Page 11 of Loverboy
I look down at the cup she’s handed me. “That’s a fucking rose,” I say, shocked.
“It’s my signature design.”
“A rose. Inmilk.” It’s got layers of white petals, stretching toward a coffee sky.
“The guy who taught me espresso drinks was a great artist. But like I said, it’s fine if you can only manage a heart, or a tulip. Everyone starts somewhere.”
“Cool,” I say.
I’m so fucked.
The bell on the door jingles, and three women walk in, approaching the counter. “Hi! Wow—are you the new guy?” one of them asks, smiling.
“I am,” I announce, hoping that I already have the job.
“Well, this is exciting,” one of the women says.
Posy grumbles something under her breath. It sounds likehelp me, Jesus.
“Could I please have a mint tea for here, and a slice of the Dutch apple?” She bats her eyelashes at me.
“You handle the drinks,” Posy grunts. “We’ll go over the cash register and pricing in a minute.”
“Of course. One mint tea, coming right up. Where’s, uh, the hot water?”
Posy blinks at me, and I know right away that I’ve asked a stupid question. Then she points to a random switch on the espresso machine.
It says “water” above it. Live and learn. “Right. I knew that.”
Posy shoots me a disbelieving look. Then she grabs a spatula and cuts a gorgeous apple pie with slightly more violence than is strictly necessary.
I find the mint tea bags on a shelf on the bar back and serve up the woman’s beverage with a smile and a wink. Her cheeks flush in appreciation. “What can I get you?” I ask her friends.
And that’s when the wheels come off. This woman wants a “skinny mocha.” I have no idea what that is. I look around helplessly for a second, hoping the information just falls into place.
With a low growl, Posy plunks a bottle down in front of me.Chocolate syrup. Oh, okay. Then Posy’s eyes flip toward the espresso grinder. So I realize the chocolate is going into her coffee.
So I put some chocolate into a cup, and then grind three seconds worth of coffee. But when I dispense it, my coffee titty is misshapen. So the tamper thinger can’t make a nice, flat surface, either. This means I’m struggling to put the shot into the espresso machine. I practically wrench my arm off getting it in there.
This is Max’s fault, I remind myself. It’s a mismatch of skills. I could put together an entire room full of weaponry without so much as a hiccup. But I don’t know shit about coffee. I’m going to write that up in my letter of resignation, probably.
To Max. Not Posy.
When I flip the switch on the espresso machine, the first thing I see are coffee grounds dribbling over the side. That can’t be good. But luckily, coffee follows. Maybe nobody will notice.
And now the chocolate has changed the volume measurement, so I can’t tell how much is two ounces. So I flip it off at will, and then swirl the contents of the cup and flex my pecs at the same time.
The woman across the counter lets out a little sigh of happiness. There’s more than one way to please a customer. I take the opportunity to flex my biceps when I take the milk out of the fridge. And then—while the milk frother thingie makes a horrible squealing noise—I address my customer. “That scarf really brings out your eyes.”
“This old thing?” she says with a toss of her hair.
When I shut off the frother, Posy is making a gagging sound. The milk in the jug is peppered by giant bubbles instead of smooth foam, unfortunately. But I pour it over the coffee in two blobs. I don’t even try to make a design. It looks like... Huh. It looks like a butt. Go figure.
Even so, I pass it to the customer with a big smile. “Enjoy!”
“Thank you so much,” she says, pushing a bill into the tip jar.
“You have a nice day! Who’s next?”
