She's Like The Wind (Angel Sands 2)

“I should go and order while you sit down,” she suggested. “Just in case somebody recognizes you. And anyway, it’ll be a good test of how they treat customers who aren’t as mobile as others.”

He looked at her for a moment. Her smile did things to him he didn’t want to think about for too long. “Okay. But you’ll need some help to carry the drinks over.”

She shrugged. “That’s what the staff is there for, right?”

Nate walked over to a table next to the window, looking out onto the road. There was a lot of traffic, or a lot of potential customers, as he classified them. All they had to do was nip into the shop and grab a drink to go – it would take them five minutes. And yet they all drove on by.

He’d chosen this shop to be part of the Déjà Brew chain for a reason. It was in the central business district, surrounded by offices and retail outlets. There was no way he should have been able to grab a table at this time of day, and yet here he was with a choice of them.

The tables were mostly covered in old half-drunk cups and crumb covered napkins that nobody had bothered to clear away after the last customer had left.

He looked over to where Ally was resting on her crutches, her leg stretched out as she waited at the counter. The only staff member he could see was at the other end, either ignoring her or completely oblivious to the fact he actually had a customer.

Nate sighed. Some asses were definitely going to get kicked today.

* * *

“What can I get for you?” the barista asked when he finally noticed Ally standing there. She’d been waiting for over two minutes without any acknowledgement. She’d timed it, just in case Nate asked her to report back.

“What have you got?” she asked.

“It’s on the board.” He gestured up with his thumb, a bored tone to his voice.

She leaned forward, scrutinizing it as though she hadn’t looked at the same board in Angel Sands for the past few weeks. “Um, what’s a latte?” she asked. Was it wrong she was enjoying this? After years of being on the other side of the counter, being an undercover customer was so much more fun.

The barista looked at her as if she’d asked him to do a little polka on the countertop for her. “It’s a coffee,” he said, incredulity laced in his voice.

She tipped her head to the side, still smiling. “What kind of coffee?”

“With milk. Steamed milk.”

“Do you have soy milk?”

“Yeah, we do.” He frowned and muttered to himself. “Somewhere.”

“In that case, I’ll have one soy latte and a cappuccino. With one percent. And two lemon muffins, please.”

He rang it up on the till and took her money, then ambled slowly off to make the coffees. She watched him surreptitiously as he loaded up the filter basket with fresh grounds, then tapped it out before he screwed it into the machine.

So far so good. At least he knew how to make a coffee, even if his customer service needed a little work.

When he’d finished he slid the cups across the counter, then bagged up a couple of muffins for her. “There you go,” he said, turning away.

“Um, can you help me carry these over?” she asked, looking down at her crutches. “I’m a little incapacitated.”

“Can’t your boyfriend help?”

Oh, it was going to be so much fun when Nate revealed himself. If she wasn’t undercover she’d be rubbing her hands together with glee. “He’s got terrible balance. He’ll end up spilling it all.”

The barista gave another huff, but walked around the counter and picked up her cups and hooked the bag of muffins on his fingers. Ally followed him to the table Nate had chosen. It was completely covered in dirty cups and napkins, with nowhere for the barista to put down the coffee.

Nate looked up from his newspaper, his face a picture of innocence. “You’ll probably need to clean this table,” he said, his voice even. But Ally could see a glint of steel in his eyes.

The barista sighed loudly and put the cups down on the table next to Nate and Ally’s, which had slightly more space than theirs. Then he picked up some of the empty cups and ambled over to the trash can. “You know, the customers are supposed to throw their own trash away,” he mumbled, coming back to pick up some more. “It’s not in my job description.”

“I think you’ll find it is.” Nate glanced at the table – now devoid of cups. “Just like it’s in your job description to clean the tables between every customer.”

The barista jerked his head back, and looked at Nate for a moment, saying nothing. Then he walked back to the counter, picking up a cloth and a spray bottle, coming back to clean up their table.