Grace Ch 08

"Grace, Sweetheart?" Kathy kind voice urges me awake. "I just want to let you know that Emmett's on his way back from his sleepover."

I blink my eyes against the bright white of the sunlit walls around me. I'm in a bed, but not the red four poster bed of the upper floor; this room looks far less daunting. It's morning, which means it is Monday in the real world. I have a job and a life to get back to.

"I have work at 8, what time is it?"

"Oh, honey, it's 9:30, I'm so sorry."

I jump up. This can't be happening. I'm never late and Michelle is absolutely going to kill me. I brave a glance at my phone and I, indeed, have several missed calls from 85. I text Michelle that I overslept and that I'm on the way. Then I give Kathy a quick thanks as she shows me out of the master bedroom and to the front door.

It is a panicked and uncomfortable drive to the coffee shop as I watch the seconds tick farther along on the dashboard, dreading the scolding that Michelle will surely give me. At worst, I'll be fired from the best job I've ever had and all because I was stupid enough to stay out all night doing insanely questionable things with strangers.

My mind drifts to last night as I drive and my heartrate slows. It wasn't as scary or bad as I'd feared. And it had all worked out hadn't it? All of my misplaced anxiety over being taken advantage of or left alone was unfounded and Richard and Kathy had turned out to actually be the decent, honest people I trusted them to be.

So, if their agenda really wasn't to harm me, then I had to come to terms with the idea that they truly saw something special or unique in me that made them want to share with me the intimate details of their home and their relationship. I know it isn't the way I look. I mean, I look fine but just average. My hips are too wide for my narrow shoulders and I'm not particularly firm like Nicole is. My eyes are dull hazel, not sparkling green like Kathy's, and they sit in a round, baby face. The only thing I like about my face is my nose, which slopes nicely down into a button end, and is accented by a splash of freckles that looks as if they were painted on. Those same freckles got me teased for years when I was younger but now people are using make-up to create what I was already born with. The point is, I guess I could be called cute, but not especially beautiful or sexy.

I pull into the parking lot at head into 85. Michelle is busy with customers at the register, she doesn't trust any of us to do that job after money started going missing six months ago, so she does it herself. That suits me well enough, because then I always get my claim of the best task in the store: the pastry case.

The pastry case, however, has already been stocked this morning and not in the artful way that I usually do it, with multiple tiers with careful attention to complimentary sizes and shapes, and how they fit next to one another. I usually also single out a display slice, if cake was in the order, and showcase it on a decorative plate. If there's one thing I've come to trust, it's my artistic eye, and I'm positive that the sloppy way the cinnamon rolls, pies, and cake pops have been thrown in will cost us sales. I frown. I will fix it later if I have time.

I go through my usual motions of putting on my apron and punching in before checking out what the order line up looks like.

"Overslept, huh?" Michelle laughs from behind me, as I pour a cappuccino.

"I am so sorry, Michelle. I promise it won't happen again."

The fact that what I was doing last night was so scandalous floods me with even more guilt than I already feel. Not only was I late, but I was late because I was letting strangers tie me up! No...not strangers, not anymore. Surely by now we were at least friends and who knows exactly what you're supposed to call this kind of friendship.

I use a stir stick to finish off the drink with a leaf pattern and call the name on the ticket. And then it's back to the front of the line again, but not before looking back at Michelle.

"Were you running the morning rush by yourself?" I ask, incredulous.

"Yup," Michelle says proudly, holding up a peace sign and posing for me. "because I'm awesome."

She may be a little neurotic, but I will admit that she is one hell of a manager. I watch her pull her dark braids back into a high pony tail and notice that she's been sweating. She must have had quite a morning.

"You are. And I am so not awesome for leaving you hanging," I pout.

"You're worrying too much now, Grace, just catch up on the orders and we'll be square."

So I do. I run through several Americanos (even though they are the worst drink because they're so bitter and you can't even decorate them), more cappuccinos, and some house specialty lattes. Work flies by as it usually does when it's just Michelle and I. She doesn't talk very much and neither do I so I tend to get absorbed in my barista task and it totally floods my brain, blocking out everything else. Even though I probably look like a mad woman making four coffees at once, it's one of the few times I stop worrying long enough to feel calm.

Then worry creeps back in as I remember the pastry case. With all the orders finished, and Michelle on cleaning duty, I take it upon myself to go over to fix it.

I slide open the glass door and take in the sweet smell of cinnamon as I remove one of the pies first but, as I look through the other side of the glass I see someone walk in the door and I almost drop the pie I'm holding. I quickly straighten and shuffle behind the espresso machines, peering between them at the curvy, dark-haired girl with the unmistakable bug-eyed fairy tattoo sleeve swaggering through the front door.

"What can we get for you today?" I hear Michelle's usual script.

"I'm looking for Grace," I hear a familiar voice, deep yet feminine. It is undeniably her.

I turn towards the counter and take in the details of her, Long black curls, tan skin and dark piercing eyes on a large hourglass frame. This is the woman I fell for.

I draw a breath and meet her gaze, "Hello, Bethany."