Page 59 of Cream & Sugar
“Yeah?” She narrows her eyes. “You look shattered, mate.”
“I’ve been told.”
Andi clicks her tongue in the manner of a bossy older sister.
“I’ve always said you work too hard. You’ve got to take better care of yourself, Grumbles!”
I’m about to point out the hypocrisy in her statement since Andi works more hours than anyone I’ve ever met, but it’s not a fair comparison; somehow she’s always fresh as a daisy, whereas I feel more like a dandelion that’s been shat on by a herd of sick cows.
Andi glances behind me. “Who’s your friend?”
“Ah! Sorry, this is Freddie. He’s my new barista who neglected to tell me in his interview that he doesn’t like coffee. Freddie, this is Andi. Her name’s on the door.”
“Doesn’t like coffee?” Andi extends her hand and she and Freddie shake. “That explains why you’re here.”
I grin. Sharp as ever. “I’m taking him to all the best places. It’s my mission to fix him by the end of the day.”
“Fix me?” Freddie exclaims. “I’m not broken.”
“Not broken, no. Just… odd?” I say.
“Oi!”
Freddie and I share a smile.
Andi clears her throat. “Why don’t you boys take a seat? I’ll bring you some menus.”
Freddie picks a table by the floor-to-ceiling windows and we sit down. Andi appears a moment later with a couple of paper breakfast menus on wooden clipboards.
“It’s on me today, boys, so order whatever you like.”
I take the menus and hand one to Freddie.
“Are you sure, Andi?” I ask.
“Grumbles, am I ever not?”
Freddie catches my eye, the corner of his mouth twitching.
Andi talks us through the menu, each dish sounding even more delicious than the last. Fried potatoes with avocado drizzled in sriracha and served with scrambled eggs. Freshly baked sourdough toast, bacon, and chilli jam. Maple granola with yoghurt and winter berries. Treacle porridge and stewed apples. Fresh, golden pastries. Cardamom buns served with a black cherry compote.
By the time she reaches the bottom, Freddie and I are practically drooling.
“How about I just bring you a selection?” We nod like a couple of bobble-heads and Andi scoops up the menus. “Coffee?”
Despite his objections, I order Freddie a single-shot vanilla latte and myself a macchiato.
“So,Grumbles,” says Freddie, once Andi heads off to make our drinks. He draws the word out, making my toes curl. “Care to explain?”
“Oh god,” I run a hand through my hair. “So, it might have escaped your notice, but I take my work quite seriously—”
“Noway!” Freddie smirks. “Sorry. Carry on.”
“Wellapparentlywhen I make coffee I get this look on my face like I’m trying to pass a kidney stone. Some of the girls here thought it was hilarious. When it got busy, I’d mutter the orders under my breath to keep track, but everyone thought I was grumbling away to myself. One of them gave me the nickname one day and it just sort of stuck.” I can feel myself blushing. “It’s silly.”
Freddie bites his lower lip. “I think it’s cute.”
I fold my arms. “You’re not allowed to call me Grumbles.”
