Page 51 of Billionaire and the Barista

GABRIELLA

Afew weeks later…

It was one of those days where it felt like I couldn’t do anything right. Nothing was wrong with me, I just felt off. I thought I had more cupcakes in the refrigerator waiting to be frosted, I messed up my batter. I dropped a full sheet of cupcakes.

I wanted to find a corner and curl up and cry. I stepped out of the kitchen door to get some fresh air. I was assaulted with the smell of stale booze, urine, and cigarette smoke.

“Fuck,” I groaned. I walked around the corner of my building. A ragged-looking man sat there. He stared back at me.

“You can’t be here, buddy. You gotta go.”

“You can’t tell me what to do bitch. Just because you work here, doesn’t give you the right—”

I had been willing to offer him a cupcake and some coffee, but he started in with his tirade of what rights I did or didn’t have, I changed my mind quickly. He needed to be gone. And then I saw drug paraphernalia on the ground near where he was sitting.

“You need to leave, now,” I said. “Get your shit and get off my property.”

“I’m not going anywhere bitch.”

I was done arguing with him. I shook my head and went back into the kitchen. I still had the sour smells that had surrounded him in my nose. I called the police for trespassing and drugs. I hated that I had become that person who had to call in someone else to handle my problems. I hated that I couldn’t be the person to help him. Between his attitude and the drugs, I had a zero-tolerance policy for that nonsense. Besides, I wasn’t in a mood to even attempt being generous.

I was still in the kitchen when there was a knock on that door. A quick glance out the small window let me know it was the police.

“Hi,” I said, opening the door.

“We’ve got your vagrant, and we did pick up a few needles. If you go back there, be careful, there are probably more needles we didn’t find. It looks like he has been back there a while.”

“Damn it,” I said. I was usually better about making sure the area behind the building was kept clear because Robbie played back there. “My kid plays back there.”

“You might want to do a clean sweep before you let him outside.”

The police left, and I felt even worse. I was failing as a parent, as a cafe owner, at everything.

The alarm on my phone went off, and I needed to leave, or I would be late from picking Robbie up from preschool.

I washed up and stuck my head into the café. It was busy. The kind of busy that needed two people.

“I’m sorry Miguel, I have to go get Robbie.”

“Okay, yeah, but when you get back.”

“Absolutely.” When I got back, he was going to need a break. A long one.

I jumped in the beat-up car Mitch kept running for me. The preschool was far, but they had this pick-up line, where the parents sat in their cars, and as we reached the front of the line, they would bring out our child. It was supposed to be efficient and get everyone involved used to the process once the children started elementary school.

“Mommy!” Robbie yelled enthusiastically.

Usually on my lower days, his smile, his joy brought me back to myself.

Today it reminded me that I had a headache. “Not so loud, baby. Did you have a good day?”

“I did.”

“Tell me something you learned.”

“We got butterflies. But they’re not awake yet. I'm going to look for coatcoons when I get home.”

“You mean cocoons, what caterpillars wrap up in to become butterflies.”

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