Page 7 of Cream & Sugar
“No problem,” a cool voice replies.
A plastic tray rests precariously on my knees, piled high with sandwiches. They’re not pretty, but I threw together what I could in time for the lunch rush. Chicken and pesto, pastrami and emmental, halloumi and… something.
Shit, my brain is fried. I’ve struggled to remember people’s orders all morning and the thought of tackling the lunch rush alone fills me with dread. All my hopes lie with the job ad taped to the front door. No applicants yet but, at this rate, I’ll hire anyone if it means making my life even the tiniest bit easier.
I sense the customer sidling up to the till. No time to make the sandwiches look pretty so I shove them all onto the bottom shelf of the fridge for now. Scrambling to my feet, I toss the tray into the sink and turn to greet them.
“Sorry about that. Sitting in or taking away?”
A strikingly handsome, if a little scruffy, twenty-something guy looks up at me. He grins, a white flash of teeth between bow lips, surrounded by a dusting of golden stubble.
“Neither,” he takes a step forward. “Actually, I’m here about the job.”
“The… job?” I say, a little disarmed. A wire seems to have come loose in my brain. I’m not into guys, but anyone could see this is a very good-looking chap. Apparently, disarmingly so. His features are sharp and chiselled, the kind you might see on a magazine cover model. A slim nose turns up slightly at the end in a soft point. A pair of ice-blue eyes shimmer like the surface of a paddling pool. His smile is mischievous, but genuine, like a schoolboy, and his hair, a thick tangle of ash-blonde locks, is tied back in a messy bun behind his head.Wow.No missing pieces in his assembly kit, that’s for sure. I don’t think I’ve ever seen a man so pretty.
He raises an eyebrow, expectantly. “Yeah. The one in the window?”
“Right!” My brain reboots and I quickly try to course-correct. “Sorry, it’s been a wild morning. I’m Shaun. I’m the manager.”
Remembering the etiquette, I extend my hand to shake and he takes it.
“Freddie.”
He gives my hand a squeeze, rough, callused fingertips brushing my palm. His grip is surprisingly strong.
“Nice to meet you, Freddie.” I realise we’ve been shaking too long and drop his hand like a hot pan. “So, uh, have you worked in a café before?”
“Not exactly,” he gives an apologetic little smile. “But I’m a fast learner.”
He places a grubby piece of A4 paper on the counter and slides it towards me. Why is it so wet?
“My resume,” he says, proudly rolling his r’s in a soft local accent.
I give it a quick skim. Freddie Young, twenty-two. No real hospitality experience, but my eyes are drawn to the second entry on his job history.
“Mason & Ward?” I ask. “Were you a banker?”
“Ah, no,” he shakes his head. “Interning. Got a taste of office life and decided it wasn’t for me. Know what I mean?”
I nod, remembering the mind-numbing admin roles I got fresh out of uni.
“I know exactly what you mean.”
I flip Freddie’s CV over to see if there’s any more to it. As expected, the reverse side is blank. To say his experience is sparse would be putting it kindly, but my headache is reaching critical mass and there’s a pre-lunch lull at the moment. If I’m quick, I can give him an impromptu interview right now. It might give off desperate vibes, but I’m long past pride. If he’s keen, available, and passably sane, he’ll do.
“Feel free to say no,” I say, gesturing to an empty table, “but how would you feel about a quick interview?”
“Now?” he asks, though he doesn’t seem too flustered by the prospect.
I nod. “Why not?”
“Well, I’m not exactly dressed for an interview,” Freddie gestures to his outfit: ripped jeans, a black leather jacket, frayed at the cuffs and elbows, and a jumper so distressed it’s on the verge of a full-on breakdown. To be fair, he’s right, but I’m not one to talk with my own stinky ensemble. I’ve played rugby matches that left me feeling cleaner than I do right now.
“I don’t mind,” I say, grabbing my notepad and walking around the counter to join him. “Plus, in twenty minutes we’ll be mobbedand I’m not even sure I’ll make it through that in one piece. It could be now or never.”
Freddie chuckles. “Okay then, Shaun. That would be rad.” He flashes me that mischievous grin.
I smile back, stupidly. He’s a charming little bastard.
