Sweet Nothings – Sweet Enough to Eat

1

Kinsley

Opening the shop at such an early time in the morning isn’t one of my favorite things to do, but as the owner, I pick up where I’m needed. Although, there is one perk to opening, the tall, dark drink of water that comes in, he definitely helps. Too bad he’s always staring at his phone or grumbling to someone on the other end to notice me.

For the past two weeks, I’ve watched him come in. He wears a different suit every day, the kind you don’t get from the neighborhood men’s warehouse, no you can tell his suits are tailor made just for him. They’re all in varying shades of black, gray, and blue. Some have pin stripes, some are more than a three-piece-suit, but every single one of them mold to his tall and muscular frame like a second skin.

He doesn’t just affect me either, my other baristas stop what they’re doing when he steps foot into Topped Off. I’m pretty sure we all have to wipe the drool off of our faces when he leaves. His mocha colored hair, slicked back as if he just got out of the shower, dressed, and came here for his signature black coffee. I’m not sure why he buys a three dollar cup of black coffee when he can make a whole pot at home for the same price, but hey, it’s extra money in the bank for me.

I go about turning on the lights, fixing books on the shelves, and then get the coffee bar ready. This place was my dream, ever since I was a little girl. I’d sneak sips of my father’s coffee, when my mom wasn’t looking, add in my love for reading I got from my mother. A dream formed, a coffee shop inside a bookstore. It’s situated in our small downtown square, it’s on the smaller side, but it works great for our customers.

Once everything is ready, I flip our sign on to open, and unlock the door.

I’m making a caramel iced coffee for myself while I await the arrival of the early birds that like to get in here at seven o’clock in the morning.

The display case is even stocked with pastries from our local bakery, Sloane and I help one another out. Kind of like bouncing off one another, I carry a few of her pastries, and place a business card in the cute teal bags when they order their items to go, along with a cute sign we have in the display case.

Croissant and coffee in hand, I scroll through my Instagram feed. I interact with some of the comments on our latest posts before uploading a new one with my coffee and croissant, making sure I tag Crumbs, Sloane’s bakery.

By the time I’m done eating, customers are starting to show up, well, at least our usual customers are.

“Hey Stan, how are you today?” I ask one of our older gentlemen customers. He lost his wife, Stella, a year ago and has found his way here every morning.

“Doing good, Kinsley. How are you, pumpkin?” He knows my obsession with pumpkin when the Fall weather comes around.

“It’s Friday, you know what that means come tonight,” I say with a wink.

“Pizza and wine again?” he questions. He reminds me a lot of my father, Stan genuinely cares about me.

“Absolutely, it’s a tradition,” I tell him as I hand him his coffee and blueberry muffin.

“One day, you’ll have someone to share that tradition with, and even after fifty years of celebrating that tradition, it’ll still put a smile on your face.” Stan hands me the money for his order.

“I look forward to that day,” handing him the change, he puts it in the tip jar like he always does.

“Have a good day Kins, I’ll see you later,” he turns around for a table to eat his muffin, drink his coffee, and read the comics in the newspaper.

2

Luke

I’m thirty-seven years old, tired to the bone, and stressed, more than not. My phone rings non-stop with either calls, emails, or even texts. My one saving grace is my coffee, strong and black. Some even say I like my coffee like my soul, dark and black. I laughed it off, really my soul isn’t black, but my bank accounts are all in the black. And, that’s more than most can say for themselves. in the corporate field.

I started at the very bottom, I even did pro bono work, it fucking sucked, but I did it. I worked my ass off, now I can choose what clients I want to take, when I want to take them.

Walking into the downtown coffee shop before getting to the office is my saving grace. Have you ever had a first-year intern make coffee? It’s pure sludge, it’s disgusting, and I refuse to even use the coffee pot.