Page 38 of Christmas Coffee

I balk, “I didn’t steal a tray of cookies.”

“He said you ate one on your break. I saw you.”

“Yeah, and I bought it. I can eat what I buy.” I’m glaring up at him, way past annoyed. “This is why you haven’t been talking to me?”

“I’ve been talking to you.”

“You have not. You’ve been acting like I’m a disappointment, you ass! That’s confirmation bias. You thought I was a thief and you’ve been watching me to prove you were right all along, and you used Shannon as the voice of reason this whole time. How screwed up is that?” I throw up my hands, livid, and step back toward the Hottie Hut.

Celyn grabs my arm this time and whirls me around. He stares at me, his lips parted, as if there are words waiting to fall off his tongue, but he’s mute.

I raise my eyebrows at him and try really hard not to say something stupid. “Listen, I don’t know you. I never said I did. I said,” inclining my head toward that cup, “that my Christmas Crack was good. I know nothing about you. And you know nothing about me. Let’s keep it that way, okay?”

I sound reasonable, level-headed and… disappointed. When I walk back to the shack, I feel his eyes on me, but I don’t turn back. I sold my sister an extra cookie on the day in question. There was no paper trail for a single snack because that’s not what happened. All this time he thought I was a goddamn thief. My stomach sours and I don’t think I can look at him when he comes back later.

* * *

Shannon showsup about an hour later.

I’m cleaning out one of the carafes when he bumps me. “Sorry, Hot Girl. I didn’t mean to touch your amazing ass with my Greek god beef cakes.” He slaps his tush and grins at me. “Not that you didn’t like it. I hear all the girls do.”

There’s a warning silence brewing around me that Shannon doesn’t read very well. I figured that out a while ago, so I make sure I say something, otherwise he’ll keep doing it. “I’ll sue your ass for sexual harassment if you touch me again. Keep your butt to yourself.”

He acts hurt and presses his fingers to the bare skin under his vest. “Me? Harassing you? Please, if anything it’s the other way around. I’m just the poor, uneducated eye candy that you two nerds hired to make the ladies come all over the pavement.”

I’m staring at a spot on the wall, chanting, reminding myself that I can’t kill him. I say, dryly, “Right, that’s us. And you’ll need to clean that up when your shift is over.” He should drop it now. My tone is the same way I’m gripping my pen, like I might stab him in the neck.

But he doesn’t stop. “I know, right? That’s some slippery shit.”

That’s it. I finally round on him, snapping, “Get out. Okay, just get the hell out!” My finger points toward the door and I glare at him until he moves.

Shannon sulks toward the door, and then squares his shoulders. He stops on the top step, leaves the door open, and lets all the warm air rush out. “You know what you need?” His mouth opens to say something incredibly inappropriate, but I don’t give him the chance.

Offering a syrupy smile, I say, “Tell me,” before batting my lashes at him, followed by a wicked frown when I slam the door in his face. “Asshole.”

Shannon swears as the metal door comes close to smashing his nose. “That just proves my point, Hot Girl. You need to get some.”

I walk over to the door and lock it, before going back to the carafe. I hear him change his tune when he starts talking to a woman a few yards away. His voice fades to nothing and I’m alone.

As I prep the machine for the next batch of coffee, my nerves are totally shot. Once I get the percolator up and running, I dig through the cabinet looking for spices and pull out a few jars. I start with coffee and whipped cream, stirring in chocolate, cinnamon, and then more whipped cream. I wish I had some Godiva liqueur, but drinking at work is bad plan. Maybe I should go back to the bar where I broke down the other night and beg for a job.

I write myself a receipt and stab it on the stake that holds all the sales tickets, before stuffing a few bucks in the cash drawer. I hop up on the counter and sip my drink while looking out the small window. It’s freezing in here. It takes forever for that heater to warm the space and every time I open the window or the door, all the warm air gets sucked out.

I’m done. I realize it at that moment. I’m going to quit. When Celyn comes back, I’m going to tell him that I’m done. I can’t work like this. It’s an all-time low for me as it is. Knowing that he doesn’t respect me makes it even worse. I risk falling on my face and moving in with Mom, which isn’t something I want to do. Still, I’m worth more than this. I can do more than he’s letting me.

I graduated high school when I was fifteen. I got my associate’s while I was sixteen. That’s when I met Ben and we opened our business. In eighteen months that little company was making six figures and I have nothing to show for it. All that blood, sweat, and tears—lost.

The more I think about it, the more agitated I get. I made that company what it is. Everything from the initial idea, to outsourcing shipping, to building our first website. It was me. I coded it. I did it. Ben provided seed money and took the ball and ran with it. Now he’s sitting pretty and I’m sitting in a shed in the middle of the mall parking lot selling coffee. I put my cup down and bury my face in my hands.

I’m not sure how long I sit like that, but when there’s a knock on the window, I flinch. Celyn is watching me through the glass. He points toward the door. I nod, knowing what he wants.

When I pull open the door, the words are there, on the tip of my tongue. I quit. You suck. I can’t work like this. But I don’t get a chance to say them.

He presses his lips together, and steps inside. Cold wafts off of him, making me shiver. Celyn pulls off his jacket and hands it to me. “Put it on. I want to talk to you, and I know you’re frozen.”

I shake my head. “Actually, I have something I need to tell you.”

“Fine, but let me go first. I want to hear what you have to say, and I know I deserve getting chewed out a lot more than you did. The thing is, Nova—” he sighs and runs a hand through that messy dark hair, “you shock the hell out of me. In a good way. I’ve never met anyone like you. And that’s not a line, it’s true. You have insight and perceptions that most people lack, even in the business world with all their MBA’s and degrees.” He sighs and looks me in the eye. “I was a prick. I’m sorry.”