K. R. Treadway
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Late Night Date Night - 1: The Sad Girl in the Corner
🕑 Added 2023-11-05 19:21:15 +0000 UTC
August 21, 202X, 11:27 PM
Donnel City - College District
“Have you noticed how everything in here is a shade of brown? Brown walls, brown blinds, brown chairs, brown counter—”
Jerome raised his eyebrows at his friend. “The counter is more ‘tan plus stains.’ ”
Kendis shook his head. “It evens out to brown, man. Tell me something, and be honest.” He affected a look of conspiratorial suspicion. “Was I this shade of brown before I started working here?”
Jerome laughed and started scrubbing at one of the infamous counter stains, unwilling to let his eyes roam to the booth in the corner. “You were.”
“Oh thank God. I was starting to think all the coffee was seeping in. Like a varnish.”
“I'm super pale, and I've worked here way longer than you.”
Kendis nodded somberly. “Yes. You are definitely the whitest thing in this room.”
Jerome narrowed his eyes while Kendis regarded him with a deadpan expression…then both men broke into laughter. The night shift always went faster with someone to talk to. Normally Jerome worked it alone, but the week before finals was extra busy and he appreciated the company. Especially tonight. It helped take his mind off—
“With all this hue talk, have you clocked your girl’s color?”
Jerome froze, and his hand briefly tightened on the rag. He again resisted the urge to stare at the person who’d been occupying his thoughts ever since she’d walked in earlier. Despite his worrying, a selfish corner of his mind took a moment to bask in Kendis calling her “his girl.” If only.
“Well…she’s looking a bit pale too, I guess,” he replied weakly. As usual it was hard to string words together when his thoughts shifted in her direction.
Kendis nodded. “She’s the color of the good napkins, sure, but I meant it more like she’s blue.”
“Poetic.”
“Better be. I’m an English major with a 3.8.”
Jerome didn't want to be the creepy guy caught leering at a beautiful woman, but he finally gave in. He chanced a look. She hadn't moved from her regular spot. She always took the corner booth, the last piece of furniture from when C4 was a greasy spoon and not a divey college coffeeshop.
Her head was down, revealing only her ragged pixie cut. From this angle he could see the dark roots beneath the harsh white dye job. A single cup of black coffee was in front of her, but he wasn't sure she’d touched it since Jerome had set it down. That had been half-an-hour ago.
“Yeah. She looks like she’s having a rough night,” he murmured. His worry had grown into an incessant ache, like a punch to the chest.
He couldn’t see her face, but by now he could imagine it. It was striking, a beauty that always started up a bassline in his heartbeat. She affected him so differently from the girls he was used to. And she had left her hoodie at home.
Normally she always had it on—even as the heat index climbed towards insanity—but tonight she wore only a thin tank top. As concerned as he was, he couldn't entirely suppress a thrill of masculine appreciation. She was fit. Even her indrawn posture couldn’t hide the defined shoulders of a woman who put in the gym time. Paired with delicate-looking collarbones and breasts that would be the perfect handful…
“Jerome. Did you hear me?”
He started guiltily. “What?”
“Wow, man.” Kendis shook his head and made no effort to hide his smirk. “I said you should go check on her. Rush is over, place has cleared out, and we close in thirty. She looks like she could use some human contact.”
For a moment he was sorely tempted. She always seemed melancholy, but tonight there was a darker edge to it. Maybe there was something he could do. He grimaced. No…the last thing she needed was a visit from a boring barista who couldn't stop staring.
“I don't want to hassle her.”
“Hassle her? That girl’s been coming here for, what, a couple weeks? In that time, how many complete sentences have you spoken to her?”
Jerome balled up the cloth and tossed it in the sink. “At least ten.”
“Try ‘less than five.’ Single words don't count. Meanwhile I have to repeat every sentence to you twice, and my sentences are excellent by definition. At this point you’re hassling me.” Kendis crouched down and started filling a plastic bag with packets of artificial sweetener. “Plus, I think she’s at least a little into you.”
Jerome's mouth suddenly went dry. “Really?” It came out as a rasp.
His friend shrugged. “Caught her checking you a couple times. Must be your non-threatening boy band looks.” He stood up and brandished the bag at Jerome. “I’ll refill the yellows. If you haven’t checked on her by the time I start on the pinks, I’m going to talk to her.”
“No! I mean…no. I’ll do it.” Jerome felt his cheeks go warm as Kendis chuckled at him knowingly and wandered off. God. Might as well have “crushing” stamped on his forehead.
How was he going to do this? He wasn’t like Kendis, who might have been an English major but had the personality of a theater kid on the bus to Broadway. Jerome barely rated “kind of witty” when he wasn't nervous. Around this girl? He was liable to say something truly stupid.
The idea came to him in a flash. It was probably going to go over as well as a boneheaded line, but at least this way she would get something out of it. He got to work.
Even at the tail end of an exhausting night, Hollis’s instincts were too honed to go fully dormant. Her whole body went on alert the moment she sensed someone approaching. She jerked her head up. The man jumped, doing a funny little balancing dance with the mug he was holding in his hand.
Huh. The cute barista.
She watched, amused in spite of herself, as he wobbled to a precarious stop. He carefully twisted the mug back-and-forth, inspecting it with the intensity of a dam engineer. Reassured that nothing had spilled, he turned his attention to her and visibly swallowed.
“I, uh, apologize. For startling you.”
She raised an eyebrow. “I’m not the one who jumped.”
He tried to laugh it off, but his breath seemed to give out in the middle. Silence descended. She watched his face—already ideal for a romantic comedy movie poster—redden in an embarrassing blush. Great. Cute and shy. How unfair. A girl couldn't help but soften for that combo.
“Sorry,” she muttered. “That sounded snippy. It’s been a long night.”
His look of relief was like a balm, soothing over the jagged moment.
“I could tell.” He looked down at the floor like it might have his next line written on it. Maybe it did, because he was able to continue after a moment. “I brought you something.”
He stepped forward and gently set the mug onto the table. “Hot chocolate.”
What the hell? Did this guy live in air conditioning 24/7? Donnell was in the grip of a record heatwave. Hollis felt compelled to point it out: “It’s eighty-four degrees outside. In the middle of the night.”
“Oh. Well yeah, but…no, you’re right.” His mouth worked unproductively for a second. “This was dumb. I’ll take it—”
“Wait.” Hollis stared into the small mountain of whip cream. She could only assume the hot chocolate was somewhere underneath. Was that…yes. He had drawn a lopsided smiley face on the side with caramel drizzle.
“It looked better before the whip cream melted.” He made it sound like a botched surgery.
A faint sense of familiarity intruded. Not a memory, but the echo of an instinct. The old Hollis, that naive girl who went by “Holli,” would have melted like the caramel face on the whip cream. Probably would have laughed and awww’d and been utterly charmed. Hollis wasn’t capable of any of that. But suddenly she wasn’t as sure she wanted him to leave.
“Just…explain,” she said aloud.
Cute barista looked grave, the face of a man considering the exam question that would lock his final grade. Was she really that intimidating?
“You normally wear a hoodie,” he blurted, “even when it’s warm.”
He’d noticed her enough to remember that? That kind of attentiveness was dangerous, which should have made her suspicious…but strangely it didn't. Not wanting to think about why, Hollis decided to play along. “I like my hoodie, but God’s oven is set to ‘broil’ tonight.” The heatwave wasn't why she’d ditched her jacket, but Hollis wasn't about to share the real reason.
“Exactly! That’s why I brought this.”
She frowned.
“This booth is directly under the AC vent,” he explained. “That probably feels great in a hoodie. But tonight? I bet you’re actually a little cold.”
Hollis pursed her lips. Was she? “I’m not…overheated,” she allowed, “but hot chocolate in the middle of summer still feels weird.”
“Okay…” He snapped his fingers. “I can fix that.”
Cute barista turned and practically dashed behind the counter, disappearing into the coffeeshop’s back room. It happened so fast she was mildly nonplussed. Hmm. She lifted the mug and took a bite out of mount whipmore. The sugar was welcome, at least.
The generic jazz fusion that had been playing inoffensively in the background suddenly shut off. She looked up, bemused, as a cheery little melody started up.
“Well the weather outside is frightful…”
The smooth voice of Dean Martin pleading for more snow spread over her shoulders like a friendly hug. A low chuckle drew her attention to cute barista’s tall friend, who was busy restocking the table stations. She felt an answering surge of mirth just as CB himself emerged from the back room with a hopeful expression.
The joy from his gesture was irrepressible. She couldn't help the small involuntary smile she gave him. He brightened and hurried over.
“Better?” he asked.
Hollis’s smile deepened even as she tried to stow it. She hid it with the closest item at hand, taking another sip from the mug. The whip cream and rich taste flowed across her tongue. Damn. Summer or not, the boy knew how to make hot chocolate. She swallowed and sighed.
“Better,” she admitted.
He grinned.
She was surprised to feel a tiny answering flutter in her belly. Another leftover from the Holli-that-was. CB was also SB. Sweet barista. Good to know. Everything about this interaction was temporary, an elaborate illusion, but tonight she decided not to fight it.
“You’re…looming. Sit.”
She took another sip, eyeing him beneath her lashes as he slid into the booth across from her. She hadn't wanted to admit it to herself, but he was a part of why she kept coming to this place.
Hollis had first ducked into C4 a few weeks ago. It had been an extra lonely day and she’d been charmed by this random barista’s easy looks and easier smile. He’d been friendly with everyone, and she had gotten to partake in that warmth as a customer. Over time she’d maybe started to crave it a little. Even tonight, after a particularly disastrous outing, she had come. Anyone with sense would have gone home to sleep, but Hollis had dragged herself here for…what? A human connection, a tether to normality? Whatever the reason, it hadn't been working.
Until CB brought her heatwave hot chocolate.
Now, with his honest face close enough for her to stare into his baby blues, she felt a mote of warmth melt a little more of the ice inside her.
“So,” she said after a moment, “you watch me enough to note my ‘normal’ clothing?”
His mouth quirked up even as he looked a little abashed. “You’re a regular. Always easy to spot differences with a regular.” Pause. “I’m Jerome.”
She considered an alias, but only for a second. What would be the harm? “Hollis,” she said.
“It’s nice to meet you, Hollis.” He seemed more at ease now. Probably because her involuntary smile had helped her look a little less murderous.
“Likewise.” The hot chocolate had cooled enough to drink in big gulps, and she indulged. It was delicious. Her appetite—usually non-existent after a tough job—had roared back to life. “So I’m a regular, huh? The standards must be low.”
“We have three steep requirements.” He marked them with upraised fingers. “One: you have to come here at least twice. Two: you have to tip decently. Three: no profanity-laced tirades against staff.”
“Is ‘profanity-laced tirades’ a metric you have to keep track of?”
“During finals week? We have a spreadsheet.”
She laughed and he joined her. She suddenly felt lighter than she had in weeks. Probably all the sugar.
Encouraged, Jerome began regaling her with a few well-honed anecdotes of entitled customers. He turned out to have a natural talent for conversation. More than once, he even pulled a laugh out of her with some choice imagery. She was forced to amend her internal assessment: cute, sweet, and funny.
“…so then the jerk goes through about four handfuls of napkins—”
“Wasteful.”
“Yup. Our guy was not a fan of baristas or the environment. He dumps them on the floor next to the trashcan.”
Hollis snorted. “Petty.”
“He was just warming up. Because then he storms up to the counter, and in the snootiest accent you can imagine, says—no, hang on. Kendis does it perfectly.” Jerome turned to his friend, who had been listening to the story with a knowing smile. Right on cue, Kendis straightened up and assumed a look of comical superiority.
“I will be contacting your proprietor to discuss your shocking lack of safety. You should also know that I plan to sue the instant I’ve passed the bar.” Kendis jabbed a finger at Jerome, now in full character. “You remember the McDonald’s ‘hot coffee’ incident? I argued that in mock trial, and I won.” The last word was spoken with a husky exhale. It was flawless parody. Hollis and Jerome both cracked up.
Jerome set his elbows on the table and leaned toward her. Up close his smile was incandescent. “And here’s the best part. Mr. Almost-Lawyer’s drink wasn't even hot. It was iced coffee.”
“Oh my God.” Hollis closed her eyes and groaned. It never failed to surprise her how dumb some people could be. When she opened her eyes, she found Jerome staring intently at her, his smile subsiding into an expression of pure warmth.
His face was almost…regal. A refined nose, generous mouth, and perfectly angled jawline conspired to turn him princely. Give the boy a horse and he'd be ready to ride out and wake up some princess with a smooch.
“I bet you make your girlfriend laugh all the time,” she said. His eyes went wide. Hollis’s jaw snapped shut. How the hell had that slipped out? She made a show of finishing off the hot chocolate to mask her ear-burning embarrassment.
“I'm glad you're sitting down,” he finally answered, “because you will be stunned to know I am currently unattached.”
Her control was back. She managed to arch an eyebrow. “I am. Completely stunned. Even felt faint for a moment.” Inwardly, what she felt was a dangerous zing of real interest.
She had let the game go too far.
“Yo, Jerome. We’re fifteen past midnight. Time to throw the switch.” The ironic Christmas music suddenly cut out. Hollis felt the strangest mixture of relief and dismay as Jerome blinked and turned.
“Oh no, I forgot to count out! Sorry, man. I'll do it—”
“No need. Already took care of it.” Kendis was already hanging his apron on a hook by the door. It was Hollis’s turn to blink. There was no one else here. When had the place emptied out?
“Thanks, man. I owe you. I'll lock up.”
“You sure will.” Kendis tossed the keys and Jerome snatched them out of the air. “Have a good one, you two. It was nice meeting you, Hollis.”
“Nice meeting you,” she echoed as Jerome's friend pushed through the front door. Then they were alone. There was a brief moment of shared awareness, a feeling that was both awkward and…something else. Something Hollis had no business feeling.
“Time to head out—”
“I better grab the lights—”
They talked over each other and moved as if by unspoken agreement. Jerome slid out of the booth and headed briskly for the back, untying his apron as he went. He was giving her the perfect escape. She could be through the door before he reappeared. Then it would just be a simple matter of avoiding City Center Coffee and Caffeine for the next few weeks. Things would safely return to normal. She and Jerome would exchange friendly nods in the future, united by their shared memory of tonight, and both would get through this unscathed. Hollis wet her lips and fidgeted.
What are you doing? Go. The overheads turned out with a snap, plunging the coffeeshop into gloom. She glanced at the doorway to the back, now almost comically spot-lit by a lone security light behind the counter. Get the hell out, Holli!
Too late. Jerome emerged, his dress shirt unbuttoned to reveal a dark gray tee that matched his pants. An unexpectedly large backpack was slung over one shoulder. He stumbled when he saw her, looking just as surprised as she felt.
“I didn't pay for my coffee,” she said lamely.
