Page 16 of Cream & Sugar
Five minutes into the walk, I regret turning down Rory’s offer of a lift. While the break in the snow holds, the wind is like icy daggers, ripping through my old leather jacket as if it were made of tissue paper. The exposed patches of skin on my legs prickle for a while before turning completely numb.
The sky is already dimming by the time I reach the town centre. The Christmas lights I saw being put up earlier have been switched on, twinkling stars festooning the length of the high street in streams of flashing colour.
As I arrive at Threads, the town’s biggest clothes shop, the CCTV above the door shows my lips have turned blue. I hurry inside where the air is warmer. A shop assistant tells me they’re closing in ten minutes with a look in their eye that says “and not a minute longer.”
At the back of the shop, I find the men’s jeans and start to browse for the most flattering pair I can find.
Rory is right. Trying to seduce Shaun is risky, regardless of whether he was checking me out or not. Though he totally was. What Icando is make myself look as irresistible as possible.
I try on a knitted beige shirt with a plunging V-neck collar that’s marked down to almost half price and a pair of coal-black jeans so tight, they might as well be painted on. The musical notes tattooed along my collarbone pop against the beige of the shirt and the jeans hug my butt in all the right ways. Checking myself out in themirror, I’m happy with the overall effect: smart but foxy. I’d fancy me if I wasn’t me.
Hopefully Shaun feels the same way.
I strut up to the till and pay for the outfit, confident that my odds of seducing my hot new boss just went through the roof.
6
Shaun
Thenextmorning,Iarrive at the café half an hour early to get things ready for Freddie’s first shift.
It’s a mess inside. Yesterday I was so shattered I couldn’t face doing the usual clean down, so I left as soon as I cashed up the till.
While the coffee machine heats up, I wipe the tables and give the place a good sweep. Though less exhausted than yesterday, I’m still fighting back yawns, and I drop my broom to make a flat white the second the machine’s ready. I drink it, then, sensing I’m still running on empty, I make myself another.
By twenty-past six the café is presentable. Not to my usual standards, but clean enough that I won’t lose my food hygiene certificate if the health inspector comes a-creeping. Most of the cake from yesterday is still good to sell, but we’re out of brownies. We always sell out of brownies.
As far as I know, we’re the only place in town that does all our baking in house. It would be easier to buy stuff in, but I have it on good authority my brownies are, and I quote, “better than sex.” This would have been more of a compliment, were Lara not the one who told me so.
I glance at the front door. No sign of Freddie yet.
Using a wooden stool, I prop open the kitchen door so I can keep an eye out for him while I whip up a fresh batch of brownie batter. Into the mixer goes flour, eggs, sugar, and enough butter to fill a cardiology ward. The secret to a perfect brownie is to use both cocoa powderanddark chocolate to get that proper fudgy texture. I toss a mug of cocoa powder in while the chocolate melts in the microwave. Soon, the kitchen smells incredible. Lastly, I throw in a generous scoop of chocolate chips and a glug of vanilla syrup.
I switch off the mixer and admire the glistening batter. Not bad for ten minutes work.
The mixture fills six trays for forty-eight brownies, which might seem excessive, but they’ll be gone by three o’clock. I bung them in the oven and set a timer. As I do, I see the time: 6:33. Less than half an hour till we open.
Still no Freddie.
I thought it was customary to be early for your first shift? One of those unspoken social rules everyone knows so you don’t have to say it out loud. Either Freddie doesn’t play by those rules, or he’s slept in, or, worst of all, he’s decided he’d rather not work here at all. I check my phone for messages. Nothing.
“Come on, Freddie,” I mutter, dipping a finger in the mixing bowl. “Don’t make me regret hiring you before you’ve even—”
A knock on the front door.
I look up to see Freddie waving at me through the glass. His face is pink and he’s bouncing impatiently on the balls of his feet. There’s a fine sleet coming down behind him. Wiping my chocolatey finger on a napkin, I quickly go to let him in.
“T-thanks!” Freddie is shivering as he steps inside, his mop of ice-blonde hair soaked with what is fast becomingactualice.
“Oh gosh, are you okay?” I shut the door behind him. “You look frozen!”
“M-missed the bus,” his voice is feathery. “Had to run.”
“Where from?”
“Cherry Street.”
“On the other side of town?”
