He's sitting by the window again. Always by the window with his laptop and a Vietnamese coffee, the ones made with condensed milk. He always asks for extra sugar and a splash of cream. I had assumed the coffee would have been for a partner the first time he ordered, he just didn't seem like the type to order something so sweet. He's tall, taller than me and I'm 5'11, wavy black hair down to his shoulders and round glasses with golden frames. The gold looks good against his deep skin, bringing out the flecks in his hazel eyes. His voice wasn't what I had expected either, it was so soft and gentle I had to lean in to hear it.
But by now he had become a regular, always with the same order– a Vietnamese coffee and a chocolate croissant. Yesterday was different though. Yesterday he also bought a plain matcha with absolutely no sugar. He said it just like that. I thought I misheard so I asked him to repeat it, but I'd heard right.
He didn't touch it for the entire four hours he was here. It just sat there. It kind of pissed me off, matcha isn't the easiest thing to make. It requires enough whisking to make my hand feel like it might fall off and without sugar it really tastes awful. But that's my opinion. The fact he didn't touch it until he got up to leave and then chugged the ice cold filth was the part that pissed me off. And the fact he looked like he hated every second of it. That pissed me off too.
But he's back again today. Thank god he didn't order matcha because if he pulled that stunt again I might just quit on the spot. He doesn't come in every day, but when he does he stays for hours. I assume he's some kind of business man, he's always in neat button-downs and slacks. Slacks is such an old fashioned word, but they're old fashioned pants. The man is definitely not that old though. Late-twenties maybe? I'm bad with ages, though. Maybe he just looks young, or maybe he's in college and just looks old.
The man just sits there though, sometimes he pulls out a manilla folder and does something with the papers in them. When I saw the folder the first time it gave me a shot of nostalgia for my attic back at my parent's home, I could practically smell it just by seeing it. I didn't know people still used those. Or maybe I'm just a phone addict.
Today though, he looks particularly glum. He's always pensive with his brows furrowed while he works, but today he looks worse than usual. It makes me feel a bit bad for being pissed about the matcha. But not too bad. Cold pain matcha is worse than hot pain matcha and I think he should suffer for that choice. But it didn't feel right to just let him sit there and be an eyesore.
So that's why I'm standing here with another chocolate croissant that's coming out of my paycheck, clearing my throat so I don't startle him, "Hey, uh, on the house."
He nearly jumped out of his skin and clutched his heaving chest, not speaking.
Great, another chance to sound stupid, "Yeah, so, here. You can have it."
I slowly set the plate down next to his laptop and backed away like he was some kind of scared cat. He looked a bit like one, wide eyes, hair practically on end, shaking. Jesus, you really can't judge a book by its cover.
I got out of there fast though, speed walking back behind the counter to ring in a to go order for a nice couple. At least I thought they were nice until they started baby talking each other in front of me. Gross.
Out of the corner of my eye I saw the man take a small bite of the croissant I'd given him. It made my heart feel a bit warm, like when a stray animal lets you pet it. Maybe he was a cat.
The next day my cat was absent. I expected that. He usually never came in on Tuesdays or Thursdays, and Mondays were a toss-up. Some Mondays he'd come in looking almost happy, others he looked like he'd been dragged through a curry comb. My grandma used to say that about scruffy cats, I should probably look up what a curry comb is.
My cat ordered his usual, shocker, and sat down by his window, double shocker. I'd started the coffee as soon as he walked through the door, so it was done a bit quicker than usual. It's always good to be quick in the service industry, for every quiet moment there's twice the amount of busy ones. And three times the amount of people screaming at you for taking what they said at face value. God forbid I expect you to drink the coffee you wanted, Cinthya.
But, that man always made the place quieter. I think people assumed he was some kind of crime lord or something like that. Neat clothes, messy hair, face in a mostly permanent scrunch of irritation. I bet he's some kind of accountant, maybe a lawyer. Something where you have to deal with people fighting all day. Like a barista does. I'm only half joking. I appreciated his presence though, it's nice to count on a scary dog. Or cat. He would look good with his hair slicked back.
"Are you even paying attention? The hell do they pay you for?"
Ah. Shit. I'd zoned out and left a customer standing there, watching me daydream.
"Sorry, sir, how may I assist you?" I smile at him, trying to pacify his tantrum.
He starts to bang on the counter, "I asked what the hell they pay you for, you fucking fag!"
Well, that was uncalled for. My smile dropped off of my face to make way for a sneer, "Hey, that's not cool, man. I'm going to ask you to leave right now because we don't serve people like you."
"What is that even supposed to mean? You should be thanking me for even coming into your shitty dump!" He barks, screwing his face up in a very unflattering way. And just when I didn't think he could get uglier...
Before I could give him a well timed witty retort, a soft voice replied, "I believe it means you are being incredibly rude and you need to leave. If you fail to do so, I will call the police and report a public disturbance."
My cat was no longer in the window, he was now standing behind the idiot yelling at me. Behind was a strong word though, he practically eclipsed the dumbass being a pain with his height. But, unfortunately this situation wouldn't be descalated so easily.
"You can't call the fucking police on me! Are you his fucking boyfriend or something? Why are you running over here like some kind of knight?"
"Hey, hey, hey, I don't have a boyfriend, man!" My protest fell on deaf ears, apparently, because they both ignored me. Wonderful.
My cat just sighs and shakes his head at the man before grabbing his collar, dragging him kicking and screaming out of the front door, past the window, and down the alley.
Yikes. Maybe I shouldn't get too friendly with that man…
But, as I wait behind the counter for my next customer, I can't help but count the minutes. That is until the lunch rush. And boy does it rush today.
The next time I look at the time, almost three hours have passed since I saw the window man (I should ask his name at some point) which was a little concerning. Maybe he really did call the cops, but I feel it's more likely they got into a fight. Which is fine, but I really don't want to clean blood out of the alley today.
Which is why I'm currently abandoning my shift a few minutes early to stick my head out into the alley. I know I probably shouldn't be ditching like this, but the guy working after me is in the breakroom anyway and he can probably handle whatever happens. Probably.
The alley is a bit darker than I'd like, I've been trying to get my manager to install some lights but he kept saying no, so it took me a moment to realize the heap I'd thought was a trashbag was actually the coat of that asshole who'd insulted me. Trash of a different kind.
"Well shit." I mutter, squinting at him, "He's fuckin' dead."
"No, he's been detained by the police." A soft voice comes from beside me and I jump.
"Jesus Christ! Hello, what does that mean?" I clutch my chest to stop my heart from pounding, and to reassure myself that my cat probably wouldn't kill me.
"I suggested he should apologize but he decided he would prefer to break a few laws." His hand rubs his jaw, I hadn't realized before but he has a dark bruise there. Damn you low light level.
"Oh. Are you alright? You've got a…" I point to my jaw and then his.
"The bruise? I'm fine, don't worry too much." His smile is gentle, like his voice. This is the first time I have seen him smile in a way that didn't look like he was feeling his skin being ripped off.
"Are you sure? There's a first aid kit in the cafe." My face feels hot for some reason.
"No, no. No need, I'm clumsy anyway, I'll probably end up slamming into something else in a few days and get a matching bump on the other side." His laugh is awkward, kind of silly, but with a little gloom.
"As long as you're sure, I'll let you be." I shrug. I should feel irritated at him turning down my help, but I don't. He's somehow weaseled his way into some soft spot in my chest. The bastard.
"Thank you though, I appreciate it." His smile is weirdly wobbly.
"Don't mention it. Uh, but, my shift is over, so, I'm gonna go…" I couldn't help but slowly shift myself away, I'm not really sure how to end this conversation.
"I could walk you home if you like."
I can barely make out his voice over my own thoughts, "Oh, no, I'm good. Plus I don't want to bother you too much."
"Alright, have a nice night." He smiles that smile that looked more like a grimace and turns and walks away.
I really hope tomorrow is way less eventful.