Page 10 of Voyeur Café

The emails I rarely have to send are the worst part of my job, so I’m lucky. Normally I’m turning wrenches or mixing drinks, two things I love. Now that I have this building, I can do the same work, but for myself.

Lights flicker on next door, and loud music starts blasting.Maybe I won’t have to wait so long for coffee after all. Looking through the window reveals Allie pulling chairs down off of tables, bobbing her head to the beat ofKilling in the Nameby Rage Against the Machine. Her chestnut hair is down and falls around her shoulders every time she brings her chin forward with the beat.

She plays indie rock and singer-songwriter stuff over the speakers most days, which I don’t mind, but this is a welcome change. Her movements build with the music until she’s fully dancing. I close my laptop and lean forward, bracing my elbows on my knees. Nothing on my computer is as interesting as Allie.

She bends to pick something up, exaggeratedly arching her back and sticking out her plump ass. Her jean cut-off shorts and simple black tank top hug her curves as she comes back up into a body roll.Is this song sexy?I never thought so before, butgoddamnif she isn’t making a case for it.

She sings along to the words, “Fuck you, I won’t do what you tell me!” clearly working out some frustration. On the final line of “Motherfucker!” she holds up her middle fingers toward the windowed wall. Toward my shop. Towardme. Her eyes don’t stay on the glass for more than a beat before she walks to the counter and picks up her phone. She doesn’t know I’m over here. The lights must be reflecting off the glass and blocking the view.

She blames me for taking Station 19 away from her. Personally, I blame Mel. I still don’t understand what he has against her, but whatever the reason, I have this building now, and Allie’s hurt by it. Reaching my goals means she won’t be reaching hers.

9 to 5by Dolly Parton comes on next. What a follow-up to Rage. She’s working behind the bar, calmer now, singing along to herself. As the song wraps up, she leans back against the counter and cradles a drink in two hands, pulling it up to her face. She closes her eyes, her chest rising and falling with each deep breath she takes.

When the song ends, she opens her eyes and takes a sip, reaching for her phone and ending her morning meditation of punk rock and good coffee. The volume goes back down to normal, and her regular acoustic style of music comes over the speakers. After tying her short black apron around her waist, she wraps her hair up into a ponytail while she walks to unlock the front door fifteen minutes early.

Goddamn, the way she moves.The way she wears every emotion so transparently on her face. Stunning. I could watch her like this forever.

Scratching Betty behind her ear, I wake her up after she slept through Allie’s loud music morning routine. She rolls her heavy head into my hand. “Come on, babe. Let’s go.” She doesn’t move. “I need my coffee.” She still doesn’t move. “You want to go see Allie?” Betty pulls herself into standing and wags her tail. This dog is already obsessed with the girl next door.

When I open the door toTurbine, Betty looks up at me, transferring her weight between her feet and wagging her tail. “Okay.” I tell her, and she runs to the front counter. Allie comes around and squats down low to pet her.

“Morning, sweet girl!” Allie says. Her voice is bright, andher smile is electric. “You’re here early.”

“Some of my favorite things happen before the sun comes up,” I respond, even though she was talking to my dog.

“I agree with you.” She cocks her head to the side. “How unusual.”

I move over to stand next to Allie and Betty, who are practically cuddling on the floor.They’re adorable together.“I can’t think of one thing we’ve disagreed on.”

She scoffs, looking up at me. “Seriously? Nothing. Nothing at all?”

“Not one, sweetheart.”

She huffs and rolls her eyes before she stands up from petting Betty and crosses to the sink to wash her hands. She looks over at the currently brewing coffee and calls over her shoulder to me. “The coffee’s not ready yet. I’ll make you an Americano.”

Spending a few extra minutes here sounds better than going back to emails. I sit on the barstool closest to the register. “I’ll wait for the coffee to brew.”

She glares at me, or at least she tries. “The Americano’s better.”

“I know what I like.”

She eyes me from the espresso machine, brows raising and chin tipping up as she unhooks a metal piece with a thick black handle. “Have you ever had an Americano?”

“I haven’t.”

Her eyes widen, and she smiles briefly before she forces her face into something stern. “Well, you’re having one today.” We sit in silence while she makes me a drink I don’t want. She places it in front of me, lid to the side. “It’s super-hot, so give it a minute to cool off.”

We’re back to silence while I wait for the drink to cool andAllie starts on another, even though I’m the only one in here. The front door opens, and Allie’s face lights up at the sight of the dark-haired woman coming inside.

“Allie! My coffee angel!” The other woman yells.

Allie giggles and holds both of her hands over her head in the shape of a halo. “That’s me!” The contrast between Allie’s reaction to this woman and to me is striking, like she’s purposely holding her joy away from me. The other woman pays for the drink Allie just finished making and rushes back out the door.

After her friend leaves, Allie looks at me again and asks, “Have you tried it?”

“I was told it’s too hot.”

She rolls her eyes and snaps the lid from the counter onto my cup. “I didn’t realize I was going to have to babysit your coffee this morning. Hurry up.”

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