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He sighed in relief as he wrapped his apron around his hips in the back room.
“Just in time,” Lyra said, wiping some flour off her green scales. “We’re about to have another rush and Freddie’s already drowning.”
“He hates when you call him that.”
She snorted. “Frederick is pretentious as fuck and I refuse to say it.”
“And this is why he refuses to wear name tags.”
“He’ll come around,” she said confidently. “But help him out? He sucks on the register and I have this last batch of cookies to get in the oven.”
“Only if you save me one for my break,” Milo bargained.
“I’ll save you two. What does tall, red, and douchey like?”
Milo froze. “What?”
“He usually shows up on your breaks and you throw him a baked good, no?”
Milo looked down at his feet. “He won’t be here today.”
She hummed sympathetically. “Did you break up? I mean, you did imply he was a pervert in front of the whole shop.”
He snapped his head back up. “We were never dating! And he’s not a pervert!”
She gave him a strange once-over like she didn’t believe him. “Fine, keep your secrets.”
“I’m telling the truth!”
“Gotta get back to the cookies. I’ll see you out there in a bit.”
She sashayed off and Milo ground his teeth, feeling a headache coming on.
Stupid Rowan. Stupid business. Stupid tiredness.
He pushed out to the front to see a line already forming toward the door. Frederick glanced over his shoulder and looked like he was spotting a life raft in a storm.
“Milo.”
“Yeah, yeah. Your savior has arrived. Pour me an espresso.”
Savior was probably a strong choice of word considering he tripped over his own foot walking toward Fredrick and barely caught himself before splitting his forehead open on the counter.
“I’m okay!” he announced as he pushed himself upright, glaring at his shoes as if they’d launched an attack on his person.
Fredrick handed him an espresso and Milo threw it back like his life depended on it before taking over at the register.
Which was also apparently an enemy, that day.
He gave the wrong change twice. He charged for the wrong drink four times before Lyra finally got the baking done and came out to put him out of his misery.
“Is everything okay?” she asked.
“Yup.” Milo wiped the sweat from his brow. “Just had a terrible night’s sleep. Can’t focus for shit.”
He rubbed his eyes and glanced at the clock, expecting his shift to be half over. He’d only been working for an hour.
“Go man the pastries,” she said. “Least potential for damage there.”
