We were fairly busy between eleven pm and two am, but things had quickly quietened down since then as they always did.
“Do you think they’re still here?” Tia asked, absentmindedly scrolling through Instagram on her phone.
“Who?” I asked, not glancing up from where I was wiping down the counter from where I had spilt some milk earlier. Thankfully it wasn’t a lot or the saying of not crying over spilt milk would have been very applicable in this situation.
“The mafia,” she deadpanned, as if she couldn’t believe that I was asking such a dense question.
In my defence, it had gotten surprisingly busy the past couple of hours and we hadn’t spoken of the supposed mafia man anymore. How was I supposed to know that she was still thinking about him and whatever sting operation they were on?
“I got here at ten and it’s now two.”
“What are you saying?” she asked, narrowing her eyes at me, no doubt able to sense the direction that I was trying to rear the conversation toward.
“It’s been four hours.”
“And?” Tia sent me a pointed look, no doubt thinking that this was yet another thing I didn’t believe her about. Again, in my defence, Tia loved conspiracy theories and frankly, I was too busy drinking vodka and studying to listen to all the crazy stories she had to talk about. I mean, that’s what she has Ethan for, right?
“Let’s say even if the mafia were here,” I paused to chuckle when she narrowed her eyes at me in warning. “What I mean to say is that I doubt they’d be waiting around for four hours at the airport when there’s so many other things they could be doing.”
“You have got a point there,” she sighed and pursed his lips, a defeated look on her face. “Okay, maybe he wasn’t part of the mafia, but it sure sounded like he was.”
“I bet he wasn’t airport security though,” I grinned, sending her a pointed look. “Maybe he was a spy or something?” I suggested, more than happy to give her a new conspiracy theory for her mind to play with.
What could I say? When it came to Tia, I was more of an enabler than I probably should be. But then she was the same with me, especially when we were tipsy.
I was certain that if we were both drunk enough and somehow found ourselves near a cliff, if one of us said jump, the other would ask how high before proceeding to go through with it. It wasn’t something to be proud of. Just facts.
Tia and I got along very well, and she was probably the closest friend I had, but we weren’t the most practical or sensible sort of duo. What we were, however, was bloody hilarious!
Ethan dropped by a little before three am to pick up Tia, leaving me alone for the next three hours or so until the next co-worker dropped by for their morning shift which also indicated the end of my night shift.
When I first started out here in my freshman year, the hours between three am and six am when I would be working alone on the night shift used to terrify me. I would sit on my stool for ages, just watching the door, praying for someone to walk in and order a drink so I wouldn’t have to be alone. But the moment they did walk in, I would fear that they were axe murderers and here to kill me.
Most of the time, those irrational fears were from Tia and her crazy conspiracy theories.
It appeared that the bulk of the late orders had taken please earlier when Tia was still here as right now, I was only serving one drink an hour. I used the other fifty-five minutes that remained of the hour to get ahead on my reading for the week. I was already caught up on all my assignment and once I was done with my reading, I planned to pull out my laptop and put on a movie until my shift ended.
A little past four, my one customer of the hour walked through the doors carrying a large duffel bag and a mousey, almost afraid expression on her face. Her eyes immediately scanned the store until they settled on me.
It was almost like she released a sigh of relief to see that I was the only one in the coffee shop. If that didn’t scream red flags, I didn’t know what else would.
“Hi, welcome to Starbucks,” I smiled at the woman, though it wasn’t as high and free around the corners as it usually was. “What can I get for you this morning?”
Now that she was standing closer, I could easily recognise that this woman was too afraid to be dangerous. Her gaze was fleeting, and she kept glancing through the side, watching absolutely no one walk past. Her breathing was a little too laboured to be normal and she didn’t seem to hear me the first time, so I had to repeat myself.
“Can I get you a hot drink?” I asked, the same smile on my face, but more relaxed than before. It was also a tad bit more wary than before as well.
“Yes,” the woman immediately nodded. “No,” she changed her mind. “I’d like both,” she chuckled nervous. “Can I please get two shots of espresso…and a Grande dragon fruit refresher.”
“Sure,” I said, ringing her up, pen poised and already scribbling on the cups. “Can I get your name for the drinks?”
“Natal–” the woman was quick to catch herself, chuckling nervously some more. “Nat is fine.”
I smiled and scribbled it on the cup.
“That’ll be $10.25. Will you be paying cash or card?” I asked.
“Cash,” she said and thrust a twenty-dollar bill into my hands. I rung her up but she grabbed her duffel bag and moved to the other end of the counter, waiting at the drink collection area before I could give her the change. “Wait,” I called after her. “You forgot your change.”
“Keep it. Your tip.”
I smiled warmly and dropped the loose change in the tip jar. It wasn’t often that I was tipped more than a dollar or two for my drinks, sometimes five dollars if they’re wearing a fancy suit, but I wasn’t as happy about it as I usually was.
Perhaps it was because this woman looked so distraught. Distraught and on edge. As if she couldn’t wait to get out of here.
While her choice of drinks wasn’t strange, especially if she had an early morning flight, which she probably did since she was at the airport at this time of hour, her behaviour certainly was. Her clothes were, too. The matching hoodie and sweats were standard, but the dark cap pulled low, and the hood pulled up over her head was strange. And judging by the ankle boots that she was wearing, I couldn’t help but think that this wasn’t her go to outfit choice.
The dragon fruit refresher would take the longest so I started on that while I left the espresso shots to dispense.
“Where are you going?” I asked casually as I sometimes did with customers to pass the time. However, I had to admit that my motives were not nearly as innocent this time.
There was something wrong with this woman, and I couldn’t help but wonder what it was.
“Italy,” the word rolled off her tongue immediately.
“You’re awfully early then,” I smiled, but it didn’t quite reach my eyes.
“What do you mean?” she frowned.
“The next flight to Italy is at eleven,” I told her, and when her eyes widened in panic, I knew that I had caught her out in the lie. She wasn’t going to Italy. “And it’s just turned past four right now. You’ve got a good seven hours on your hands.”
Her lips parted in shock and for a moment, she looked stumped.
“I always like to get to the airport early to make sure I don’t miss my flight,” she cleared her throat awkwardly, dropping my gaze. “And I’m from out of town so wanted to have plenty of time on my hands in case I got stuck in traffic or something.”
I hummed and nodded as I worked on finishing her drinks. It didn’t take long. Just a few more minutes and I placed them on the counter for her to collect.
“I know you’re not going to Italy,” I murmured as she stepped forward to collect her drinks.
“You don’t know anything.”
“Maybe not,” I shrugged and offered her a small, friendly smile. “But I can tell that you’re running from something.”
“How can you possibly know that?” she asked in a small whisper.
“Because I’m a runner, too,” I admitted. “When things get tough, my first instinct is to run away. I’ve gotten better at suppressing it over the years, but it caused some real problems when I was younger.”
“I have a good reason for running.”
“I did, too,” I nodded. “I’m not saying that running is bad, or that you’re doing the wrong thing. I’m just saying that I know what it feels like.”
“Things are tough at home right now with my fiancé and it’s just best if I get away for a little while,” her bottom lip trembled and for a brief moment – a very brief one – I contemplated reaching across the counter and pulling her into a hug. She sure looked like she could do with one.
“I’m sorry things are tough,” I murmured, my tone gentle. “I hope things get better for you soon and have a good time in Italy. You sound like you need it.”
“I do, thank you,” she smiled – a genuine smile and not one of those timid, fearful ones she had been giving me since she walked in past the doors – before saying goodbye and moving to leave.
I watched as she walked out of the shop. The woman – Nat or Natalie? – played on my mind for a while but alas, there was nothing that I could do to help her. I was glad that she was strong enough to get herself out of the situation, especially since it seemed to be so bad that she felt the need to flee the country for however long.
When the doors pushed open for the second time within the same hour, my eyebrows shot up in surprise. I abandoned my journalism textbook and moved to stand behind the counter in wait of them.
The moment I caught sight of him, all six-foot four of utter deliciousness that he was, my breath hitched in my throat.
I had never seen a man more handsome or sinfully sexy before.
-
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Layla Knight
21.01.2022
