Page 8 of Fake Love

I go to clean a different table as she rounds to the other side.

“Alright, I will see you tomorrow.” Annaleigh says as she heads to the door.

“If I don’t suffocate in espresso in the next hour.” I grumble, which causes her to laugh.

“I’ll make sure to check on you to make sure.”

“Please do.”

With a smile and a wave, Annaleigh is out the door and I’m left in the shop all by myself.

It’s times like these, when I’m alone at work, with no coworkers or customers that I really think about the direction my life is currently taking.

I graduated from San Francisco State five years ago with a degree in digital marketing. I had a few internships under my belt and once I had my degree, I thought I would have no problem finding a job. One that would let me quit my part time job I had started a few months before.

I was so sure of it. I was so sure that within weeks of me getting my degree, I would be working with some big company and handling their social media presence. Yet, even as I applied to hundreds of jobs throughout the years and have gone to a handful of interviews, I’m still at that part time job from college.

Have I had a few offers from places I applied to? Yes, but there was always something that had me saying no.

Exclusivity clauses.

No personal time off.

Insane hours expected to work throughout the week.

There was always something, and now I can’t help but wonder where I would be if I had said yes to one of them.

Would I be working in a high rise with my own office?

Would I be living in a different country, taking pictures and finding a new meaning in life?

Or would I have left that job and come right back here to serve coffee, because what I was doing was causing me to be miserable?

I don’t know, and now it’s a little too late to figure it out.

I wipe down the remainder of the tables and the chairs before moving to the back to the other side of the counter to clean out the display case of its pastries. Usually any time after seven, we don’t get a whole lot of customers that want pastries that have been sitting out all day.

I’ll give them to the homeless people that I pass every night on my way home.

It’s as I’m pulling the last of the chocolate croissants that the shop door opens, causing me to look up.

I don’t know if it’s because of how tired I am or the coffee fumes finally getting to me, but the second I see who just walked in, my lady bits start to tingle.

My eyes land on a broad chest and shoulders that are covered in a black long sleeve and then move to where his sleeves are rolled up his forearm.

Forearms that look like rods of rope that took some effort to get that big and can hold a girl up with no problem.

My mouth is watering at the sight which is causing my imagination to run wild.

The heavenly daydream of being pinned down by those forearms is rudely interrupted when I hear a clearing of a throat.

“What?” I ask, my mind coming back to the present.

I involuntarily take my eyes off those delicious forearms and look up to meet the gaze of their owner.

Their hot delicious owner. His eyes look like they have a green and blue tint to them. His jaw looks like it would be sharp under that small beard he’s sporting and his hair is this rich dark brown color that shines in the light and is long enough to run your fingers through.

He takes a step further into the shop and I can’t help but follow each of his movements.

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