Page 16 of Hey Girl

Barista boy gulps and offers nothing else as he starts to fidget.

“Now from what I understand, your job is to stand at that register and take coffee orders, or have I got it all wrong?”

“Yeah… that’s my job,” the kid nervously confirms.

“Well, this lovely lady would like to order some coffee,” he gestures to me with an excited how about that tone in his words. “And you have two hours on your hands just for you to do your lame ass job, and as far as I can tell, she already did her part. She asked for a medium mocha latte, I believe all you have left to do is on your end.”

“We don’t have med-,”

“Mediums? Right, I know. You have twelve, sixteen, and twenty ouncers. Tell me,” he squints his eyes at the kids name tag. “Clay. Think carefully now. Which of those would be the medium?”

“The sixteen,” Clay huffs out, looking put off.

Chris gives me a mock-stunned look. “Well, slap my ass, he got it right! Good for you! Tell him what he’s won, Bob!” He cheers in mock encouragement, applauding as Clay’s face reddens. “Why don’t you ring that up along with a caramel cookie frapp with extra drizzle, Clay, my man? And don’t worry, your tip will be generous.”

No matter how hard I try to keep my lips pinched together, I feel a smile pulling at them and I give in a little. Chris is funny, and I’m kind of bowled over at what he just did for me. It was sweet, and I admire how flawlessly he was able to put the twitchycashier boy in his place. His delivery was seamless, and I hope one day I’ll be able to do something resembling that.

I move to pull my wallet out of my handbag when he places a warm, calloused hand over mine. The touch is gentle and cautious, despite how strong his hands look.

“I got this, lovely,” he murmurs in a quiet tone I wasn’t sure he was even capable of before handing a few bills to Clay. I try not to look at the floor and keep my chin up as the scared shitless barista boy scurries around making our drinks. He places them down, and nervously tries to shuffle away out of sight before we even grab them up.

“Yo, I’ve got your tip!” Chris shouts after him, undaunted by the way Clay determinedly ignores him. Picking up a small notepad and pencil resting on the counter for orders, Chris writes in chaotic block capitals, TREAT YOUR CUSTOMERS WITH RESPECT, NOT LIKE SOMETHING YOU STEPPED IN, CLAY, YOU ASSHAT.

Chris holds the door open for me as we venture outside and I stop, holding my latte in my hands visualizing the warmth giving me the gumption I need to tell him thank you.

I pull in a breath and challenge myself to look into those playful, sparkly greens.

“Thank you,” I say amazingly without any glitches. His gentle touch inside the shop has left some kind of lingering sense of comfort. Not knowing when it will wear off, I decide to get out as much as I can and with the way his smile crinkles his eyes I feel a weird sense of encouragement. “For that… in there,” I manage, jerking my head in the direction of the shop. “And for…”—damnit, here it comes—“…p-paying.”

Ugh.

“No problem,” he says, and though I’m examining the pavement, I hear the smile in his words.

“Well—” I take one step backward in the direction of my car.

“Can I ask you something?” he cuts in before I can tell him to take care in my own flustered, ineloquent fashion.

“Okay,” I answer, halting my step and bringing my coffee up for a sip, trying to hide my nerves.

“Why are you so shy, little mouse?”

Mouse. That’s what he called me that first time he did a slip ‘n’ slide into my DMs. It’s kind of cute. I can tell he means it endearingly and not to tease and I relax just a little.

“Uh…,”

Take a deep breath, think about what you want to say and just say it! You can do this.

“Long story. It’s a disorder,” I try to explain using easy words. I still struggle with the word anxiety.

Chris nods thoughtfully at my answer.

“Oh. Okay, so is that what makes it hard to talk also?”

He’s not being mocking or nosey. He’s interested. I’ve never had someone just simply ask me about my issues before. Even though it’s blaringly obvious, so many people avoid it like it’s an elephant in the room. I’m not ashamed of it. It’s when people don’t even try to understand it that makes it tough. “Yeah,” I nod up at him and with no effort at all, give him a self-deprecating yet appreciative smile.

“Is it hard? The day-to-day things that come so naturally to other people?” He asks, stepping closer to me and before I know it we’re walking side by side.

I nod in answer. “But I try,” I motion my head back towards the coffee shop again. “Every day. At least once to get out of my comfort zone.”

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