The Espressologist (7 page)

“Do you need to use the bathroom?” he inquires with concern.

“No.” Great. Now he thinks I have diarrhea or something. Melissa saunters right on over to us.

“Jane!” she sings, like she and I are the nearest and dearest. “How are you? I'll have a small nonfat latte.”

“I'm not working, Melissa,” I say through gritted teeth.

“Oh, you are so cute, Jane. Isn't she so cute?” she asks, turning to Cam. “Okay then, I'll have that latte.”

“Seriously . . . not working,” I repeat.

“What do you mean you're not working?” Melissa asks. Is she kidding? Usually being confronted with Melissa Stillwell
turns me into a meek little kitten, but I'm not feeling so meek today. She's totally embarrassing me in front of Cam.

“Take the literal translation,” I say. “I'm not working . . . not making drinks . . . can't help you out.
No estoy trabajando.
Go up to the register and place your order there.” Wow, that felt good. Though saying it in Spanish was probably a bit much, and I might get a little sarcasm backlash.

“Oh! I'm sorry,” she says. “Are you on a date? Are you one of Jane's relatives?” she asks Cam.

“What?” Cam turns to me with a puzzled look. I feel my face flush red. Oh, my god, I'm going to hurt this girl one of these days. I look down at my notebook and pray for her to just go away.

“Next,” Em bellows out, registering the situation. “What do you want, Melissa? I'll take your order.” Em to the rescue again. Melissa looks reluctant to go, especially right in the middle of a dig at me. She glances at her watch.

“Well, I do have to hurry. I AM meeting a date soon. No relation,” she adds, looking pointedly at me. She walks toward Em, sashaying her hips all the way (which I'm sure is for Cam's benefit), and places her order. If evil glares could do damage, she would be hurting right now.

“What was that all about?” Cam asks with a stunned expression. I take a deep breath and hope that my face is returning to a normal color.

“Just a nasty girl who went to my school last year,” I explain.

“She seems like a real witch,” he says.

“Oh . . . she definitely is.” We both watch Melissa take her drink and then walk back toward the front door.

“Later, Jane!” she calls on her way out, but I don't respond.

“Definitely not a nice girl,” Cam says.

“Uh-uh. She made it her mission to torture me junior year. She graduated and I thought that was that, but no, she recently rediscovered me here.”

“Why don't you just punch her in the face?” he asks.

“Punch her in the face?” I repeat. “I don't know. That is so boy. Besides, I've never really punched anyone. I don't think I would be very good at it.”

His face breaks into a grin. “I'm kidding, Jane.”

“Oh.” I nod.

“Seriously, have you tried talking to her?”

Talk to Melissa? The words
pointless
and
aggravating
spring to mind. “No,” I say. “It's no use. She's like this every time I see her.”

“Well,” he says, “maybe try to get her one-on-one. You can't just let her keep making fun of you like that.”

I sigh and begin to explain to him my problem with girls like her and how I've always turned from confident and assured to a weak doormat in about three seconds flat.

Cam scribbles in his notebook.

“That was off the record. Don't put that in your paper.”

“We'll see,” he teases.

“You better not,” I say, slapping him playfully on the
shoulder. And a muscular shoulder at that. We're both laughing and I'm suddenly struck with a bit of genius. Cam is so much fun. I wonder if he'd be a good match for Em? Maybe not a forever-and-ever love connection, but they'd have a good time for now. Though that whole toffee nut latte thing kind of throws me for a loop. But then again, isn't there a super-yummy European nutty chocolate spread? So a toffee nut latte might go with a coffee hot chocolate. Maybe.

“Earth to Jane.”

“Huh?” I say, coming out of my thoughts and looking at him.

“What are you thinking about?” Cam asks. “You just went away there for a moment.”

Ah, what the heck. There's no time to check my notebook. I'll just have to go with a gut feeling on this one.

“I was thinking about you and my friend Em. I was thinking maybe you should take her out sometime. You guys would be really cute together.” A flicker of something comes over his face. Is that pain? No—what could be painful about taking a cute girl out? Is he hurt? Did I say something wrong?

“You”—he stumbles a bit—“want me to take out your friend?”

“Yeah. Em is awesome. She's so sweet and fun to be around. You'll love her.”

Cam looks down at his hands for a moment and bites his bottom lip. He lifts his head back up and meets my eyes.

“Okay. If you want me to, I'll take her out,” he says in a monotone voice. Geez, I would think he could muster some enthusiasm. I hope he is more fun on their date.

“Great. I'll set it up.”

I give Em's information to Cam. He tosses his notebook into his forest-green backpack and says he'll see me in class. I gather my stuff and head back up to the counter to chat with Em while she makes drinks.

“So,” I say, reaching past the service table and grabbing a large straw to play with.

“So, what?” Em echoes, checking the temperature on the pitcher of frothed milk.

“What do you think of the war in the Middle East? Duh, Em, what do you think I mean? What do you think of my friend Cam? I totally saw you checking him out. Don't even try to lie.”

“What?” She blushes. “I wasn't checking anybody out.”

“Yeah . . . okay . . . whatever,” I say. “Do you want to go on a date with that guy you weren't checking out?”

Em slams the frothing pitcher on the table, spilling some, and looks at me with her eyebrows shot up.

“What did you bloody hell do?” she hisses at me, narrowing her eyes.

“Hey, calm down.” I grab a handful of napkins and stretch
over the counter to clean up the spilled milk. “Cam is great. It would be a fun thing, casual, just for laughs. Nothing serious at all, I swear.”

“No, Jane. I told you I wasn't ready.”

“Well, I'm not asking you to pick out china patterns with the guy. Just go on one date,” I say.

“I . . . I can't,” she says. “I haven't dated anyone besides Jason in years.”

“Exactly! That is why Cam is the perfect choice for a first post-Jason date. Seriously, Em, he'll have you laughing all night.” I can see Em soften and consider the idea.

“I don't know. I don't know if I'm ready.”

“Well, just chat with him online first. I gave him your IM screen name and your e-mail address,” I say.

“What?! I never really had a choice in the matter, did I?” she asks.

“Not really, but if a long-term boyfriend ever breaks up with me, I'll expect you to return the favor.”

“Well,” she says, wiping the sides of the milk pitcher with a wet towel, “he is pretty cute.”

I grin. “That he is.”

On Wednesday, I've
only been working for about an hour and Sarah and I are doing a quick cleaning. There was a mom in here when my shift began who let her one-year-old tear the place apart. He was bowling with an apple and the yogurt smoothie containers from the refrigerator case and building a pyramid with pound packages of coffee. She sat there the entire time looking adoringly at him and I was wondering just how big of a mess he was going to leave me to clean before the next rush of customers. I reached my breaking point when he pulled down all of the coffee travel mugs and walked around the store passing them out. As I was about to finally say something to his mom, she swooped him up, blew raspberries into his neck, and left the store, not even giving a backward glance at the wreck her toddler tornado had left.

I am putting the mugs away when I suddenly feel a presence
behind me. I glance over my shoulder. It's a slightly pleased Derek. His right hand is poised in midair, but then he quickly pulls it down to his side. I think he was going to pat me on the back.

“Hey,” I say. “How's it going, Derek?”

“Good. These are good.” He waves a paper in his left hand at me. It's my list of “Manager's Specialty Drinks” for the month of December.

“Thanks.”

“Keep it up.” He nods at me awkwardly and then walks quickly toward his office. I step behind the counter to wait on the next customer. Sarah joins me.

“Was that Derek . . . being nice?”

“Yeah. Looks weird on him, doesn't it?”

“Totally.” She giggles. “Hey, I didn't thank you for setting me up with Officer Scrumptious.”

“What happened?” I ask excitedly. “Did he call you? Did you go out?”

“Yes and yes,” Sarah answers. “He's so awesome. He called me the next day and we met for drinks. We hit it off right away so afterward we decided to go dancing. He is
such
a good dancer. The way he moves his body. Omigod.”

“That good, huh?”

“Mmm-hmm.” She has a dreamy look on her face.

“Well, I'm two for two now. First Gavin and Simone, and then you and Officer Jake. I'm setting up my friend Cam with Em now.”

“You're becoming the local matchmaker,” she says.

“Yeah. I guess I kind of am.” Just then the door opens and in walk my frat boys. “Oh my gosh, is it after five already?”

Sarah nods. “Yeah, it's five-twenty.”

Ugh. No time to fix my hair or check my makeup. I turn my head and try to subtly sniff my shirt. Did I put on my wildflower body spray this morning? Can't remember. I squirt a tiny bit of vanilla syrup into my palm and dab a bit behind each ear. Yeah, it seems a little gross, and quite frankly sticky, but it is here and fast, and, well, now I smell delicious. I quickly pinch my cheeks to give them some color. I don't actually think it will make me look any better, but my grandma always told me, “Give your cheeks a little pinch whenever you are about to talk to a cute boy.” And Will is as cute as they come, so I pinch away.

“Are you okay?” Will asks, and I quickly take my hands away from my face.

What, did he fly across the store to the counter? “Sure!” I say, grinning ear to ear. “How are you doing today?”

He frowns slightly. “I could be a lot better. I overslept and missed my math class. Then I failed my history quiz. Not good.”

“I'm so sorry,” I say. “At least Thanksgiving is tomorrow and you'll get a break.”

Will nods. “That's true. What about you? Any special plans for tomorrow, Jane?”

“Just the normal family thing,” I say. “My mom always hosts Thanksgiving.”

“That's sweet,” he says with a warm tone in his voice. “We're not really doing the whole Thanksgiving thing.”

“Why not?”

“We all”—he points to himself and his friends—“got roped into some fraternity duties this weekend and can't go home. We're going to get together with a group of friends and just watch football games and order pizzas.”

“That sounds like fun!” I say. And I seriously mean it. I would so rather be sitting at Will's frat house eating pizza tomorrow instead of sitting next to my sloppy uncle Ed, who somehow manages to spill gravy on my shirt at every holiday meal.

“You're more than welcome to join us,” Will offers.

“Seriously?” I ask a little too eagerly.

“Yeah,” he says, and laughs.

Now I look like an idiot again. I really need to calm down. But this is almost a date!

“Well, here,” I say, shoving a piece of paper and pen at him, “write down your info and I'll call you if I can get out of my family thing.”

Will jots down a phone number and passes the paper to me. I fold it up and slip it into my pocket.

The boys take their drinks and head for the door. Will pauses and turns back around. “Maybe we'll see you tomorrow.”

“Maybe,” I say.

“Niiiiice,” Sarah says.

“I know, right?”