Page 4 of It Never Was

Paul Wilson is a tall man with a wide-toned frame, hair black as coal, and eyes that match. He looks as if he could bulldoze through a crowd with little effort. A good-looking man for fifty-two I must say. His looks resemble the lumberjack from the Brawny paper towel label, just moodier than smiley. I have made sure to let him know who his doppelgänger is as much as I can. I know he hates it, ignoring me every time I call him "lumberjack" or ask "how we can be out of paper towels; don't you get them free for life, being the face and all," but I swear I saw a faint smile one time when I said it.

Paul gave me a job when I was eleven. It was sweeping floors and washing dishes, nothing too fancy or backbreaking. He says he was looking for someone for a long time to fill the position at the coffee shop. I was eleven but I wasn't stupid; it was a pity hire.

He knew who my mother was, and still is. Heck, the whole town knows. They all know that Sharry McKenny is a drunk of a mother. Spending all her money on McCormick vodka, menthol cigarettes, and whatever man she is with that day. Her hobbies didn't leave a lot of money left over for electricity, water, and of course groceries at times.

I was home alone most days and after having days without breakfast, lunch, or dinner, barely able to scrape together ketchup and black olives, I took it upon myself to make my own money. A girls gotta eat and I was tired of being hungry.

I applied to every place that was in range for me to ride the creaky old bike that Willow's mother gave me when they got her a new one for her tenth birthday.

No one wanted to deal with child labor I guess, because I never received any callbacks.

That was until Paul.

I was riding my bike around seeing if there were any places I missed applying to when he stopped me. He said his wife saw me looking for a job when she was getting her hair blown out at Cicci's Salon and he had an opening at Morning Cup, his coffee shop, that he couldn't seem to fill. I knew where Morning Cup was and how it was a bit farther than other places I applied to, but I didn't have to think twice. I took it right then and there, shaking hands on the deal.

He has been my boss ever since.

"Morning, Paul," I coo his way.

His eyebrows crease together as he sees Devon at the counter and turns his head to eye us both. "Morning, Rye," his deep voice comes out in a hushed tone while he shakes his head, looking back at me from the stone, expressionless look he was giving Devon.

I know Paul doesn't like Devon. He's never said it in words, but with Paul, it's all in his body language, especially in his face.

I hand Devon his coffee and chive scone as I come out from behind the counter.

"Here," I tell him sheepishly, trying to ignore Paul's eyes as he rounds the counter making his way to his office.

"Thanks, babe," Devon says before giving me a quick peck on the lips, avoiding Paul.

And just like that, he turns away, the door chiming as Devon scurries to his car.

I let him win.

Why do I do this to myself?

As I hear his car start up and speed out of the parking lot, a deep and purposeful cough comes from behind me. Chrissy is glaring at me as I turn back to my station to work. Cups are lined up with orders and I rush to make them. Chrissy may not like me, but she does like how fast I am at my job, completing orders like the expert barista Paul has shaped me into. With no complaints, I get them all done with ease, calling names out and sliding their drinks and pastries down to the pick-up counter. But my mind is still going over the encounter with Devon. How I wanted to stand my ground, but I caved in and let him win. I don't know why. Maybe it's because I'd rather let him win than argue any longer. Or maybe it's because I am afraid he will leave if I don't give in.

I am finishing up the last of the orders from the rush, an iced americano, when Willow comes sprinting through the back door, snapping me out of my thoughts.

She is trying to avoid Paul. Of course she is.

"Sorry…" she says in a whisper as she pulls up her long pale golden copper hair into a sloppy bun. Even with no makeup on she looks stunning. Her cool bright hazel eyes enhance her glowing sun-kissed skin, which doesn't seem possible to achieve in Washington. I always wished I looked that effortlessly pretty.

"He is already here, so there is no covering up this one," I called to her as she went to grab an apron from the kitchen in the back.

"Not that she should have to cover for you," Chrissy mumbles under her breath, not even looking our way.

Hmm, maybe Chrissy does like me, or at least hates me less than Willow.

Coming back to take her place behind the counter she says, "I didn't hear my alarm, okay? My bad," flinging her hands in the air.

"Or did you not put your phone on the charger? …Or did your car battery die? …Or—" before I can finish, Willow stops me.

"Okay okay, I know, you have been covering my ass lately."

"Lately?" I say with a chuckle.

Willow's eyes throw daggers my way.

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