"I've got one French-pressed light roast for . . . Crutchie?"
A young man rose to his feet, a single crutch underneath his arm and a loose-fitting jacket wrapped tightly around him. "That's me," he said, walking over to the counter and taking the outstretched cup of hot coffee extended towards him. He gave the barista a warm smile before turning to return to his seat.
"Have a good day," the barista called after him, a shock of messy brown hair on his head and a handsome grin playing across his face. He watched the young man take his seat, noting that he couldn't be much younger than himself, perhaps eighteen? His eyes didn't linger for long, his attention returning to his work and preparing the next cup of coffee for whatever waiting customer had ordered it.
Crutchie returned to his seat by the side door, leading out to a courtyard with more seating for the eatery portion of Jacobi's Coffee and Eatery. It was a small red leather couch where he sat, and it wasn't the most comfortable thing, but Crutchie found that he quite liked it there. Perhaps it was the view he got of the entire shop (or at least the portions that were visible, which was most except for the eatery portion of the building), or perhaps it was the closeness to the counter and easy access to grabbing his drink. Whatever the reason, Crutchie relished his spot, and settled in to get started on his work.
It was his first time entering Jacobi's, and Crutchie already felt at home. There was soft music playing in the background, and the smell of good food and good coffee in the air. The size of the shop was fairly large in comparison to some cafes he had been to, but that was probably due to the fact that this shop doubled as a restaurant. And the best part of all was that it didn't feel crowded, even though business was booming.
Crutchie took a sip of his coffee; it was still hot but the flavor was good. Setting down his cup, Crutchie picked up his bag and began pulling out his laptop and textbooks. Midterms were just around the corner and he needed to be prepared for when they came.
It didn't take long for Crutchie to fall into a routine. Read a few lines, take a sip of coffee, type out some notes, and repeat. The white noise of people and coffee machines drifted through him, creating a relaxing atmosphere. It was a good day, an excellent day, actually. Nothing could go wrong, and nothing would.
By the time he finished his coffee, it was cold and Crutchie had gone through three chapters of his textbook, taking notes all the while. It was good progress, but more still needed to be done.
Setting his books aside, Crutchie got up and returned to the counter.
"One French-pressed coffee please, light roast," he ordered, pulling out his wallet.
"Uh, didn't you order one like two hours ago?" asked the barista, a young man barely older than Crutchie himself, with curly blond hair and a thick New York accent.
"Race, you can't question the customers like that," the other barista with the handsome smile hissed, a look of exasperation on his face.
"It's alright," Crutchie assured him. "I gotta huge test coming up so I need the energy for studying."
"It's your funeral, kid," the barista, Race, chuckled. "That'll be $4.25. You want some sugar with that?"
"Yes, four packets please," Crutchie said, handing over the cash to the barista's outstretched hand.
"Coming right up," he said, giving Crutchie his change.
"What's this test on?" the other barista asked, grabbing the coffee and beginning to prepare Crutchie's drink.
"Biology," Crutchie answered. "So, I'm basically screwed."
"Oh man, I remember taking that class freshman year," the barista said, pouring the hot water into the French press. "What school you go to, kid?"
"NYU," Crutchie answered.
"Hey, what do you know, so do I," said the barista.
"Huh, small world," Crutchie laughed. "What do you study there?"
"Eh, nothing important," the barista answered. "What about you?"
"Eh, nothing important," Crutchie replied, mimicking the barista's answer.
"Fair deal," the barista said.
"Well, good talking to you," Crutchie responded, feeling a bit awkward for having stood in line for so long, relieved that no one had come up behind him to order.
"The name's Jack," the barista introduced. "Your name was . . . Crutchie, right?"
"That's it," Crutchie replied, smiling a little to himself, surprised that the barista had remembered.
"Good talk," Jack said, and went back to focusing on Crutchie's drink order.
Two hours passed and Crutchie was gone from the shop. Things were quiet, as the place was fairly empty now. It was the calm before the five o'clock rush hour. Jack yawned, debating on making himself a quick Americano before things picked up again, when Race turned to him.
"You were awfully chatty earlier," he noted.
"So?" Jack asked, not seeing his point.
"So, what's got your lips loose?" Race asked, raising an eyebrow.
"Kid seemed like he could use a friendly conversation, that's all," Jack answered simply, deciding to make that drink for himself and preparing a shot of espresso.
"Sure that was all it was?" Race asked, a mischievous look on his face.
"I'm sure," Jack retorted, downing the hot drink in one gulp.
Race shuddered. "That's coming out of your pay," he informed him.
"What the manager doesn't know won't hurt her," Jack responded.
"What don't I know?" a voice came from behind him.
Jack nearly tripped when he heard her voice. "Oh, hello Katherine," he said quickly, hiding the glass behind his back.
"That's miss Katherine to you, and I see that glass you're hiding," the manager responded, giving Jack a sharp look. "Are you sneaking drinks again?"
"Me? Sneaking drinks? Of course not," Jack said casually, trying to laugh it off, but there was a hint of nervousness in his voice.
"I'm docking you $3.75 for that," Katherine informed him.
Jack sighed. "Yes, miss Katherine," he said, a bit mockingly.
"It's almost five, so quit chit-chatting and get ready for the rush," Katherine added, turning on her heel to head back to the office. "Come get me if it gets too hectic for the two of you," she called behind her.
"Yes, miss," the two answered in unison.
"Man, she's a real piece of work," Race said as soon as Katherine had returned to the office.
"She's alright when she's not in work mode," Jack said, shrugging.
"Yeah, well that's all I ever see of her, so I ain't got much to go on, now do I?" Race pointed out.
"You should come get coffee with us sometime," Jack said. "You know we sometimes hit up the Starbucks down the street when we'se off."
"I think I have enough coffee and Katherine in my life," Race answered, grimacing.
"Suit yourself," Jack said. "But don't say I ain't never try to be nice to ya."
"Yeah, yeah."
They drifted back into silence, but Jack couldn't stop thinking about what Race had said earlier. Was he being chatty with that customer? He hadn't meant to, but it just came out. Jack shook his head. No, it was nothing, nothing at all. He was being friendly, and at that moment he had more important things to worry about.
The rest of his shift dragged on, cup after cup being poured, heated, foamed, and pressed. It wasn't a bad job, but a very monotonous one. He liked the atmosphere, and his coworkers were all decent people, but he couldn't help but think there was something more he could be doing with his life. Sure, he was working through school to get a degree, but would that change things? Would he still be working this same, boring job after he graduated, without any hope for change? These thoughts often plagued him while he worked, and it was a blessing when he finally got off.
Clocking out, Jack pulled on his coat and headed out the door, waving goodbye to Race as he left.
On his walk back home, Jack's thoughts returned to the customer from earlier. They went to the same school, but he had never seen this person before. It wasn't a small school, so that fact wasn't surprising, but Jack couldn't help but feel a twinge of sadness about it. He found himself oddly intrigued by the kid. Perhaps it was the copious amounts of high-caffeine levels of coffee he drank in such a short time period? Perhaps it was the diligence he noticed the kid demonstrate in studying for those three hours he was in the shop? Perhaps it was the singular crutch held underneath his arm, used with such familiarity it was no doubt he had been acquainted with the tool for some time. Or perhaps it was the strange name he had clearly given himself, for whatever reason?
Jack shook his head, clearing his thoughts. He was nearly home, and had more important things to occupy his mind with than an intriguing customer at work.
However, a small part of him hoped that this customer in particular would return, and hopefully soon.
Jack sighed. He was home. Stepping through the door, he braced himself for what awaited inside.