Page 36 of The Amazing Date

“Seventy-five percent chance they will head in the wrong direction,” she clarifies. A smirk fills her face, and I don’t need to look to know why. “Math wins again,” she says. “I’m surprised you let them go the wrong way. Yesterday, you would have been over there giving them directions. Don’t tell me I’m rubbing off on you.”

I remove my arm from around her only because I have to. I wave to our cast of characters, and we begin heading toward the proper Starbucks. “Just trying to make up for my Griffey mistake.”

She waves a hand at me. “It’s done. Let’s focus on the next task. We’re good.” Before I can respond, she increases the pace and turns the corner.

We arrive at the Starbucks and this time have no issues checking in. The clue directs us inside the Starbucks, where a store manager greets us.

“You are the third team to arrive. Please follow Chester here, who will take you to the prep kitchen, where he will walk you through a fifteen-minute training on how to prepare five of our most popular drinks, along with the most-requested variations from customers.

“After the walk-through, you can practice as long as you wish. Once you feel you have mastered it, we will bring you to the front of the store, where you will be split up. One will work the cash register and take ten orders from a team selected for this challenge. The other person must follow the instructions from the register and prepare the beverages. The cash register partner may assist with the beverage preparation only after all ten orders have been entered into the POS, the point-of-sale system. If you get an order incorrect, you will need to start over. Any questions?”

His rapid-fire instructions contain a million tripwires, but I feel the eagerness from Rylee next to me. She keeps looking over her shoulder as if expecting Trey and Brooke to appear at any second. “I’m good,” I whisper, knowing whatever isn’t clear I can figure out in the demo room.

The manager hands us off to another employee, and we follow her to the prep kitchen. “Do you have a preference, register or prep?” Rylee asks.

The prep kitchen is massive. There are three demo stations complete with all the equipment from the front of the store. Even the rows of cabinets match, the difference being these cabinets have transparent doors, allowing the trainee to see what is in each without opening them. All three training stations are stocked with the same ingredients.

“I say we play to our strengths. I can handle the customers, and you can work through the prep work. It’s full of lists and requires detailed focus and concentration.”

If she’s offended by my statement, she doesn’t show it, merely nodding. “I was thinking the same thing. Just take their orders; don’t ask about their family and what they are doing tonight. The quicker you enter the orders, the quicker you can hop over and help. Got it?”

She doesn’t have any issue offending me. I bite back my comment and decide to take that energy to listen to our trainer. “I hope we’re getting paid for this.”

* * *

A half hour later, we exit the prep kitchen, ready to start the challenge. Not surprisingly, when we enter the front of the house, the store is hopping. Ronnie has climbed on the counter next to the register, clapping his hands together and stomping his feet. Thelma places a beverage on the counter. “Elise,” she calls out.

Ronnie begins to sing “All Star” by Smash Mouth, a song I recognize from a silly cartoon from my youth. It’s such a random selection, but when it comes to Ronnie and Thelma, you can’t predict what may come out of their mouths. A lifetime of memories and joy emotes from them no matter what they are tasked with.

Ronnie smiles down at his wife, hands pressed together, his eyes filled with love. He juts his chin toward the singing crowd, a dear, look what I’ve done for you smile on his face. She blows him a kiss, beaming at him as if he’s hung the moon. Ronnie hops off the counter and shouts over the noise, “Nine down, dear. That last one is simple—takes it the same way as your uncle Byron.”

“They sure know how to play this game,” I mutter more to myself.

Rylee pushes in next to me. “They could’ve already been finished if he’d stop showboating and helped his wife prepare the drinks. This is our opening.”

I step to the register, and Rylee pushes up next to me. “I thought I was doing the register?” I ask.

“You are. I’m just helping you get organized.” She places ten cups along the edge of the counter. She lays a Sharpie next to the first cup and sticks another Sharpie over my ear and a third one in my shorts. I bite my tongue and remind myself who she is—belts and suspenders.

A queue of customers lines up, and I have to force myself to focus. My mind attempts to connect how they look to what I believe should be their drink of choice. If this wasn’t a competition, I would try to guess their drink as they stepped to the counter. No time for games.

I take the first order and enter it into the POS system. We only had a few moments to learn the system, and it’s pretty complex. I shout out the order to Rylee to give her a head start as I enter it into the system.

She jumps in immediately. “Great move. Keep shouting them out.”

I finally find the correct tab and enter the order. It takes me a few additional orders before I hit my stride, which is good because that is when the special orders start to arrive. It’s like learning a foreign language, and my admiration for baristas grows by the second. “Two pump vanilla, three pump caramel, extra whipped, half caff, not shaken.” Individually, I understand the words, but as they flow together, it makes no sense to me. I focus and slow my entries, making sure I get each one correct. I even take the extra five seconds to read each one back to the customer.

I glance over at Rylee, and she is buried. She has multiple orders all working at the same time. Not a second is wasted. Her movements are efficient and productive, a mirror image of the training video. She presses the button for steamed milk with one hand while pumping an additive with the other, her gaze on the screen reading the next ticket. She’s a freaking beast. A coffee-making, list-checking, get-out-of-my way monster.

She takes a completed order, checks the name, and compares it to the printed ticket. “Grace, up!”

I enter the last order and step next to her. Of course, she’s ready for me. “Those last three, take care of the pumps and call out any foam requests.”

We are a synchronized duo as I work around her in perfect harmony. As she checks a ticket, I place a napkin on the counter, which she slaps the drink on top. I call out the name and spin back for the next one.

We don’t have the cafe singing, but I sense music in my heart. She hands me the final cup. “Alina, up!”

Rylee whips a bar rag over one shoulder, her hand over my other shoulder, a look of contentment on her beautiful face. “Maybe when this is all over, we consider purchasing a franchise,” she jokes.

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