Chiron

Monday comes, and with it, the normalcy of my usual routine. As I prepare for the day — stretching into sun salutations, showering, eating breakfast, biking to work, baking — my curiosity gets the best of me. I spend the time lost in my head, contemplating what Leo is doing with his Monday morning. What job is he getting ready for? What’s his morning routine?

I corner mom when she comes down to open the shop. I give her the candles I couldn’t find a place for and ask about hiring someone to help. She absentmindedly agrees with the plan to hire someone new while grilling me about the candles. She orders me to find the seller again and pass on her email when I go back next weekend.

Then, she tells me the tenants in the apartment are moving. They’ve finally closed on their new home, and are leaving by the end of the week. They’re reliable tenants, so I’m going to miss them, even though I’m happy they’re buying their own home. By the end of the conversation, we agree to run ads for both the cafe position and the empty apartment.

There’s an immediate response to both ads. Mom schedules apartment viewings for next week, and I weed out unsuitable candidates and set up job interviews between the steady stream of cafe customers and regular weekly groups. It keeps me busy, but with every drink I make or slice of cake I sell, I question — What would Leo think of my little tucked away cafe? If he came in, what would his order be? What are his favourites? I make a guess — black coffee and a plain almond biscotti.

I hardly see my friends during the week. Only a quick hello or goodbye as we rush to work or other plans. Unsurprisingly, I spend most of my time at the cafe, falling into bed exhausted by the time I get home most nights. Nic spends most evenings working overtime with his latest client, going over numbers and statistical analysis. Jade, in their artistic headspace, spends hours in their studio or out with clients getting ‘the right shot.’ Thus, the week slogs past.

Friday arrives, and Nic and Jade leave for a spontaneous romantic weekend. I take advantage of them being gone to hijack the living room and the big tv. I build a cosy nest of blankets and pillows on the couch so I can lounge in my pyjamas and watch old school comedies, eating my weight in popcorn and ice cream directly out of the tub.

It’s my firm belief that you can’t go wrong with classic comedies like Young Frankenstein and A Fish Called Wanda. They’re the best pick me up ever. My enjoyment is only dimmed because I’m alone. I let myself briefly wonder how Leo spends his downtime. What are his favourite movies and snacks? Is he a popcorn or nachos guy? Pick and Mix or chocolate? I decide he probably likes comedies, too, and popcorn is a classic. Most people agree, right? 

Sunday is much like the last. Farmer’s Market and paperwork. When I find the candle lady, Jenni, I give my mom’s business proposal and pass on her email address. She seems interested in selling her merchandise in the shop after my explanation. As I continue around the market, I speculate to myself if Leo might enjoy being here with me. I keep an eye out, just in case he miraculously turns up.

I don’t intend to think of him so often. I mean, I only conversed with him for a half hour, tops. He won’t leave my mind. My thoughts always return to guessing the answers to the questions I have about him. I keep hearing songs that remind me of him and the night we met.

To top it off, I keep having dreams about him. Sexy dreams where I’m riding him and I wake up rock hard, leaving me no choice but to masterbate before I can even leave the bed. Or worse, anxiety nightmares where I confess I like him and he laughs in my face. Those upset me and put me in a funk for the rest of the day. Which is crazy. I’m actually going crazy. We literally barely met. Why is the idea of him still affecting me?

Another week goes past in much the same way and it’s finally Friday. Earlier, Mom posted a ‘back in twenty’ sign on the shop’s door, then went to meet the people touring the apartment today. She didn’t close the middle double doors from the cafe to the shop, so I don’t know why she bothered with the sign. People will still use the cafe entrance. Besides, with the way she likes to talk, it will definitely take her longer than twenty minutes.  

The sounds of the cafe humming along create a familiar, comforting backdrop. The Friday morning parent group is here. Baby giggles and the occasional joyful shriek punctuate the adult’s conversations as they sip their coffees. A few regulars sit scattered about the dining room. Some people work on laptops at the window seats, while others lounge on couches with books.

A song that reminds me of Leo plays over the sound system. I imagine how amazing Leo’s gruff voice would sound if he sang for me as I softly sing along. I roll my eyes at my sappiness. The impatient man waiting on his order is not so subtly tapping his foot, and even I’m tired of my wandering thoughts. I refocus my attention to pouring steamed milk into the cappuccino I’m making as mom's voice alerts me to her walking into the front of the cafe.

I have a clear picture of her in my mind’s eye — auburn hair a wild curly tumble and a proud grin plastered across her lips as she gestures around the space with her ring clad hands — so I don’t bother to look up as they come closer.

“Yes, it was in terrible shape when I found it, but I fell in love. It became my dream to fix it. Chiron was a baby, and it was tough work, but I couldn’t have asked for anything better.” She releases a big happy sigh at the memories and continues. “You’ll just love Chiron. He’s the best son a mother could ask for, and his cafe is excellent. I’m biassed, I know. But imagine, if you take the apartment, you’d be so close to fresh coffee and treats!”

I keep my head down, my cheeks heating, both at her unwarranted praise and at the way she always uses the hee sound in the Greek pronunciation of my name. A low, rumbly laugh flows over to me, making my ears perk up. 

A chipper voice says, “Wouldn’t that be amazin’ Leo? I’d love to eat a different kinda cake every day.”

My ears must be trying to fulfil my wishes, because I’m almost sure I heard that voice say Leo. I’m almost positive I recognise that chuckle. I’m definitely going insane. My brain is rebelling against all the sad music, horny dreams and this infinitely long dry spell.

I finish up the drink with a flourish, turning to set it on the countertop, when the exact gruff voice I desperately want to hear cries out, “Angel!”

I whip my head up in wide-eyed disbelief. Standing next to my mom is a petite teenage girl wearing a baggy t-shirt tucked into jean shorts. She has chin length wavy brown hair framing her face, and a purse slung over her shoulder. Towering next to the girl is Leo. My Leo.

He’s staring back, slack jawed and equally wide eyed. Once my brain catches up, a huge smile spreads over my entire face at the sight of him. My heart is beating so hard it feels like it’s trying to fly out of my chest and right into his hands. Where did he come from? How did I get this lucky? Should I buy a lotto ticket on the way home tonight? 

My throat tightens. I can’t take a full breath and my vision tunnels down to just him. I manage to croak, “Leo?” before reality comes crashing back as the full coffee cup and carafe of hot milk slip from my grasp. The cup falls to the floor, shattering around my feet, and splashing hot coffee everywhere. Steamed milk sloshes across my forearm as the carafe also careens towards the floor. It hits with a bang, then clatters across the floor towards the kitchen, spinning like a top.

I reflexively jump back, wiping my arm with my apron to stop the hot milk from burning my skin. Leo is next to me in an instant. He pulls me towards the sink, one hand gently gripping my wrist, the other splayed across my hip to manoeuvre me where he needs me to be. He turns on the tap and shoves my forearm under the cool water.

Mom rushes past us and into the kitchen. Everyone in the cafe has stopped what they’re doing and is looking at me worriedly. Some stand, unsure what to do, but willing to help. The man waiting for his cappuccino rolls his eyes, sighs, then looks at his watch.

I’m once again embarrassed in front of Leo. A blush overtakes my face, burning so hot it feels as if my cheeks are on fire. I hope this doesn’t become a regular occurrence. I twist towards the room of worried faces while still keeping my arm under the water.

“I’m okay, everyone, don’t worry!” I do my best to reassure them, then focus my attention on the impatient man. “Sorry, I’ll remake your cappuccino in a minute. Just give me a sec.” Leo glares over my shoulder at the man and tightens his grip on my hip in case I try to run away. 

“You won’t. Ya gotta keep your arm under this water for at least ten minutes while the heat releases from the scald, or it’ll keep burnin’ you.”

I scowl back at him and open my mouth to argue that I can’t stand here for ten minutes when I have customers waiting. The girl with Leo speaks before I can.

“I can make it! Standard cappuccino, right?” 

She smiles at the man as she slides around Leo and me. Then, she sets her bag on the countertop and slips a hairband off her wrist to pull her hair into a ponytail. She nudges the cup shards into a little pile with the toe of her sneaker as she washes her hands in the smaller sink.

Close up, I notice the multitude of thin white scar lines running the length of her arms. Her left forearm has a deep, angry, jagged scar spanning from her elbow to her wrist. I don’t have to guess what that scar means. She gives the space a quick once over and moves to the espresso machine.

I watch with interest as she grinds the coffee beans, taps the basket, tamps it down, and locks the handle into the machine. She presses the button to start, allowing the espresso to drip into the waiting cup. The smell of fresh coffee fans out as she does a quick whirl to grab the milk from the mini fridge, then pours some into a clean carafe.

She clears the steam nozzle with a whoosh of air, seats the carafe under it, and steams the milk as if she’s done it a hundred times before setting the milk aside and clearing and wiping the nozzle a second time. With a tap and swirl of the carafe on the counter, she lifts it to pour a perfect cappuccino, finishing with a beautiful dome of foam, complete with a heart.

She places the cup on the counter in front of the man, beams a perfect customer service smile, and says in a bright cheery voice, “There ya go sir, one cappuccino, on the house! So sorry for the wait, hope you enjoy!”

The man rapidly blinks at her, confused by her cheeriness. He grabs the coffee and turns to find a table outside on the porch. As he walks away, she sings, “You're welcome!” before turning back to me and Leo with an eye roll. The customer service facade now dropped she says, “Sorry I gave it to him, Leo’ll pay for it since it was his fault in the first place.” 

I gape in astonishment, blurting out, “You’re hired! Where did you train to be a barista?”

A wide grin overtakes her face. She chirps, “YouTube!” and bursts into bubbly laughter.