“I’ve been in school.”
“Ah, that makes sense. Well, no worries. You’re the only one who applied.” He snickers. “No cash register experience, but you don’t appear to be an idiot, and I’m going to take a wild guess and say you have a smartphone, yes?”
“I do.”
“Well, the cash register is just an app on an iPad. The owner likes to think he’s very high tech, but really, he figured out how much cheaper this was than replacing the old machine when it broke.”
“I suppose that’s important.”
“He thinks so.” Terry laughs. It’s a big laugh that matches his smile.
Within a couple of days, Terry and I fall into a comfortable working rhythm, alternating customers and splitting the tips at the end of the shift. It feels good to make my own money although Deklan says we don’t need it.
I wonder how much money Deklan actually has.
“How long have you worked here?” I ask.
“Let’s see”—he taps his finger against his chin—“about eight months, I guess. I moved here last summer. Worked at one of those mini gas station kiosk places for a month before a tornado flattened it.”
“Seriously? Were you in it?”
“Nah, I wasn’t working at the time. The dude who was working that night was okay—just a few scratches. He was lucky.”
“I guess so.”
“I like it here better anyway. People who come in to buy cigarettes at gas stations tend to be very grumpy people, in my experience. People are happy when they get their coffee, especially when they get extra whipped cream.”
I glance over at him and raise an eyebrow when he winks at me.
“You do realize I’m married, right?”
“Whaa? No way!”
“I am.” Apparently, flashing my ring at him when I picked up my coffee had been ineffective.
“You’re too young,” he says. He turns his smile back to a woman ordering a caramel macchiato. “I take it you have a kid or two, then?”
“No, no kids.”
“Why did you get married so young?”
I glare at him, wanting to be angry at the intrusive question, but his expression reveals nothing but genuine curiosity.
“It just worked out that way.”
He looks like he wants to ask more, but a bunch of customers come in all at once, and we are both busy for the next couple of hours. By the time we get a moment to breathe, Terry seems to have forgotten the topic.
“Ah, hells.” Terry stands up from where he was crouched in front of a refrigerator. “Out of Half and Half up here. I need to grab more from the back, and it’s buried behind four hundred bottles of vanilla flavoring. Do you think you’re okay up here by yourself for a few minutes?”
“I think so.”
“I’ll be quick.” Terry jogs through the door to the kitchen, and I’m left alone up front.
Thankfully, the next two orders are easy, and then the line goes dead for a bit. I clean some dirty cups off of tables and rinse out the mixers before the next person comes to the counter.
“Hello there, former betrothed.”
I jump at the sound of the voice—I hadn’t heard anyone come in. It’s Sean, and he’s smiling. His smile is nothing like Terry’s; Sean’s smile is full of lightning and poison.