Nothing More (Landon Gibson 1)

phone. After I clock in, I find Posey, a girl who I’m supposed to be training for a couple of weeks. She’s nice. Quiet, but she’s a hard worker, and I think it’s kind of cute that she always takes the free cookie we offer her each training day as an incentive to be a little happier during the shift. Most newbies decline it, but she’s eaten one every single day this week, sampling the whole range: chocolate, chocolate macadamia, sugar, and some mystery greenish flavor that I think is some gluten-free-all-natural-localvore thing.

“Hey,” I say, smiling at her where she leans against the ice machine. Her reddish hair is tucked behind her ears, and she’s reading the back of one of the bags of ground coffee. When she looks up at me, she smiles a quick greeting, then returns her eyes to the bag.

“It still makes no sense that they charge fifteen dollars for a thing of coffee this small,” she says, tossing the bag to me.

I barely catch it and then it nearly slips from my hands, but I grab it tightly.

“We.”I correct her with a laugh, and set the bag down on the break table where it came from. “We charge that.”

“I haven’t worked here long enough to be included in the ‘we,’ ” she teases, and grabs a hair band off of her wrist and lifts her curly reddish-brown hair into the air behind her. It’s a lot of hair, and she ties it up neatly, then nods her signal that she’s ready to work.

Posey follows me out to the floor and waits by the cash register. She’s mastering taking customers’ orders this week and will likely be making the drinks next. I like taking orders the most because I would rather talk to people than burn my fingers on that espresso machine, like I do every shift.

I’m putting everything in order at my station, when the bell attached to the door sounds. I look over to Posey to see if she’s ready, and sure enough, she’s already perked up, all set to greet the morning’s caffeine addicts. Two girls approach the counter chatting loudly. One of the voices strikes me, and I look over at them to see Dakota. She’s dressed in a sports bra, loose shorts, and bright sneakers. She must have just finished a run; if she were leaving for a dance class, she’d be in a one-piece and tighter shorts. And she would look just as good. She always does.

Dakota hasn’t come in here for a few weeks, and I’m surprised to see her now. It makes me nervous, my hands shaking, and I find myself poking at the computer screen for absolutely no reason. Her friend Maggy sees me first. She taps Dakota on her shoulder, and my ex turns to me, a big smile on her face. Her body is coated in a light layer of sweat, and her black curls are wild in a bun on her head.

“I was hoping you’d be working.” She waves to me and then to Posey.

She was?I don’t know what to make of this. I know that we agreed to be friends, but I can’t tell if this is just friendly chatting, or something more.

Maggy waves, too. “Hey, Landon.”

I smile at both of them and ask them what they’d like to drink.

“Iced coffee, extra cream,” the duo says at once. They’re dressed nearly identically, but Maggy is easily overshadowed by Dakota’s glowing caramel skin and bright brown eyes.

I go into automatic mode, grabbing two plastic cups and shoving them into the ice bin with a smooth scooping motion, then pulling up the pitcher of premade coffee and pouring it into the cups. Dakota is watching me. I can sense her eyes on me, making me feel quite awkward. So when I notice that Posey is watching me, too, I realize I could—should, probably—explain to her what the heck I’m doing.

“You just pour this over ice; the evening shift makes it the night before so it can get cold and not melt the ice,” I say.

It’s really basic, what I’m telling her, and I almost feel foolish saying it in front of Dakota. We aren’t on bad terms at all, just not hanging out and talking like we used to. I completely understood when she ended our three-year relationship. She was in New York City with new friends and new surroundings. I didn’t want to hold her back, so I kept my promise and stayed friends with her. I’ve known her for years and will always care about her. She was my second girlfriend but the first real relationship I’ve had up to now.

“Dakota?” Aiden’s voice overpowers mine as I start to ask them if they want me to add whipped cream, something I do to my own drinks.

Confused, I watch as Aiden reaches over the counter and grabs Dakota’s hand. He lifts their hands in the air, and with a big smile she twirls in front of him.

Then, taking a glance at me, she inches away, just a bit, and says more neutrally to him, “I didn’t know you worked here.”

I look at Posey to distract myself from eavesdropping on their conversation, then pretend like I’m