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‘That’d be great, thank you.’ Once she’s out of earshot, I lean across the counter. ‘She’s pretty, isn’t she?’
Dylan’s taller than me, with delicate features and thick-lashed hazel eyes as yet unburdened by the woes of working under Carl’s management.
‘Sure, but there’s only one barista for me.’ His eyes flash and my stomach squeezes. Jesus, this man flirts more than he breathes. ‘And he just quit. Broke my heart.’
I let out an exasperated sigh and rest one hand on the machine, the other on a bottle of milk. ‘What do you want to drink? A surprise?’ Recently, he’s been showing up at the till and saying “surprise me, Monroe”like he’s the main character in a TV show.
‘Please. But, as much as it pains me to say, can today’s be decaf?’ I grab the tin of decaf grounds and he continues, ‘I’ve had three coffees in the office already today and I fear I’ll spend the rest of the afternoon in the bathroom if I add one more.’
‘What a visual. Thanks for that.’ As I steam the milk and wrinkle my nose at the colour of the decaf, he scrolls his phone, distracted. I raise my voice over the bubbling. ‘Everything okay?’
He rubs the back of his neck and exhales slowly. ‘Yeah. Just trying to make plans with someone.’
It’s rare he doesn’t overshare (see: bowel movements), so there’s a tiny twinge in my gut at his evasiveness. But he doesn’t have to tell me everything. He’s probably texting Alex; they were clearly having a great time at the restaurant. I log his order on the till and only the faintest smile pulls at his mouth today as he taps his phone against the reader.
Dylan’s back behind the counter by this point, putting clean mugs away from the dishwasher. Before I even realise what’s happening, Finn reaches out to grab his drink at the exact moment a mug slips from her hand and onto his arm, which knocks his drink all over the counter and his shirt.
‘Oh my god, I’m so sorry!’ Her cheeks and neck flush magenta as she frantically searches for paper towels.
‘It’s fine, I promise,’ Finn says, unbothered as ever. But Dylan doesn’t know she couldn’t have chosen a better customer to spill a drink over. She hands me the roll and I tear off a wad for Finn to dab at his shirt while I wipe the counter.
‘Dylan,’ I turn to her, ‘there’s a mop in the cleaning cupboard. Could you grab it and— wait, hey, don’t stress. Seriously, I can’t count the number of times I’ve knocked something over. In my first week I broke four mugs. Who breaksfourmugs?’
Finn leans forward. ‘A few years ago I was working in a restaurant, and on my first day I dropped a bowl of French onion soup over a customer. Not my finest hour.’
I catch his eye, grateful he’s trying to ease her worry. I think she’s going to be good to work with, and this is such a minor incident; I don’t want it to scare her away. Sure, Carl might ultimately drive her to the brink, but so far we’ve avoided him.
‘Okay. I’ll get the mop. I’m so sorry, again, really.’
She scurries to the cleaning cupboard and I turn back to Finn. ‘Sorry about that. Go and sit down, I’ll bring your drink over.’
‘I could get used to this,’ Finn says, putting his phone on the table as I place a new mug next to his laptop.
‘Don’t.’ I take a hazelnut wafer bar out of my apron pocket and add, ‘But thank you for being nice to Dylan.’
‘I’m always nice.’ His eyes glitter from behind his glasses. ‘And I’m also wearing the right colour for a coffee spill today,’ he motions towards the chocolate brown shirt, ‘so it worked out.’
He links his hands together and raises his arms above his head, making that weird grunting noise that only comes out when you stretch, his shirt lifting on one side to reveal a band of tanned hip.
I blink and nod my head towards his screen. ‘What are you working on that’s had you stuck in the office drinking their shitty coffee today?’
‘I started the day with a few meetings and then somehow I just lost track of time.’ Gingerly, he adds, ‘I got to the final stage of the process for the San Francisco job. Who knew I’d be able to convince them I could do my job?’
In my head, I sayI knew. He could convince anyone of anything. But the corporate world is so alien to me; I’m not sure I could handle months of being in the middle of the application process.
He continues with a sigh, ‘I need to prepare a pitch and it’s taking forever. It’s essentially preparing and presenting an entire long-term marketing campaign. I think I’m feeling the pressure more than usual because it’s a company I’ve always wanted to work for.’
For all that we talk, any time San Francisco comes up, however briefly, part of me wants to yellslow down, summer’s not over yet.I realise it’s ridiculous; I knew this was coming. But the fact he’s one step closer now puts it into stark perspective.
Finn’s phone pings and he glances down at it instantly, before disappointment tugs at his mouth. I can’t tell if it’s the job application that’s doing it or whatever has glued him to his phone, but tension pulls at his shoulders and lands in the set of his jaw. It looks alien on him.
‘What’s in your way?’ I ask, wiping the tables around him.
‘I’ve been looking at the pitch for so long that I’m just not sure if it even makes sense. There are two parts; a presentation and a handout that I’ll email them, for them to reference afterwards. The verbal side of things is fine—’
‘Because you can talk out of your ass.’
A short laugh puffs out of him. ‘Well, yeah, exactly. But I want the handout to be good too, and I have to make sure I can actually read everything during the presentation. I want it to be perfect.’ He scratches his neck and continues. ‘Sometimes the words swim around a bit on the page, you know?’
