Page 13 of The Night Before Grumpmas
A few minutes later, her cup’s ready. “One caramel macchiato, extra everything.” I slide it across the counter with a cheerful smile. “Have a great day.”
She gives me a look, one of those ‘you’re way too happy for six a.m.’ kind of looks. Though, she only mutters a half-hearted, “Thanks,” and marches toward the door.
I grin to myself as she leaves. She might not appreciate my early morning energy, but she’ll thank me once the caffeine kicks in.
Next in line is an older man in a crisp suit, looking like he’s headed to a very important meeting. “Black coffee, large.”
“Straight to the point. I like it,” I say, grinning as I ring him up. “Hope you have a great day.”
His eyes crinkle just slightly. “I’ll do my best,” he says with a small smile.
The morning rush continues, and I find my rhythm, juggling orders, chatting with regulars, and pouring enough coffee to keep half the city awake. Most of them are friendly enough. I’m in my element, offering warm smiles, quick laughs, and perfectly frothed caffeinated drinks.
A teenage girl in an oversized hoodie approaches next, earbuds in and half-asleep. “Just a vanilla latte,” she mutters, barely looking up.
I move quickly, turning back to her with the steaming drink. “One vanilla latte, extra love on the side.”
She gives me a tiny, sleepy grin as she grabs her cup. “Thanks,” she mumbles, her mood slightly lifted as she shuffles away.
It’s all going smoothly, and I’m feeling pretty confident until I look up and seehim. Jacob McCallister. He’s standing there, arms crossed, a scowl firmly in place, like he’s pissed at the mere existence of sunshine and caffeine. Of course he’s here.
Great. Just what I needed to spice up my first shift.
“Morning, neighbor.” I singsong, knowing full well it’ll grate on his nerves. I even beam at him, radiating the kind of cheer that would send any normal person into a rage spiral, but Jacob’s not normal. He’s worse. “How’s your day going so far?”
His jaw tightens, and he looks at me like he’s contemplating a murder—specifically mine. “It should be illegal to be this happy on a Monday morning.”
I bite back a laugh. He’s so predictable. Part of me wants to ask if he’s planning to report me to the Happiness Police or something equally ridiculous, but instead, I stick to my script. “What can I get started for you today?” I offer, keeping my voice chipper, just to piss him off a little more.
“Large black coffee,” he grumbles, like talking to me is some kind of punishment, but life’s cruel and he has to deal with me and my caffeine kingdom.
“No cream? No sugar? Maybe we could sprinkle some joy?” I tease, grabbing the carafe and I won’t lie, I’m tempted into grabbing the decaf one, but that’d be cruel to everyone around him.
His eyes narrow into slits, the kind of look that makes me wonder if he’s plotting some silent revenge where he replaces all my music with something equally grumpy, like the sound of dial-up internet.
“Just coffee,” he growls, making the word sound like it’s been personally offensive to him for years.
I stifle a grin, pouring the coffee. “I’m surprised. You seem like the kind of guy who’d order something . . . complicated.” I cock an eyebrow, like I’m trying to crack the mystery of the World’s Grumpiest Man. “You know, maybe something with soy foam, a splash of almond milk, extra-hot with a drizzle of superiority on top.”
“Just. Coffee,” he repeats, voice flat, the deep gravel of it somehow managing to scrape at my nerves. His eyes darken like the depths of hell, and I swear, if a smile so much as twitches on his lips, the earth will crack open.
I hand him the cup with a little flourish, “One large, joyless black coffee—just the way you like it.”
He takes it, our fingers brushing for a split second, and something flickers in his expression, but then he’s back to his usual grumpy self, face hard as stone. He takes a long, deliberate sip like he’s testing if I’ve poisoned it. God, it’d be easier if he wasn’t so unfairly hot.
“It’s too early for this,” he mutters, stepping aside to let the next customer in line have their turn. His scowl, however, lingers in the air like a storm cloud.
I lean against the counter, chin resting in my hand, unable to resist poking the bear one last time. “Oh, come on. You don’t want to start your day with a little sunshine? Maybe a smile?”
He gives me a look that could curdle milk, but I catch it—a tiny, barely-there twitch at the corner of his mouth. He takes another sip, grumbling as he makes his way to the door. “No.”
I laugh under my breath, shaking my head. “You’re impossible.”
“And you’re too cheerful for six in the damn morning,” he throws over his shoulder before disappearing out the door. But if I’m not mistaken, there’s the faintest ghost of a smirk on his face.
“Cheerful is my specialty,” I call after him with a wink. “Come back soon for more.”
He responds with a low grunt, barely looking back as he heads for the door. But just before he steps outside, I catch it—a flicker of something at the corner of his mouth. A smirk? For a second, I almost don’t believe it, but there it is. Well, that’s something. I can’t help but feel a small swell of satisfaction. Grumpy McCallister, nearly smiling? Not bad for a Monday morning.
