Page 4 of Pretend You're Mine

The aroma of freshly baked bread wafted towards me as I walked past the block housing the bakery. My stomach rumbled in response. Hopefully, I would get a cup of freshly brewed coffee after the interview. I wiped my sweaty hands on my palms as I looked up at the sign of the coffee shop. This was it. My fate was about to be decided today.

And just like it did on my first day as a marine, my stomach plummeted, a mix of excitement and nervousness.

I walked in and was directed to the seating area of the cafe. Seconds later, the store manager joined me. I tried not to gawk. It was not every day I, at six-foot-three, had to crane my neck to look up at a female.

“Are you Creed? I’m Julianne.” Her voice was warm, a stark contrast to the tension in my chest. She extended her hand, fingers slender and confident, her expression open and patient.

I nodded, but the movement felt stiff, my head jerking slightly too fast. My throat felt like sandpaper, every swallow making the roof of my mouth stick to my dry tongue. My pulse thrummed in my ears, loud enough that it almost drowned out her words. I had to reach out, to return the gesture, but my arm felt like it weighed a ton.

Get it together, Creed. It’s just a handshake.

My hand met hers, the contact a jolt against my clammy skin. Her grip was firm, steady, the kind of confidence that seemed to radiate through her touch. I squeezed back, forcing my own fingers to match her steadiness, hoping she couldn’t sense the tremor in my hand.

"You look good. How did you know how to dress for this?" Her tone was playful as she spoke. I had a good feeling about this.

"I asked some of your employees questions on how to make a good impression for an interview here."

Julianne smiled at me and dropped into her seat. I waited until she was comfortably seated before I followed suit.

"Tell me about yourself, Creed," she leaned towards me, a conspiratorial smile plastered on her face. I couldn't help running my hand across my forehead. There was no point in lying to her when there'd be background checks that confirmed otherwise.

"Creed Markham is my name. I'm an ex-Marine sergeant."

A stunned silence followed.

"Seems like you're overqualified for this position," she said, her tone suggesting she had already made assumptions about my past. She didn’t probe further, and that was when I knew I’d lost again. "What’s your favorite drink?"

Eager to impress her, I didn't think twice before answering the question.

"A martini cocktail with a lemon twist." It was my favorite each time I headed out with the boys to a bar to celebrate one occasion or another.

She touched her cheek with her index finger. "Don't you think you're at the wrong place, Creed?"

Sweat beaded across my face. "I didn't think lying to get a job was appropriate. It also shows I'm not in this for the benefits."

"I'd rather have you in it for the benefits, knowing you're passionate about what you are doing and emotionally involved in the process too. It's only going to be a matter of time before you get bored of following a routine and mess things up."

I had expected her to offer me a drink but that did not seem like it was forthcoming either. I contracted my stomach, trying not to squirm as pangs of hunger ravaged me.

"Believe it or not, Julianne, I am passionate about this," I insisted, my voice trembling slightly. "I may not have a pristine record, but being a Marine taught me discipline and dedication. I want to apply those skills here."

Julianne studied me intently, her eyes narrowing with curiosity. "I can see determination in your eyes, Creed. But what makes you think you'll thrive in the fast-paced environment of a multi-national company? It's not just about making coffee, you know."

A surge of determination fueled my response. "I understand that, Julianne. This is more than just a coffee shop—it's an experience. It's about connecting with people, providing exceptional customer service, and creating a welcoming atmosphere. And after going through what I've been through, I've developed a strong sense of empathy and resilience."

She leaned back in her chair, her gaze unwavering. "Those are important qualities to have in this line of work," she acknowledged. "But tell me, Creed, why should I take a chance on someone with a less-than-perfect background?"

"Uhmm, to be honest?—"

"Wrong answer. Your honesty, while appreciated here, comes second to your enthusiasm for the job and coffee."

I controlled the urge to shuffle my feet on the floor. As far as I was concerned, this interview was over and whatever else the person in front of me said was an attempt at hiding her bias against me.

I couldn't blame her, though. The stigmatization that followed dishonorably discharged officers had spanned decades and she was only doing what anyone else in her position would do, including myself.

Julianne stretched out her hand to me. This time, her smile was not as wide as it had been when she first approached me.

"I'll be in touch with you."

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