I knew I was taking a chance, but I just couldn't shake the nervous feeling.
'It'll be fine. Shanice is cool. She'll respect you for being forward', I coached myself.
I'd beaten out the breakfast rush, and I could finally be at work without my ears ringing from three blenders crushing ice simultaneously. When all was said and done, I held an aluminum saucer in both my hands with a snickerdoodle cocoa balanced dead in the center. If I could read my palm, it would have read 'Just do it!', a message that I had hastily scrawled for no one but myself. I'd been reciting that line, a number of pep talks, and the same positive affirmations for weeks. Finally, I was ready to make a move on my crush.
Gingerly, I came out from around the counter and squared my shoulders on the path. I choked on one last breath, and rolled one heel in front of the other. My upper body was locked in place as best as I could manage it, both hands vice gripped around then thin sheet of metal. I passed by some other patrons who had gathered, mostly college age and young entrepreneurs, laptop screens acting as mood lighting to the residential coffee shop that I loved so much. They paid me no mind and I considered myself lucky as I dodged chairs, tables, and people going to the restroom all without spilling a drop.
One last bend. Around the final corner, then down the stretch which formed the lower lip of the 'L' shaped building. There she was. Shanice was sitting at her corner seat, watching traffic while she studied up on current events, wrote her novel, and learned her third language. Or at least, that's what my imagination had her doing. She and I had some history; most of it summarized by her telling me what she wanted and me fetching it for her. Her and her groupies would spend nearly every morning at the Shoppe, sipping on drinks and gossiping about the latest student-teacher scandal. I could hear them even when I was taking the orders of other customers, and I would yearn to be with them - to sit and sip coffee with Shanice. For months I ached for a chance, then realized that there would have a window if I played my cards right.
'It's Friday so she doesn't have class. Her friends aren't with her. The breakfast rush is over', I spoke internally. 'This is your shot. Do it'.
I appeared on Shanice's right, her chin in her palm as she looked at the untrimmed line of hedges immediately out the window. When she sensed that someone was near, she swooped around.
"Sorry, is that for," she pointed at herself, the unfinished thought serving as the question mark. "I didn't hear my name being called." With the poise of an actress, she spun in her chair and held out both her hands.
I fanned away her apologetics with one hand as the other passed the plastic cup to its recipient. "It's fine. I didn't even call your name."
"Oh? So ya'll have started delivering coffee in person now, huh?"
"Only for regulars," I said. The next line tumbled behind it all on its own. "But not for decaf."
The messy mound of tied up hair bobbed backward, blonde on the top but chocolate at the roots, as Shanice raised a thick, sculpted eyebrow. "Alright, girl's got jokes. They must be payin' you extra for that."
"For what?"
"The lame comedy act."
I would have been put off by being 'lame' if I at all associated with being cool. "Not a cent. Guess I just like to espresso myself this way."
Maybe that one pushed it. We were idle while she tested her hot beverage and I stood with a silver platter like I was expecting something. She seemed to be looking behind me, but I didn't turn to see exactly what might have caught her attention. After waiting longer than was comfortable she turned her gaze on me again, eyes an icy version of cobalt glass. "Needs sugar," she frowned.
What a disappointing response.
"Did I make it too strong?" I replied, digging in my pockets, the act reminding me that we were still operating as employee and customer even if it grieved me. "I brought some packets just in case."
"Hmm," her blameless brown skin crumpled as she thought. Waiting, she took another sip, and reevaluated. "Nah. Actually, I'll pass on the sugar. I'm tryin'a cut the stuff out. Maybe just some extra milk."
My inner barista was confused by the sentiment. A snickerdoodle cocoa that doesn't need sugar but needs more milk? The thing had a milk base! If anything, it tasted like a cookie with whipped cream on top. We sold warm, foamy milk if she had wanted that. I was prone to ranting about guests in my mind, but then I watched Shanice take another drag, her huge, kissable lips pressing around the white lid with an effortless pucker that hollowed my lungs and made something in my stomach dance.
"I have that too," I answered, suddenly ready to do whatever it would take to please her.
"Mind making that happen? Thanks so much."
"Be right back," I left in the direction that I had come. Not even ten steps later, I screeched to a halt. So far nothing I had done to win over Shanice had worked, yet I knew that I was fiendishly opposed to returning to how things had been in the past. Knowing there might not be another chance, and digging deep for a trump card that I had dreamed of but never truly considered, I turned and arrived at her table once more.
"Oh, good you came back. I was like, 'she left but she never took my drink to add the cream'. Like, you just started walking and I thought maybe you just forgot it." She looked over my shoulders and around my sides. "Did you, like, bring it in a pitcher or something?"
"I brought it," I replied.
"Okay, then?"
Placing the saucer out of reach, I took her drink from the table and pulled the lid off. It was still sticky in the spot that she had drank from, a mix of sweetness and lip balm. Once the drink was open, I set it on the table once more. My hands went to my neck, fingers busy, head angled toward the beverage in an attempt to avoid direct eye contact. I felt the lick of air conditioning at the base of my neck, then my collar bone, and finally on the exposed skin of my breasts. I'd worn a front clasp today, planning for the needed convenience but imagining that it would be needed in the bathroom, not on the main floor.