Page 7 of Mistletoe Latte

Nick pulled his body in, slamming the door shut. “Damn if I know,” he muttered. The fools had started showing up last Friday, asking and asking, then growing more belligerent with every no. “It doesn’t matter how many signs I put up, they keep wanting the cursed thing.” Over and over, from five a.m. until closing, without a break in sight. He was liable to burst a blood vessel or stroke out at the cash register. “I haven’t made one in five years.”

He jerked at the words slipping from his lips. The brick wall in his memory was shuddering. For a brief moment, he could smell the hint of juniper and cinnamon. No. He wasn’t going back down that road.

“Got it.” She stepped ahead of him, her body turned to his as they both crammed inside the door’s threshold. Nick pulled in a breath, growing aware of how much heat radiated from her lithe frame. He lost all control of his hands, clinging desperately to his thighs in the assumption that would solve everything.

Emma dipped the brim of her cap and smiled brightly. “I know exactly what to do.” With her declaration, she stepped into the dim lights of the cafe. “Who’s next in line?” she called like the kind fairy about to bestow a gift to the princess.

Nick hung in the doorway watching her barely have to glance at his old-fashioned order pad before she jumped right in. “I’m sorry, the mistletoe latte isn’t currently available, but I think you might enjoy a cinnamon and nutmeg mocha?”

As she took the order, giving the man her undivided attention, Nick’s lips started to twitch all on their own.

“You look like a mule kicked ya in the head,” Sam said with a laugh, his ear next to the scanner.

Scowling, Nick flipped on the milk steamer and shouted back, “Put that damn thing away before I throw it through the window.”

The day went smoother than he ever expected, smoother than it had in years. Emma had flitted between the tables asking people how they were doing, then she’d return to take orders without her smile dipping for a second. Nick could only catch a glimpse of her here and there as he’d manned the espresso machine. For every one mistletoe disappointment, another three ordered something, almost always a convoluted latte with ten substitutions. But since Nick didn’t have to talk to the person demanding the kiss of an orchid flower permeating their no-foam oat milk latte, the people were happy.

Infuriating as hell, but happy.

He took a quick break in the back when things died down. Nothing much, just time to cram in a bologna sandwich. Everything seemed to be in good hands, so he decided to let Emma man the storm a little longer. Woman the storm? Barely a woman, truth be told. Nick had vague memories of twenty-seven, the strongest being the third-degree steam burn down his arm thanks to a raging hangover. Emma seemed downright respectable in comparison to his wild youth. She was probably traveling cross-country to meet her boyfriend and would have a grand tale to tell about her day working in a hole-in-the-wall cafe.

Chasing after the scattered napkin boxes, Nick managed to get two in his arms before a third wound its way under the back shelves. The wood bowed from the hefty bags of beans, pinching in the middle. Picking up the wayward napkin stash revealed a box hiding under the shelf. The layers of dust told him it was ancient and that Skylar wasn’t mopping on the weekends like she’d promised. He reached for the box when the bell jangled.

“Damn it.” After rising off the floor, he tossed his apron on and didn’t bother to tie it off. Didn’t matter how dead the place got, the second he took a break…

The employee door swung open on the calmest Tuesday afternoon he’d ever seen. Sam was squirting mustard onto the ham and cheese sandwich he brought in regardless of what Nick said to stop it. A couple sat in the old armchairs by the window, seeming to not care about the cold draft rattling the glass. No customers stood in line belligerently shouting into their phones or screaming about Starbucks.So what made the…?

A soft jingle rang and he looked to the door. Balanced by the tips of her toes on top of a chair, Emma strained to loop the fallen bell onto the door joint. Her nose was crinkled as she concentrated with everything she had to reach that last inch. There was no chance she’d make it, but she wasn’t going to give up without a fight.

“Hey, let me…” Nick began when the chair started to tip forward. His muscles reacted as his brain went numb. He didn’t do the smart and gentlemanly thing to run forward and catch her. Instead, his meaty arms caught the chair’s back and slammed the legs to the floor. It caused Emma to tumble backward towards him. She reached a hand out to catch herself and grabbed onto his shirt.

Her nails drew down his chest, yanking the crew neck into a v as she went. Nick steadied her by her shoulder. Both were left panting, Nick’s neck burning at the eyes on them. Then Emma raised her gaze and the heat sank straight to his crotch.

“That…” He tried to think through a woman’s nails raking down his chest and clutching his shirt. He didn’t need this. He didn’t want it. Nick walked back and squared his shoulders. “That was stupid.”

“I was trying to—”

“I know.” He yanked the bell from her hands as she stepped off the chair. God, her barely five-foot frame made him want to laugh at her trying. Turning his back, Nick reached up and knotted the bell on. “Next time ask me. You could have gotten hurt.”

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, tugging her hat brim lower so he couldn’t see her face. Five years with a pre-teen who became a full-blown teenager taught him that was a very bad thing.

“It’s just…customers get touchy when there’s blood on the door.” Nick went for the joke and it sunk like a rock. “Why don’t you take a break in back?”

She nodded sharply, still not looking up.Good job, Nicky, you cratered that one before it could even begin.Emma slipped around the counter and began to untie her apron. Reaching for her hand, Sam patted the girl like a wounded animal’s paw. “I had faith in you,” he said as if she hadn’t nearly cracked her skull.

If Nick hadn’t been there… “Cream and sugar!” he shouted. Emma paused and stared at him. At least there weren’t tears in her eyes. “You can have whatever you want in the fridge.”

Whether she’d accept his charity or not he couldn’t guess, but Emma slipped away, leaving Nick to haul the chair back. As he stood up, feeling every one of his years in his sore back, Sam swiveled on his stool. “You’re a regular Galavant, you know. Girl’s just trying to help.”

Did it count as personal growth if Nick knew he was a boor and instantly regretted it? Probably not. Skylar and her gaggle would call him problematic and tell him to check his privilege. He hefted up the cleanest dish towel and was about to start scrubbing the espresso machine when he noticed there was nothing to mop up. She must have gotten it all without him even asking.

“I wish I knew why,” he whispered to himself.

Sam pipped up, “Probably just passing time until the guy she’s waiting for gets here.”

The boyfriend. That guy could be her knight in shining armor. Nick was a broken-down java jockey who fell asleep at eight p.m. Damsels didn’t go for that.

The repaired bell jangled, and he looked up into ecstatic and unknown faces. One began to speak, but he interrupted, “Before you ask, no, we don’t have the mistletoe latte. Order something else.”

---