheapest pair in the opticians. And of course they insisted I needed them before I go blind. That day I was pestered into insanity. They wanted me to buy a pair of designer frames I couldn’t afford. It was so embarrassing when I accidently yelled at the lady, ‘No I like these, so leave me the hell alone’.
“You should be less concerned with how you look,” he says. “You’re fine as you are.”
Fine. Is that supposed to be a compliment? His flaming eyes are indicating it is. Oh god, I should have never sat down in this damn chair. My instinct
s told me he was after a bit of rough and tumble when I served him the espresso, which he still hasn’t lifted from the table. He’s hot. Too hot for me. Jeez, if he said the word sex to me, I would probably pass-out.
His top lip covers the bottom for a moment. I simmer as butterflies discharge in my stomach. I turn to the window and watch the rain tumble down the pane. I have to break his interest in me somehow. But his image is in the glass, and there is no way to avoid him. There should have been another customer come in by now, we’re never this quiet. It’s not easy to just get up and leave. Not when I’m this anxious and my butt has fused to the plastic of the chair. I take a breath and nervously turn to him.
“How did the charity event go?” I remain pokerfaced. “Did you raise a lot of money?”
“Not as much as we should.” He turns his espresso around on the saucer. “The elite are greedy. You need to put on a show for them, wine and dine them to get them to un-line their pockets.” He hates his own kind, interesting.
The bell above the door rings and makes my lungs shudder. It’s Nathan. He’s sopping wet and holding a bunch of flowers. He sees me, not where I should be, but sitting down.
I turn back to Adrien, but he’s gone. Nothing but the untouched coffee and his personal name card are left on the table. Should I look under the table? How on earth did he get by me so fast? He’s just vanished into thin air.
I blow out, swooping up the card, to quickly slide it into my pocket. Feeling awkward, like I’ve just been caught in a precarious position, I stand up as I lift the espresso off the table.
“Taking a break?” Nathan asks. “Quiet tonight isn’t it?”
I mumble to myself, plodding to the counter. “Nice flowers. Good to see you can pop down to the late night garage to buy your next victim a cheap crappy bunch before getting your leg over,” I snap, mad because he drove Adrien away. “A right prince charming aren’t you?”
With beads of rain dripping down his face and into his eyes, he holds them out to me. I sigh out a wave of remorse. You’re such a bitch sometimes, Liz.
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