The week passes by in a blur, and I find myself disgustingly eager for Saturday – the only day that the brother and sister are at the coffee shop, not counting holidays.

I pull myself out of bed and wish I didn't have to get up at 5:30.

Early this week, Dylan had asked me to cover his morning shift – and that included opening, which I hate. Mostly because I despise working the bookstore, which is sort of jointed to the café. Let's just say I was the first of the employees – in all ten years of the café's life – to start a life-size domino game with the bookshelves. What? I was only trying to re-shelve some… uh… high-up books. And there wasn't a ladder.

The café's a five-minute walk from my apartment – it's in a better part of town, and I feel mch safer there. I walk around to the back and unlock it, opening the squeaky door and cringing at the noise.

I flip on the lights, start the enormous coffee-maker, and check the bathrooms. After grinding another day's worth of beans, I walk over to the bookstore… grudgingly.


The place is a mess, and I'm still organizing things when 7 comes around. Sighing, I head back to the front counter and grab the keys. All lights? Check. Tables clean? Check. Tip container lid ajar? Check. Music? Check.

I unlock the doors and greet the trickle of Saturday-morning usuals – they're the people who come every weekend as though brought by an unknown force. I don't really understand them.

Grabbing the daily specials board, I consult our weekly deals book until I find some appropriate meals. I chalk down a few specials and set it outside, looking down the sidewalks and streets as I do.

I don't see Little Girl and Brother.

As I fix the usuals' usuals, (an overly fancy coffee I'd rather not go into details about, a green tea, and a few odd juices) a gnawing feeling starts to fill up the pit of my stomach, like a painful, dull hunger. It doesn't go away, and I slowly start to wonder if I should take some medication.

I decide against it and instead start shuffling around the coffee bags behind the counter until their labels are in spectrum order. It makes me feel… better, to see the colors ranging from red to black on the fading butchers' block counter. When I'm done with that, I check around the café and then move on to the drink station – restocking the straw-and-stirrers organizer and placing new cardboard sleeves in their bin. I even open a new package of lids and set those out.

Ugh, something's wrong with me. Usually, in this situation, I'd be slacking off. But right now, I've apparently got nothing more to do than be a neat freak.

Stuck in a café for ten hours.

With a fuckin' bad stomachache… that won't go away.


My stomachache resides at 10:30, right when Little Girl & Co make their way into the café.

Is it a coincidence? Or was I… anxiously waiting for their return?

No. It wasn't like that at all, I try to convince myself. No… I was just dreading their annoying appearance. That proves to be a better argument to myself, and I do my best to ignore them. That doesn't work for long, though, because the little girl – Angel – takes it upon herself to start whining about food. The food in the café's pastry display, to be exact.

"I wanna cupcake! Pleeeeeese Fag!"

"Angel," her brother groans.

"Miss Valerie di'nt let me have candy aw week. She's mean. Pleeeeeeease?"

"Hmm." The boy taps his chin. "Will you be quiet if I get you… a cupcake?"

"Cupcake!" The word sends her into a volley of squealing.

"Shh," he says, and she nods sincerely, zipping her mouth with her chubby pointer finger. The brother scrapes his chair back –

Ah, shit. I quickly look for a guise of productivity and select the coffee grinder. I snatch the cord and plug it into the wall, pouring a small amount of beans into. But I forget to put the lid on…

… fuck.

Someone clears their throat from behind me just as the coffee beans go flying. Cursing, I unplug the godawful machine and try to compose myself. There's a loud clattering as the beans hit the floor around me.

Wonderful, just wonderful.

"Hello," I say, turning around and trying to hide my embarrassment.

"I'd like a pastry?" His voice is an amused sort of question.

"Two dollars," I say, taking his money. "For here or to go?"

"For here," he answers. He picks one out.

"Double chocolate chip cupcake," I say. "My favorite."

I put it on a plate; he looks up and we make eye contact for the first time.

His eyes are hidden behind wild black hair that puts manga boys to shame; and most of that is hidden by a hat – but I can tell that they're pure black; no division between the pupil and the iris.

I feel something in the air when our eyes connect.

I blink; breaking the connection. He smiles. Reaches over and takes something from my hair - which is in a ratsnest. I suddenly feel self-conscious as he extracts the object from my tangles.

"Coffee bean," he says with a small smile. He sets it on the counter.

And then he leaves to go back to his sister.

I stare at the coffee bean for a second, as if in a trance. How'd it get in my hair?

Oh. Right. The coffee grinder.

Shaking myself slightly, I pick up the bean and throw it into the garbage.


Sorry about the filler. The academy part of the book will pick up in the next chapter!