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‘Iced latte with oat milk, just needs a shot,’ I say to Mateo, handing him a cup of ice and clumsily filling it with milk before bringing my attention back to the till, where a queue of customers snakes along one edge of the counter. In typical British fashion, it’s a great queue; not blocking the front door, strategically-placed spaces for people to pass through once they’ve got their drinks, but it is nonetheless filled with grumpy, sweaty people in search of some respite from the heat. I turn my attention to the next customer and try to ignore the single droplet of sweat trickling down my back. ‘What can I get you?’
We course through customers at military-level efficiency, the perfect assembly line churning out cold drink after cold drink.
‘Fucking lazy man,’ Mateo mutters under his breath at regular intervals, hurling poisonous looks at Carl, who gets up every few minutes to straighten the displays but never actually comes behind the counter to help us, or even clear the ever-growing piles of empty cups from the tables.
As the queue begins to wane, I spot Finn, who must’ve come in during the height of the rush. He’s inexplicably tidying the tables, collecting plates and cups and stacking them neatly on trays. I step away from the till for a moment to prep the ingredients for my millionth frappé of the day and as soon he’s in earshot, I get his attention. ‘Psst. Stop that.’
He brings a tray piled with plates to the end of the counter and tucks it as far out of the way as he can. ‘Stop what?’
‘Clearing stuff away! You’re not allowed.’
‘I’m not allowed to move some tableware?’
‘No!’ I press the button on the blender and set up the customer’s payment on the till before wiping up the milk spill I just made. ‘It’s not your job. You’re not being paid.’
He grabs another tray that he appears to have dedicated to wrappers and dirty napkins. ‘I’m just clearing the table so I have space to sit.’
‘You need to clear every table?’
‘I’m considering my options. Lots of good choices.’ He tips the contents of the tray into the bin. ‘You know, most people would just say thank you.’
The blender’s beep lets me know it’s finished.
‘Iced Americano for Stephen!’ Mateo yells over the din. ‘Stephen?’ He inspects the tiny woman who’s expectantly hovering nearby, before glancing back at the cup. ‘Stephanie!’
I reach behind Mateo to grab a lid for my customer’s drink and catch Finn’s eye as I do. ‘Thank you.’
‘Here. A gift for you, to say thanks.’ I place a cup on Finn’s table, where he must’ve been waiting for the queue to die down before ordering. His gaze lifts to me and I feel it radiate across my whole body. Probably just the heat.
He takes a sip and his eyes close briefly in satisfaction. ‘No one makes iced lattes quite like you, Ava Monroe.’
‘I’ve made enough of them today to last a lifetime.’ I slide onto the spare seat at his table, my first moment off my feet in hours, and slug my own coffee noisily through a straw. Work must’ve been too exhausting for Carl, because he left the shop five minutes ago in a hurry. Poor guy.
‘This weather is divine,’ Finn says with a sigh, not a hair out of place on his head, not even a hint of sweat anywhere on his short-sleeved ivory shirt. He doesn’t have his laptop with him, so I assume he just dropped in for a drink.
‘I feel like I’m wading through one of the putrid cesspits of hell.’ I blow air upwards but my fringe is too slicked to my forehead to move. ‘I can’t wait to get out of here.’
It’s cooled down a bit now the sun’s not directly shining into the shop, but the air is still far more syrupy than I’d like.
‘Well, on that note, I’d like to take you out.’ He takes another sip of his coffee as he gauges my reaction.
‘Take me out, as in, kill me? Join the back of the line. There’s a bouncer with a clipboard and everything.’ I lower my voice as I lean closer and gesture to one corner of the shop. ‘That man over there has first dibs, though. I apparently put “too much ice” in his drink. He was livid.’
‘Ha, no. Like, take you out after work. A bucket list item of mychoice this time. You, me, somewhere that’s not the dullest area of London.’
I sweep my arm towards the windows. ‘I, for one, love the soulless skyscrapers and post-apocalyptic ambience of the City.’
‘You’re avoiding my request.’ There’s a smile in his voice and I act like I can’t hear it.
‘Have you tried the chocolate wafers yet, by the way? They taste like someone whispered the word “chocolate” over them during the manufacturing process.’
‘Gripping. Is that a no? My ego can take it.’
‘I doubt it can, actually. But okay, listen, I have an amazing idea.’ He nods at me to continue. ‘At the end of my shift, I will get changed out of my uniform, because frankly, I’m sweating. I’ll take my hair down in an attempt to alleviate the headache my ponytail’s been giving me, before inevitably retying it thirty seconds later because I simply cannot handle the feeling of loose hair on my neck in this heat. And then—’
‘And then?’
‘I’ll get the Tube all the way down to South London and walk to my flat, where I will remain until Monday, save for a snack run to the corner shop probably sometime between eight and nine this evening.’
