Taking on the early shift at the cafe is always a gamble, especially a week before school starts. With everyone returning to campus, it’s hit or miss how busy five-to-nine mornings will be.
Thankfully—for my slight headache and the pinch of anxiety at the top of my spine—this morning is a slow one. I had a few regulars, the summer crowd of town locals that will make themselves scarce again once the semester fills the warm brown paneled walls with drowsy students as the morning hotspot.
Since it’s hitting half past ten now, I start another roast of the new, but popular, Ethiopian blend, dumping one of the bags into the grinder while I have an empty moment at the register.
“Here,” Luis, our main—and really, only—chef, calls from the slot of the kitchen window. He sets a plate of crunchy avocado toast with two poached eggs and extra chili flakes, a drizzle of honey in the shape of a heart that I know will be spicy when it hits my tongue. As if on cue, my stomach growls and I offer him a big smile.
“Thank you,” I say as emphatically as I can, because I’m starving to the point I’m almost dizzy. My hair is a mess of semi-straight tangles and I’ve lost my trusty wrist elastic, so I can only tuck both sides behind my ears and hike my shoulders up to keep my hair from interrupting my meal.
He smirks and leans on his forearms through the window while I sit on the countertop to easily balance my plate in my lap and eat, while still having a view of the entire cafe.
George, a local writer, sips his coffee that I know has gone cold by now, while a trio— parents and a freshman girl—enjoy a full spread because the mom was too excited about moving her daughter into her alma mater not to order everything on the menu to sample. Only one table has emptied in the last few minutes, the tabletop scattered with a blueberry dotted ceramic mug and a few empty sugar packets.
“I was planning on trying my cilbir recipe on Rora.”
I smile, swallowing down another too-big bite of messy toast. “She’ll love that; especially knowing she doesn’t have to fly all the way to her mom to get good Turkish food.”
Luis nods again, wiping down the steel top of the window again. I’m quite sure he has a slight crush on Aurora, but he’s gentle about it. If Rora knew, even for a moment, that he felt that way for her, she’d probably never show up for work again; not because of him, or even really the fact that he’s a love-struck high schooler, but because for all of her sunshine personality, she is suddenly a clam when it comes to relationships.
The girl could read chapter-long filthy sex scenes without a flinch, but tell her a boy thinks she’s pretty and she turns into a tomato.
The chime of the door sounds just as I stuff the last bite of my toast into my mouth, sliding the plate into Luis’s outstretched calloused hand. My gaze flickers over to the two patrons now at the cash register while my stomach takes a churning free dive off a cliff somewhere.
Of course it’s him.
Of course it’s Rhys, looking like a goddamn wet dream in gray sweatpants and a navy Dri-Fit long sleeve that hugs every single inch of his tight upper body. His smile is soft and a little sleepy as he continues to speak to his very large friend waiting patiently at the counter. His hair looks damp, like he popped out of the shower just before this—which is a dangerous thought because now I’m picturing him beneath the spray of some high-end rain shower, washing his abs and thick thighs.
My eyes trail down him again, before someone clears their throat and I start choking on the bite I didn’t even chew, too struck by the absolute karmic punch that seeing him is.
He’s looking at me now, his eyes like burning fires that scald my skin as I gulp down water and hop from the counter.
“Morning,” I offer, smoothing a hand over my black half apron tied around my black jeans.
I feel that little pinch of anxiety growing as Rhys peruses me just as I did to him, his eyes clocking my tight gray short sleeve that’s most likely littered with coffee stains and, yep, crumbs of sourdough. I tuck my hair behind my ears again, wiping the back of my hand over my mouth and finding a stain of yellow from the corner of my lips on my hand.
Jesus.
“Not the ‘get coffee together’ kind of girl, huh?” Rhys teases, no hint of his hesitation or unease from last night present in his expression now.
“Just the ‘serve it with a smile’ kind,” I quip.
He smiles further, more genuine as it pulls at his mouth, the indent of one dimple showing. “For some reason, I doubt the ‘smile’ part. I don’t remember that from the last time you served me coffee.”
My mouth splits wide into an over exaggerated all teeth grin as I offer to take their order.
Bantering with him brings my anxiety down, calming me in an almost unsettling way, where I crave the next little interaction between us. Maybe it’s the quickness of it, the permanent deep well of sadness in his eyes or the fact that he’s distractingly gorgeous like some old Grecian marble statue of male beauty.
“Have a seat and I’ll bring it out to you,” I say, spinning the iPad towards them with the total. Rhys tries to grab for his wallet, but the large, surly-looking man beside him is quicker, tapping his heavy metal card against the system quickly before leaving the counter without another word.
Rhys leans in over the counter and I mimic his movement, watching a light flush paint his cheeks.
“I, uh… I had my first practice back this morning.”
“Yeah?” I have the urge to grab his hand and hold it. “And? All good?”
The idea of him panicked and alone makes my stomach hurt. I can’t explain it, but there is an intense protectiveness I feel over his pain.
“All good. I listened to that song. The one from the locker room with the weird band name?”
My throat feels clogged. “Rainbow Kitten Surprise.”
“Yeah.” He smiles; dimples.
I want to kiss him. Instead, I freeze, because if I move, I will kiss him; grab his usually shaking hands. Tuck my fists against his neck until the heat of his skin releases them from their tight hold. Splay him across the counter and mold my entire body to his. See if the golden boy captain can release his tight control for me.
“Anyways, I’ll wait over there. Thanks Sadie, for everything.” Rhys lingers for a moment, locking me in his gaze again before ducking away and following his friend to a clean table close by.
I study them while making their orders; an iced black coffee with three tablespoons of almond milk for the grumpy one—Bennett Reiner, going by the name on the ticket order—and a cold brew special, which means maple syrup, toffee nut and a splash of condensed milk, for Rhys—which nearly made me swallow my tongue as I listened to him order my go-to drink.
They’re both speaking quietly, both on their phones as much as they are off them, and despite the constant discussion flowing easily between them, they both have a tightness in their shoulders, while Rhys bounces his leg beneath the table.
I’ve never seen Bennett Reiner before, but I’ll never miss him after this—his height alone is like a calling card. He’s got to be pushing 6’6”, which is daunting to my couple inches over five feet. Rhys is tall, but Bennett is like a mountain, with the broad shoulders and tree-trunk thighs to match. He doesn’t look like a college student, really—not only from his size, but his hyper masculine features that make him look a bit like he might be leading stuffy board meetings and rock climbing mountain faces in his spare time.
His light brown hair in a mop of messy waves and curls, a well-maintained scruff of a beard, thin enough to see the masculine squareness of his jaw. His eyes are slanted beneath thick brows, like a permanent furrow even with a smile on his face as he speaks quietly with Rhys.
“Here,” I try to announce myself as I step up to their table, setting their drinks down carefully.
Bennett swipes his immediately, sliding a coaster under the plastic and a foam holder over the sweating cup. Rhys takes his from my hands directly, smiling up at me again. It’s gentler this time, less fake than I’ve seen from him, with that lightly bleeding sadness like invisible tears on his cheeks.
“Thanks.” He takes a quick sip. “By the way, this is Bennett. Ben, this is Sadie.”
“The figure skater.” Ben nods to me, not quite meeting my eyes.
“And coffee-maker, apparently,” Rhys supplies.
“A good coffee-maker, you mean.” I smirk. “The best cup of coffee you’ll ever have.”
“Should I stand and announce it for everyone? Best coffee in Waterfell?”
The door chimes and I barely have a moment to straighten from where I’ve leaned forward, a hand on the back of Rhys’ wooden chair, before a little body rocks into my legs with a delighted giggle-scream.
“You almost knocked me over, nugget,” I scold, but a happy grin solidifies on my face as I lean down and ruffle Liam’s hair. He’s got half of a Darth Vader mask painted on his face which I know is thanks to Rora’s artistic abilities. Said artist is speaking lightly to Oliver as they walk into the cafe at a more normal pace. The black paint has smudged a bit now, some of it across his arm where he must’ve been rubbing at it earlier, but the kid adores Star Wars.
I firmly believe it started because Liam witnessed Oliver love the movies first, and was desperate to be just like his big brother. Now, I see the same thing happening with hockey.
“Sorry, sissy.” Liam sighs heavily, not bothering to rest for a moment before launching into the entire story of their very normal morning as if he was telling a daring adventure story. He ends the quick tale with a rushed, “Are you making pancakes?”
Before I can answer, he suddenly freezes, before shooting into a howl so loud I have to slip my hand over his mouth. He’s blubbering through my hand, pointing frantically towards Rhys.
Oliver joins my side, already quite tall, just about equal to me at twelve-years-old. He nods lightly, hefting his bag further on his shoulder.
“Hey, killer.” I nod, letting go of Liam’s mouth but keeping a firm grip on his shoulder. “Was he good today?”
Liam is still nearly shouting, ecstatic to see Rhys again. It’s a little unnerving.
Oliver nods. “Everything was fine. My practice ran over, but Rora kept him occupied.”
My head nods to what Oliver is saying, though he seems hesitant for a reason I plan to flush out later. Right now, I’m more focused on the worry that if I let go of Liam, he will jump into Rhys’ lap.
“Sorry,” I offer quickly. “Liam, remember what we’ve talked about.”
“Rhys isn’t a stranger, right?”
Rhys laughs. “Right.”
“You’re not?” Bennett asks, a little tick of his mouth. “Since when?”
Despite the question being posed to his friend, my little brother decides to intervene again with a screeching, “Since he’s teaching me hockey. Rhys is the best hockey player, probably in the world.”
Bennett smiles lightly, “Humble, too.”
Rhys shakes his head, eyes flickering to Bennett, then to me, before settling back on Liam. There’s a new tenseness to him though, I notice. His shoulders are pinched, his smile tight, fake, wearing his mask once more. It bristles me as I realize that Liam’s infatuation with Rhys might be uncomfortable.
Grabbing Liam’s hand, I nod back towards the counter, the larger table right next to it open. “Wanna chill for a minute while I close out?”
“Sure.” Oliver shrugs. He takes Liam’s arm and pulls him along behind him. “Come on, Anakin, leave them alone.”
Liam’s lip furls, his head whipping back and forth between his brother and the table of hockey gods, like he can’t decide exactly what to fight for. What ends up spilling from his lips is, “I’m not in my Jedi robes, Oliver. I’m Darth Vader.”
I turn to Rora and give her a thankful arm squeeze. “It’ll only take a minute for me to close out and change over everything, do you mind? I’ll be fast.”
“They can sit with us if you need,” Rhys says, standing before I can disagree and dragging Liam’s chair—with him still in it—back towards their too-small table. Liam squeals a laugh, eyes shining as he looks at Rhys’ upside down profile.
Rhys looks up at me, still smiling. “We’re friends, yeah?”
I want to stop them, to argue with Rhys but Rora stops me when she smiles and gives him a quick thanks, pulling us both away to change over.
“I don’t—”
“Relax.” She sighs, dragging the word out four extra syllables. Her hands squeeze my shoulders as she forces me around the counter corner, smacking my ass to send me to the breakroom.
“I’ll close your stuff out,” she says, pulling an apron off the little hook beneath the POS station and tying it before pulling up her hair of curls into a springy ponytail on top of her head. “You stop trying to control everything and let the nice hockey boys play with your brothers while you take a moment to not be their mom.”
She pats her fist down in a gentle rhythm on the top of the counter, not that she needed to since Luis is already gazing at her.
“Luis, can you cover the front for a few?”
“Sure,” he replies, a little too quickly, as he shrugs off his gloves and hair net. It’s wild that he accepts it, considering his family owns the entire cafe and the restaurants on both sides of us, but his dreamy-eyed look is all the answer I need.
We push into the small break room that doubles as a manager office and connects to the other backrooms of the restaurant to the right of us. Sitting down on one of the chairs, I blow a breath and look up where Rora perches onto the desktop.
“So,” she starts. “How did your meeting go?”
“Okay.” I breathe, nodding as if that will make me more confident. “I think. I mean it was short? So I don’t know. I’ll meet him next week to speak more and bring the documents I have. He said that’ll be all we need for Liam.”
“That’s good, Sade. Honestly.”
“Right? I think it’s a good sign—it has to be.”
It has to be. I’m running out of other options, and dragging myself between campus dorms and my home, shelling out money from the already tight budget for babysitters when our neighbor Ms. B is busy—it’s piling up and school hasn’t even started.
Rora helped to untangle me from last year, but I refuse to put myself in that position again. And this is the only way left.
“Yes.” She smiles, all reassuring and supportive. “And if he won’t take you on, we have tons still left on the list, okay?”
Aurora is my best friend, no matter my best efforts at keeping her at arm’s length. She shoved her way in freshman year, not deterred by my attitude or attempts to rid myself of her. Instead, she stuck like glue, until she was so attached I couldn’t exist without her. Then she watched me suffer from a paralyzing panic attack and held me through the entire thing, rocking us both on the little twin bed in our freshman dorms.
After that, I showed her everything. It was like I couldn’t stop.
She took it all in stride, a pursed mouth and determined brow, babysitting and helping me get the little ones to and from school while I balanced figure skating, school, and everything else. She tutored me when I fell into probation for my classes, scooped me off the bathroom floor when my hookups didn’t succeed in chasing away the pressure in my chest.
I’ll do anything for her, protect her endlessly, forever.
Oliver, Liam, Rora. My family.
“Okay.”
Rora stands, hugging me tight and letting me breathe for a few moments. Her hands run gently through my hair, combing out little knots and snags, braiding it loosely down my back.
“Good?” she asks. I nod into her stomach, before pulling away and tucking the loose tendrils behind my ears.
“Good.”
“Okay, then go get the boys and just enjoy some time with them. Why don’t you bring them to the dorm for a sleepover? We can make a pillow-fort and check them into school late tomorrow.”
“Sounds perfect.”
