As I went around the kitchen, I tugged at the apron's ties around my waist, making sure they were tightly in place. I wandered this way and that way, putting finishing touches on things. The thin waffle in the waffle maker smelled right, and my finger went up as I spun around to it, and the iron dinged right after. I lifted up the top and took it out, folding it in a conical shape quickly and sealing it with water, and placed it delicately with the others. 

I'd decided to theme today's menu with ice cream. Profiteroles, ice cream filled macarons, fresh waffle cones with three kinds of ice cream to choose from. The secret best combination would be a fresh mini fruit tart with a vanilla scoop. The way the flavors would combine, each one melting in your mouth. My own filled with water just thinking about it. Our customers would be delighted.

I twirled around and went into a squat, turning on the oven light to peek at some cake pans inside. These cakes would be our signature sandwich cakes, which are cakes with a lot of cream or frosting inside. Kind of an inside out cupcake, a more grown up version, maybe. I'd be cutting them out into small circles and filling them, assembling them in a line. Today's included glazed strawberries and cream, a dark chocolate with fresh raspberries inside with even darker and somewhat bittersweet ganache on top, and a special apple and cinnamon combination which was nice for breakfast. There were tarts that went with these flavors, so you could have a tart or a cake. I thought it was perfect.

As I gazed at this light, watching the still wet batter be beautiful, coaxing it to rise, I heard the bell chime above our front door. It had to be Nikki coming in, starting to prepare our coffee. 

Nikki was very particular about our coffee, and that was the biggest understatement. He found and adored coffee like museum curators collected fine art. The beans were his babies, taking as much care for it as I did with our sweets. Knowing that my cakes had some minutes on them left, I got up, taking off my apron and throwing it on my metal table, and my arms went out toward the kitchen door, eager to see my best friend. 

I burst through the kitchen door just as he made his way behind the counter. My arms were outstretched, trying to grab him as he froze in his tracks, his eyes huge and his mouth open.

"What is that on your head?" He pointed at me, a disapproving tone in his voice, but not unfriendly. "You look like you're going to a gay wedding."

"I wish," I laughed. I touched my head, which was wearing a pale pink beret on top of my textured, short blonde hair. I flicked my head, my long bangs going with it and back into place in their sweep over my forehead, going into a flip to the side, staying with hairspray. I patted down the rest of my outfit, which was carefully chosen to honor my transgender friends. I inspected a sleeve of my light blue, pink, and white plaid button up. Tapped my gray vest and matching pants, and poked my darker gray tie which was tucked inside my vest. I tapped my black shoe on the black and white tiles impatiently. "You don't like it? I bought this beret the other day online. I thought it screamed 'French Cup'. Doesn't it?" 

"It certainly screams."

The bell chimed again, and both of us instinctively spun around. 

"Welcome to French Cup!" We shouted, grinning together.

The rest was a whirlwind.

"I want to order a cake."

The woman in front of me looked to be middle aged, an expensive purse on her arm. She was losing her patience, and I wasn't used to this. 

"Ma'am, as I told you, we aren't that kind of shop. We're more like a Starbucks." My head was bowed, but I wanted to be anything but polite. 

"I don't understand why you can't just bake me a three layer cake. It's my daughter's wedding tomorrow. You're the only bakery in the neighborhood. We're staying at the hotel for the wedding. The original bakery fell through, so now you're the only option. Why can't you do something?" She gave an angry sigh. 

"Ma'am, that's not a three layer cake. It's three separate cakes, stacked toge-"

"It's a three layer cake. That's what I said!" She rose her voice at me. "I don't understand why you can't just march right back there-" She indicated at my kitchen door. "-and make it! Can't you understand that I'm in a bind?! It's my daughter's wedding! You have everything you need to make it back there! Why can't you just make it?!"

My eyes bugged out at her. Behind her, Ayane was sitting at a table, observing with a face like she smelled something really stinky. Across from her was Hiran, the owner of a local live house, and his thin line of a mustache was twitching and so was the dangling little moon earring on his ear. He was gripping his mug a little too hard.

I saw Nikki now watching from across the room, about to pour fresh coffee for someone else. That someone was watching, too.

Under the microscope like that, I started to blush, a terrible sign when someone is mad at you. It was almost an admission of guilt. I shook my head quickly, pressing my eyes closed. The woman didn't like this.

"I'm going to tell everyone that this shop is terrible! I'm going to write a review! I'll find you online!" She spat at me. "You won't fulfill a simple customer request-!"

"Fuck off, lady!" Ayane shouted, the final straw breaking her back. She rose from her seat with her chair clattering backwards, shaking her finger at her. "You were in my store yesterday! You just want to leave everyone a bad review! I doubt it's even your daughter's wedding! You saw their pride flag outside just like mine and you came in here and-!"

"How dare you! It is my daughter's wedding!"

Nikki mouthed "holy shit" at me and starting coming over. 

"Since when is a whole fucking wedding cake a 'simple customer request'?! You're full of shit!" Ayane continued, really leaning into it. Inside, I was cheering, wanting to jump up and down. "If you leave them a bad review, I'm going to tell everyone online what you fucking did to deserve it!"

The bell chimed, but there was no way I could give my customary welcome. I was frozen in my spot, my face probably as pale as a lily, watching this fight go down. 

"Whoa, whoa, calm down," Nikki said, trying to get in the middle of it. "I'm one of the owners. Darling, we're not going to make you a fucking wedding cake. You need to leave now."

"I can't believe this, this is-!" The woman started, throwing her purse over her shoulder. "This fucking place! This whole fucking place!" She went to leave, everyone watched her go with razor sharp eyes. The bell chimed above her as she went, and Hiran put his hands around his mouth just before the door closed.

"BYE, KAREN!" He shouted as loud as he could. 

The whole coffeeshop burst into laughter, all of them locals, all of them loving us. I couldn't help but laugh, too, knowing they were all on our side. Every last one of them.

Every one of them, except...

My eyes landed on the back of the head of a stranger with broad shoulder blades and strong shoulders to go with them, wearing a smart looking tan suit. Nikki saw him at just about the same time I did, and went over, making a bee line. He gestured with his coffee server as he spoke, giving him the warm welcome that I failed to give. Acting like none of that ugly yelling had happened. He must have been the one who came inside in the middle of that, activating the chiming bell. It wasn't right, I had to-

I marched over there, too. I bowed my head when I arrived. "Good morning, welcome to French Cup. Pardon us for the disturbance. I deeply apologize."

When I gazed back up, my eyes met with large, almond shaped eyes. A familiar full mouth was slightly parted, staring at me, too. He was holding one of our white mugs up, having taken one from a stack in the middle of his table. His wavy hair was perfectly in place, everything about him perfect.

"Cream and sugar?" Nikki asked, pouring him a cup a little too spiritedly. "We have a lot of other extras, too. You can find them there, on that menu standing up. We also offer a wide range of coffee styles, from frozen to blonde, to dark roast to of course French roast, lattes to-"

"You broke my sugar animals," I blurted dumbly, not knowing what else to say. My mouth was still open even more dumbly.

"Yes, I did," he said, bowing his head to me and putting his now full cup on the table. 

"I'm sorry, what?" Nikki asked, caught off guard, still grinning in our customary French Cup way. 

The stranger and I just stared at each other, not knowing what else to say.