"The wind changed, the first day that you came through
Cut the corn, washed it clean
Now everything that's ever gone before, is like a blur
And it's all because of you."
…
Remember you used to imagine your perfect day in the future?
It would start out in the morning at the lab doing research, then going on rounds at the hospital.
And in the afternoon, teaching classes and interns.
Late afternoon you're at your clinic seeing patients.
Then late evening after dinner you're writing.
…
"Don't forget to restock the baguettes!" a gruff voice bellowed from the back.
She grimaced over the heat of the espresso machine, hands stained with dribbles of earth, milk, and bread crumbs. She dashed a hand through the raggedy towel on the cabinet handle, skimming the other down her faded gray apron, shaking her head at her naked wrists as she yelled a reply.
"Just a minute! I have a mini-backup on the latte train—"
"Niehaus!" it boomed once more, clearer, as she whirled around, her dreadlocks beginning to disturb in their bun. A heavy-set man with a lumberjack beard and a cowlick stepped out from the kitchen to add another tray of steaming pastries onto the counter before pointing a muscular tattoed arm towards her. "Just get it done."
She blinked for a second, her mouth hanging open in thought before she turned back to the waiting cups and calculated a simpler response. "Sure, Jack."
"Hurry up."
"Uhm." Syrup. Squirt. Her hands dancing in the air, masters of the steamed milk. "You got it, Jack."
Within seconds, a stylistic leaf emerged in white over the light brown foam. She smiled and set it on the pick-up counter, calling out a name.
She glanced back at the kitchen entrance and caught the edge of an approving smile on her boss's profile as he shuffled back in.
It had been 3 years, after all. She'd never failed Bean & Cream Roasters, and she wasn't about to now. Not when she was so close to having another perfect recommendation for her medical school application.
Sure, griming around behind the bar of some indie coffee shop was not as scientific as being behind a laboratory counter, and nowhere near what she'd imagine her perfect future to consist of, but she was good at it and the place felt like home. And she was one school year away from finally achieving the first steps toward that dream.
Cosima Niehaus, MD.
Or even PhD.
But she had begun to tap into Pulmonology research and books and meetings - anything she could get into. Ever since she'd lost her older sister to a genetic lung disease two years ago, she couldn't see herself as anything but becoming someone who would be able to help those afflicted with the same. She had always been interested in science all of her life anyway. It was a given.
Getting accepted into a prestigious medical school, however, was not. And on top of that, there was the University of Minnesota's graduation requirements. She couldn't afford any distractions this senior year.
She threw on a determined look and focused back on the coffee cups.
She was about to finish organizing her newly stocked baguettes when the cold September wind blew into the shop, making the leaf decorations quiver and flap. She furrowed her brows, hoping to direct the leaves to stay put with her stare. They had just put them up yesterday.
The gust kept on.
Irritated, she looked over the pastry display to see the wood-framed door being held open by a large, blocky man in a suit and a sour face.
Why was he holding it open for so damn long? Did he think he looked totes cool with those black sunglasses?
Totes not, she thought.
She was about to scold Mr. Suit when a tall girl with impeccably-styled blonde curls and the slightest hint of brown roots walked in; a dignified strut, a sleek leather handbag that screamed I-got-duped-into-paying-too-much-for-this-sack, pursed red lips, and pretty eyes to complete a pretty face.
As soon as the girl walked in, the man in the sunglasses closed the door and stood behind her, clasping his hands in front of him in silence.
The fuck…?
The girl's light eyes took a quick toll of the shop's interior before her lips managed a smug curve.
Cosima was not about to let Daddy's Girl block the entrance during the morning rush. She'd already had enough of her - what was he - man-nanny(?) who made her feel as if this little cafe was under surveillance from aliens. She'd grown up with enough bullies from Valley High who thought they were all Regina George reincarnated.
"Excuse me! Please don't block the door, you can order at the counter."
The blonde's eyes darted towards her with a fiery stare, as fiery as the colored earth could muster on that autumn morning. Cosima didn't back down and kept her gaze through black-rimmed eyeglasses.
Somehow, the blonde managed a gratified smile and slowly traipsed toward a leather couch by the window, suited nanny in tow.
"Weird," Angie whispered as she walked past Cosima, carrying fresh canisters of steamed milk.
"Totally," she replied, glancing over as the girl made herself comfortable on the couch, her (nicely) toned legs crossing at the ankles. "Like, who wears fucking heels like that in this weather?"
"I have no idea, but she's definitely not from around here," her fellow barista added. "New student perhaps?"
The man in the sunglasses remained standing but bent over to lend an ear as the blonde spoke.
Cosima shook her head as she closed the pastry display. "God, I hope not. She looks like a bitch who got on with daddy's money."
She felt a towel whip at her arm. "What?"
Angie lifted a brow. "Be nice!" Then a smirk.
Cosima sighed. "What?"
"Don't you think she's hot?"
"Shut up."
Angie chuckled. "So that's a yes."
She sighed and walked towards the register. "I don't have time for this."
She could hear Angie giggle as she turned to see the man in the sunglasses walk up to the counter. She eyed the table by the window to see the blonde poised in her seat, looking out quietly at the pedestrians.
"Bonjour. A medium hot café noisette with 2 shots of espresso, plus de sucre, s'il vous plait," announced a baritone voice.
She shook her head and looked up at the shades, his eyes non-visible. She blinked a couple of times and quirked her lip. "Uhh, sorry?"
He repeated the order with the same fluid pronunciation, accent and all.
"Café noisette?" she repeated.
"Oui."
"I'm sorry, but that's not on the menu. Is this for you?"
"Non."
She sighed as he walked backed towards the blonde by the window. "Figures," she muttered under her breath.
She rang up 3 customers before the man in the sunglasses returned. "So what does she want?"
He continued again in the same curt manner. "The mademoiselle would like a medium hot café noisette with 2 shots of espresso and extra sugar, please."
She raised her eyebrows. "That's… the same exact order, just in english."
"Oui."
She looked at the line of patrons behind him beginning to fidget in wait. She drew a breath.
"Look, sir, are you French?"
"Yes."
"Great, but monsieur, I'm sorry, this is America and we do not have café noisette here on our menu - at least not in this shop. So if you or your mademoiselle don't want any other coffee or a baguette, then you'll have to find another café."
"You have it," announced a smooth voice in a lovely accent.
Cosima glanced to the side and jerked at the sight of the blonde, who had apparently made her way in front of the pastry display. Still in shock at the nerve of her business, no words formed in her mouth. The blonde continued.
"Café noisette is just espresso with a dash of cream." The girl gazed at her, hazel eyes and the same proud smirk.
Cosima rang it up as the girl made her way to the register, opening her purse.
"Well you could've just said that," Cosima grumbled.
She'd had better days. Today was not one of them. She glanced at the clock on the wall. Thank God. One more hour until her shift finished, then she could hop across the street to campus and lecture, where she was happiest.
"Well, I was informed that this was the finest French café in Minneapolis," the girl continued. It was a good thing her voice was pleasant.
A little too pleasant. Cosima had always found French to be a fascinating language, but never had time to learn it amidst all of her science courses. She chuckled at bright eyes that met hers and accepted the credit card.
At a quick glance, it was black and had a look of class. She didn't know much about credit cards but she'd never seen one like it enough to conclude its exclusivity.
"Apparently not French enough," she shrugged, handing back the card. "Although, we do have the best café au lait in town."
"Hmm."
It was the only thing the girl with the pretty eyes said before sauntering back to her seat.
"Good going, Niehaus."
She threw a look at Angie. "What?"
A shrug. "I dunno… Let's just hope she doesn't write a bad review for French Weekly or have her bodyguards take us all hostage."
Cosima scowled. "It's one dude!"
"So?" Angie placed a hand at her hip and nodded towards the window table. "Look at her. For all we know, she could be a big business mogul's daughter - sent here to see the competition - or the French mafia's daughter —"
She laughed and shook her head. "Bean & Cream? The competition? What is she, some coffee connoisseur? She's no Paris Hilton, that's for sure."
They stole a glance at the blonde frenchwoman, silently sipping her coffee.
No, she's no Paris Hilton, Cosima thought. Paris Hilton isn't even French! This girl was… gentler. More refined. Lovely.
Her thoughts wandered before putting up the gates of self-preservation as the man in the sunglasses strode once more towards her.
"Yes?"
"The mademoiselle would like to please ask you to 'keep your eyes to yourself'."
Her mouth gaped. "What are you— I wasn't—"
Suddenly, the blonde appeared from behind him. How does she do that? For all Cosima knew, the girl was probably also a ninja.
Her eyes glared at Cosima unabashedly. Cosima could feel her cheeks blazing. A silky voice.
"It's fine, Frédéric. We were just leaving."
Frédéric the bodyguard-nanny minced his lip before turning towards the door. Cosima blinked rapidly back at the girl who spoke again.
"This was a.. how do you say? Terrible.. café noisette."
Cosima could've said sorry politely like a good employee would, but she was beyond pissed. The girl was arrogant and pretentious and frivolous and the prettiest girl she'd ever seen - but that didn't excuse her audacity at this point. The day had started out so well. And then this girl walks in, prancing about in her haughty manner. Who does she think she is? All Cosima wanted was to have at least 10 more minutes of peace before her shift ended. But no.
"Look, mademoiselle," she emphasized mockingly, "I told you we didn't have that on the menu but the best baristas in this side of the city still tried to make it for you. Maybe you went to the wrong coffee shop if you were looking for five star treatment. The sign outside says—"
"'Little coffee shop around the corner specializing in soy lattes and gluten-free baguettes', yes, I saw," she interrupted. Cosima fell silent. She had gone out of line and the girl knew it. The girl gave a small smile. "Maybe I should've tried those?"
Cosima looked down and snorted quietly. "Maybe."
"I'll take one."
She looked up to see the girl fiddling once more with her purse.
"Sorry?"
The girl flashed her a gorgeous smile. Perfectly aligned white teeth. "You're forgiven."
Cosima blinked and cocked her head. What in the hell? This girl.
"A baguette. To go, s'il vous plait," the girl continued.
Confused, she rang up the order half-mindedly. All she could fathom was that her pulse had begun speeding.
"What is your name?" the girl asked, almost song-like.
"Uhm… Cosima."
A flash of hazel in the late morning light. "Intéressant. Like Cosimo de' Medici but with an 'a'?"
She pushed back the swell in her throat as she dug out the dusty shelves of history lessons from the corners of her brain. Medici. She was terrible at history.
She breathed in the discomfort of not knowing the answer. She hated not being right. "Uhh, sure, yeah."
The girl paid once more with the black card and picked up her baguette. Without another word, she was gone.
Cosima looked up at the clock. 11:50 AM.
The girl had left her 10 minutes of peace. Cosima didn't even know her name.
"Well, you two got along quite well," Angie blurted, snapping her out of her mental daze.
She shook her head as she started rinsing the frothing cups. The crowd had dwindled down, the patrons heading out to their lunch spots. "God, she was…"
"A breath of fresh air?"
"Hell no. She was insane."
She wiped the counter clean. 5 minutes to go.
"You think she'll come back?" Angie pressed on, returning from a round of cleaning the tables.
"I hope not."
"Are you sure about that?"
She scrunched her face. "Totally. Why?"
"Because Paris Hilton just left you this at her table."
Angie handed her a coffee cup sleeve with a bill. From what she could see, it had the number 500.
She creased her brows and took the sleeve and its contents in her hand. On the side of brown recycled paper, in exquisite script, it read:
For the girl in the glasses with the locks in her hair and the sad smile. Cheer up.