Page 61 of Coffee Shop Girl
Cleaning out the fridge
For the next two hours,the systems of running a coffee shop poured out of me. Night descended fully. Traffic outside slowed. I scrounged in the fridge for a diet pop, then sipped it to make it last while I typed, and typed, and typed.
Sometime around midnight, I hopped myself up on two servings of iced chai. At one point, I made a cup of coffee, taking notes on every single step. Snapped pictures of the espresso machine and uploaded them. Created a chart with details on different types of roasts and how they tasted based on what Dad used to say. (No way was I going to drink them.)
One o’clock in the morning closed in.
In the midst of everything, I drafted an even longer list of ways to clean the shop up and increase our profits. Stop stocking those gross scones, for one, and introduce cupcakes. Just because I didn’t like sugar didn’t mean I shouldn’t sell it. This was America. Everyone else liked sugar waytoomuch.
Eventually, I moved to the biggest table at the front of the store to allow myself space to stretch out. My fingers ached. A cup of green tea kept me up, though my eyes burned like sandpaper.
Two o’clock came and went.
Somewhere around 3:15, my bleary eyes felt like I’d been blowing smoke in them for days. I’d have to be up soon to prep the store for the morning commuters. I thought of an hourlong nap but turned back to my computer with a jaw-popping yawn. Only a few procedures away from finishing.
It would be a yoga pants and comfy bra kind of day.
* * *
The feelingof a heavy hand on my shoulder startled me from a dream. Dancing coffee beans had been trying to throw broken pieces of a coffee mug at me. They’d laughed whenever I fought back, and then turned into money. The moment I’d touched the money, it disappeared.
“Bethany?”
Groggy, I straightened.
Dim, overhead lights felt painfully bright to my eyes. Those definitely weren’t my attic bedroom lights. Understanding dawned slowly. I’d fallen asleep working at my computer. I jerked fully awake with a gasp.
“Whoa there,” came a deep rumble. “Everything okay?”
Maverick crouched next to the table. The world was still dark, the shop quiet. A faint blush lingered on the distant horizon. The clock said 4:15. It would be full light soon enough, and I was already fifteen minutes late for prepping.
“Fine.” My voice croaked. “I’m ... I’m fine.”
The puzzle pieces slowly slid together. Vaguely, I remembered a long, long blink that must have turned into a nap.
Maverick slipped into the chair next to me, one arm across the back of my chair. He wore a metal running leg. Sweat glistened in a light sheen over his face and neck. I forced myself to look away, assaulted by butterflies. The man looked like a Viking godwithouteyes brightened by a run. Now he was otherworldly.
He motioned toward my laptop with a wry tilt of his head.
“Working late or up early?”
I pushed the hair out of my eyes. “Both.”
My thoughts lay heavy and sluggish. It would be a bear of a day trying to stay awake.
He put a hand on the back of my neck. The comforting warmth sent an electric zip under my skin, melting me into a puddle. I turned to face him. All the hours of caffeine, fueled by desperation, crashed around me. I’d finished a hard thing.
But now the terror had settled in.
“Mav,” I whispered. “I don’t know if I can do this.”
His inquisitive expression softened.
“It’s going to be all right, Bethany. Everything will get done. We’ll turn this place around so you have profit and can pay your debts at the same time.”
“It’s so much.”
“You’re not just talking about the shop.”
