Page 10 of Kitty Season
“White and semi-sweet?”
“Whatever your heart desires, Lot.”
“Deal.” With a clunk, the can of cream is slapped onto the bench top and we shake on it. “But no after game drinks. Ihaven’t been to O’Reilly’s since Noah left, and I would very much like to keep it that way.”
A laugh bubbles from my chest as I picture Lotte at The BC Bears favorite sports bar. Win or lose, the place is packed after a game and tonight will be no different. “Cross my heart and hope to die, poke a hockey stick in my eye. I’ll even drive you home after the?—”
“Hey, Noah’s girl. How’s Noah doing?” Rudely interrupting me, some clown yells across the packed cafe as he swings open the entry doors and strides toward us. “Will he be at the game tonight?”
“No, he won’t be at the game tonight. He’s in Minnesota, then Vegas, then Dallas, then … I can’t remember,” Poor Lotte mutters, the color in her kawaii-blue eyes fading as her volume did, becoming almost clear as she sank to a whisper.
“Bummer. Maybe next time. Hey, anyway. Do you think you could get me and my homies some B’s tickets?”
Inserting my face between Lotte and the buffoon, I take the wheel. “No she does not. Now did you come here for coffee or to be a pain in the ass?”
“Coffee, mam.”
“Good. Go down to the register to order and, oh fuck—” My finger stabbing in the direction of the giantorder heresign, stalls mid-air when I feel Callie, Lotte’s boss approach. “Have a good day Mr. Customer man.”
“Quinn. You’re here. Again.” If her voice was any flatter she’d be a pancake.
“Just leaving!” Grabbing hold of my elbow, Callie pulls me to a halt. The muffin I’ve been picking at and did not pay for, sours in my stomach.
“Before you do, I have a question?”
Shit. The words, ‘I’ll pay, I swear’ are on the tip of my tongue when Callie makes me choke on them. “You seem to have thegift of the gab and I’m looking for some slightly friendlier staff.” Pausing, she glances to the barista, and biatch, emo-girl Mika, then back to me.
“Heard that,” Mika huffs.
“Wanted you to,” Callie hollers. “As I was saying, I’m seeking a happy chappy to man the registers now Lotte is cutting back shifts for her internship. You interested?”
Said intern releases a squeal of glee so familiar it warms my heart, heavily tipping the scales of my decision making before it’s begun. As Lotte’s squeak suggested, working together would be fun. And I could do with some extra cash. Since leaving home, I’ve been living off the inheritance my beautiful gran left me, and the odd handouts Mom sneaks into my bag every time we catch up. A job would also give me something to occupy myself with other than hockey boys and their flows. I should probably ask some questions, though. Negotiate my salary before agreeing to anything. “Yes. Sounds like so much fun. When can I start?”
Shit.
“Come in with Lotte tomorrow morning and we’ll run through a few things before it gets busy.” Callie grins triumphantly. “Wear comfortable shoes, all black and a smile. See you at seven.”
Wait. “Seven? Seven am?” It’s possible she thinks I’m kidding, because my confusion is dismissed with a snort, an eye roll and a curt wave as she disappears into the kitchen and starts clanging … kitchen stuff. That leaves Lotte to clear up the obvious mistake.
“Is she for real? Seven am. You don’t even work Saturdays. You’re always at home making breakfast when I get up … or stumble in the door semi-sober.”
Another eye roll is dispensed. Geez, are they on the menu? “Yes, you’re right. I normally start at six, and I am home when you wake up or stumble in, because you wake or stumble in atmidday,aftermy shift has finished. And it’s not breakfast I’m making, it’s lunch.”
I give an ape-like scratch to my head. “Hmm. I did think it was odd that you wore your work clothes on the weekend.” Preparing the next order, Lotte laughs and without looking at her hands once, grabs a takeout cup and begins barista-ing. It’s almost graceful, how effortlessly she moves. Kind of reminds me of Troye on the ice, wafting through the mass of bodies like a cloud of smoke. Speaking of. “Well, this is all very exciting, but I better go get ready for the game. What time do you finish?”
“Five.” She doesn’t snap, but says in a tone that makes me think she’s told me this several times.
“Fiiiive?” I don’t mean to moan and go all floppy. But I do. “But you’ve been here since this morning.”
“That’s right, because it’s Friday and I do a full day every Friday. We don’t all have inheritances to live off, Quinn. I have to work or I don’t eat. I swear, sometimes I think you sleep in the next universe, not your bedroom.” The last part was muttered as several more orders flash up on the screen. One in particular drawing an exasperated huff. “For fuck’s sake … A cappuccino without foam is a latte, Mika!”
Too busy and triggered to notice, Lotte says nothing as I slink away, slightly licking my wounds while barreling out into the pollen-rich air. It’s not the first time I’ve unintentionally offended others when it comes to money. I do it to Troye sometimes too. But just like they can’t help not having money, I can’t help being brought up with a lot. Being a genuine NHL star, Dad earned millions in salary and endorsements, and that hasn’t changed much since he retired and moved into coaching.
Am I spoiled?
Yes.
Do I know what it’s like to go without?
