Two

The next morning, Denise and three other customers sat in the café as Elliot hunted in the back kitchen for a pie to set out. The young couple from the day before sat once again on the patio, sipping and talking, when the bell clanged. Elliot ran a hand through her hair, brushed off her apron, and went to the front counter. The woman who had come in the day before stood in the center of the shop, hands on her hips as she looked around.

"Can I help you?" Elliot asked, popping open the register.

"Yes," the woman's head snapped around, her eyes locking on Elliot. "I would like a…" she withdrew a slip of paper from her suite pocket. "A cup of milk foam."

Elliot blinked. "A cup of foam?"

"Milk foam," the woman corrected, tucking away the paper.

"Um…we have a lot of really great mochas," Elliot said. "Are you sure?"

Glancing over her shoulder to the glass window, the woman nodded.

"You're the boss," Elliot said, snatching up a cup and moving to the machine.

She pulled the tap and waited as milk foam blurged up the sides of the wax-lined cardboard. Then, she saw it. Wrinkling her brow, Elliot removed a small business card from the top of the steamer.

Le Petit Café

Where all of your French Coffee fantasies come true

3477 Maple Avenue

663-9972

Manger:

Clark Haven

"What the he—" Elliot's curse was cut short as the funnel of the tap groaned.

She screamed as the tap burst, white, creamy lava spewing across the café. Elliot clutched the cup and shoved it against the broken steamer, foam squirting from around the edges as she tried to contain the tsunami. The woman who had requested the Nothing-But-Foam drink ducked behind the bar, balancing in her pumps as Denise scrambled to help Elliot. Denise leaped over the counter just as the base of the cup exploded, shooting away from the sides. It smacked against her forehead, soggy with foam, and slid down the side of her face. Elliot dropped the cup and moved to help Denise, only to slip and fall in the white froth that layered the floor behind the counter.

"Unplug it!" Denise shrieked, a glop of foam splashing against one eye. "UNPLUG IT!"

Ding. The teenage boy from outside bolted through the door, his girlfriend left to gawk in the entryway. He slid through a puddle of white and ducked under the gate, slamming into the counter beyond and ripping the steamer's cord from the outlet in the wall.

There was a loud gurgle, a spa-lurp, and then the machine died, a few teardrops of foam plopping to the ground before the café went quiet. Elliot sighed through her nose, which was clotted with milk foam, and picked up the melted together, sog-mesh that had once been a cup. The woman behind the bar peeked up, her hands lathered, but otherwise unharmed.

"Here's your freaking foam," Elliot snapped, sliding the glop of cardboard across the countertop; clearing a path through the bubble-like substance.

The woman bit her lip, looked down at the mess, and quickly vacated the area. Denise swore and flapped her arms, foam smacking to the ground as she shook it off. Elliot glared as the woman disappeared, wiping froth from her light brown hair and letting it drop to the floor with a thwuck.

Elliot rubbed her eyes with the thick of her palm and surveyed the damage. Two chairs were turned over, covered in marshmallow-y white; the windows were covered in foam suds, and the floor was caked up to the remaining four's ankles. The boy who had pulled the plug stood beside Elliot, the cord dangling from his fist. His girlfriend slowly picked her way through the mess and wrapped her arms around his waist.

"Thanks," Elliot breathed, wiping her hand on her already soaked apron. "If you ever come back, you can have a free coffee."

"Okay," the boy nodded, holding out the cord. Elliot took it and he bit his lip. "We're um…we're going to go."

The young café owner dipped her head and pressed her hand against her temple, trying to calm her pounding head. As the couple slipped away into the autumn day, Elliot knew those were two customers she would never be getting back. Or maybe they would, if they ran out of coffee money.

"Denise?"

Her head perked up. "Yeah, El?"

"Can you, uh," Elliot closed her eyes. "Can you get me a mop or something, from the back kitchen?"

Denise nodded. "Sure, El. Whatever you need."

"Thank you."

Elliot watched Denise disappear through the door and found a clean towel to wipe her hands on before sloshing her way to the center of the café, barely able to believe the mess her bother had created. She went to one of the windows and swiped one sleeve through the foam, smearing it more than actually cleaning. But still, there was just enough cleared away that she could see the figure standing on the curb, one hand shoved leisurely into his pocket.

"Saboteur," Elliot muttered, her teeth clenching.

Clark stood on the sidewalk, staring at her through the window, while steam curled from the Le Petit Café cup in his hand. Meeting her gaze, Clark raised the cup to his lips and sipped, the corners of his mouth tugged up into a wicked grin.

And then, he froze, his eyes widening at something over Elliot's shoulder. He took a step back, but not all the steps in the world could save him from the fury of Denise. Elliot didn't even turn as her friend exploded out into the street, a mop waving wildly above her head.

"You think you're so clever, don't you?" Denise shrieked, her face red as she barreled towards Clark—all five feet of her.

A lesson to be learned: There is no fury like a short woman's scorn.

The young man looked from side to side, tossed his cup into the gutter, and ran.

"Come back here and fight like a man! Yeah, you'd better run," Denise warned, moving surprisingly fast in her heels.

Elliot watched, blowing a piece of foam-coated hair from her eyes, as her best customer lunged for her brother, mop at the ready. Clark yelped, but to Elliot, the sound was lost to be only a comical, silent scream that widened his mouth to the point where she would have been able to fill it was a grapefruit. Denise swung, Clark ducked, and then scrambled for his store.

The door jingled and Elliot turned to find Garrett standing just inside the door, his eyes scanning the massacred shop.

"Holy crap."

Elliot sighed. "You're late."

"Yeah, but Elliot this is—"

"Do you want me to fire you?"

Garrett's mouth snapped shut and he moved aside as Denise returned, her eyes narrowed so that a pair of crows feet crinkled the edges. She puffed out a breath of air and held out the mop, which Elliot took.

"That's one man that won't be having kids anytime soon," Denise announced.

Elliot groaned. "So now I'm never going to be an aunt either? Great, Dee. Great."

"You could get him back," Garrett said. "Worse."

"Right," Elliot smirked, stabbing the mop to the floor and swishing it through a glop of foam.

"I'll get a bucket of water," Denise offered, and scuttled off.

Garrett took the mop from Elliot and held it away as she tried to grab it back. "You really can. Toilet paper the place or something."

"Been there done that," Elliot mumbled, taking another swipe for the mop. "We have been at this for over a year and it's just…ugh. This went too far. Do you know how long it'll take for me to clean this up? And the money involved?"

"Just…" Garrett jabbed her ribs with the handle. "Let me figure it out, okay? What time does he close up?"

Elliot shook her head, wiping her forehead. "I don't know, eight-thirty? Nine? Just give me the mop!" She yanked it away and stabbed the floor again.

"So we're open later than he is?"

"Yes, Garrett, we're opened later."

Garrett grinned. "Not tonight. I'll be back, okay? Give me ten minutes."

"Garrett," Elliot flicked a piece of hair from her face. "Garrett? Garrett!"

But the boy was already halfway out the door, his footprints lingering in the white film that covered the tiles like a plaster mold. Elliot sighed through her nose and accepted the bucket of water Denise brought her. Then, together, they set to work.