Many thanks to Kumani for editorial assistance.
*
Two years ago when I first became a full-time student at the state university's city campus I was fortunate enough to find a part-time job, one that I still have to this day. Twenty hours a week I work in a small family run pastry shop called the Donut King. While the amount of money I earn there is modest, it is a much needed supplement to my student loan and savings.
"We'll do what we can, Jason," my dad had reassured me, taking me aside as he and my mom dropped me and my meager possessions off at school. "But you might want to try and find a job if you can."
We'd talked about it many times before so my dad really didn't need to bring it up again. My folks didn't make enough to pay for my tuition, books, room and board outright but they made too much for me to qualify for sufficient grant money. I'd taken out a loan but we all knew I'd have to come up with some money on my own if I was to make it through four years at the university.
Still it wasn't something I was going to lose any sleep over, at least not right away. Instead I was excited to be on my own and away from home for the first time and intent on exploring my new environment. So after my parents had wished me well and had gone back home I spent most of my time in the days before classes, wandering about the campus and the city.
My hometown was small and back there my senses had early on been imprinted with the native greens, browns and blues. Along with the smell of freshly cut grass, turned earth and rain-sweetened air they are cherished comforts, but also by then had become far too familiar. So in those first few days in the city I eagerly found myself basking in the new sights, sounds, scents and textures surrounding me.
It was the very next day after my arrival in fact that while exploring the area near campus on foot I found the Donut King. Truthfully, I first caught whiff of two of my favorite aromas: donuts and coffee, from a couple of blocks away then was lured unfailingly by them straight to the front door. By the time I had reached the little shop I had developed quite a craving and at that point my only thought was to get a fresh donut and a cup of coffee if there was enough change left in my pocket to buy them.
A Help Wanted sign in the window caught my eye as I pulled the door handle and stepped inside. The bell overhead clanged loudly for several seconds prompting the waitress behind the counter who'd had her back to me to cast a casual glance over her shoulder toward the source of the sound. It was then that I beheld Stephanie for the first time and like powdered sugar to dark clothing I was instantly drawn to her.
Casting a quick glance about I could see the shop was small but tidy and well lit. On the walls were framed pictures, prints and travel posters of the Greek isles, of whitewashed houses clustered about steep hillsides overlooking the unmistakable blue of the Mediterranean. There were also photos of the Acropolis, pictured both by day and by night in all its centuries' old silent magnificence, along with notices not to loiter and a requirement to have a shirt and shoes on to receive service.
The combined redolence of fresh donuts, pastries and coffee suffusing the air teased my achingly empty stomach unrelentingly. Gleaming cases of glass and chrome behind the counter displayed a tempting variety of donuts, oversized and overfilled pastries and a wickedly enticing plethora of fine baked goods.
But after a brief glance at the contents of the display cases, what caught and fixed my attention was the girl behind the counter. She certainly didn't look like any of the girls from my hometown. Whereas the ones I grew up with were blondes, brunettes or redheads, this girl's hair was the deepest and darkest ebony I'd ever seen. Her eyes were so deep a brown as they glittered beneath her sable eyebrows that they might have easily been mistaken for black. Her skin was as exotic to me as her hair. It wasn't white, black or brown but more of a silken olive. Truthfully there has never been a word in my vocabulary that could accurately describe the alluring tone.
Still as singular as she appeared to me there was something that seemed recognizable about her at the same time. Given the unified theme of the wall posters and the rich hues of her skin I concluded that she was most likely of Greek descent. Then it dawned on me. The dull waitress uniform aside, this girl might have looked at home atop Mount Olympus among the gods and goddesses straight out of an illustration from the Western Civilization textbook I'd bought that morning.
Since it was almost noon and most people had already made their coffee and donut runs for the day the shop was nearly empty. There were ample seating options but I sat on a stool at the counter, the better to observe this comely demigoddess closely. She seemed to be about my age and was leaning on an elbow sort of sideways against the stainless steel back counter next to where the coffee pots and stacks of cups were set. After having taken a casual glance in my direction, she'd gone back to giving sass through the service window in the wall to an unseen someone in the kitchen.
Leaning as she was caused the girl's lithe body to stretch so that her already snug fitting uniform tauntingly emphasized each of her savory contours. My eyes had made it down to her sleekly muscled tawny legs, when her vocal tone softened from the one she'd been using to harangue the unfortunate and unseen someone in the kitchen.
"See something you like?"
Her question sounded innocent enough until I looked up and saw her sly smile and an ink dark eyebrow arched in my direction. She'd caught me scoping her out. With most girls I probably would have just laughed and made a hasty joke but with her I felt myself begin to blush. Mentally grasping, I noticed a sign on the wall behind her, proclaiming that the best cream filled donuts in the city could be found right there at the Donut King.
"Yes, I was wondering," I stammered some as I tried to recover, "if you might have any cream filled donuts?"
"Well," she paused as if to give my question serious thought, "since this is a donut shop and cream filled donuts are the house specialty, I think we just might be able to find you one."
The girl smiled broadly then, her crimson glossed lips parting to reveal brightly white teeth. It was plainly evident she was enjoying watching me squirm.
"May I have one please?"
"Yes, you may," she chuckled. "Would you like some coffee with that?"
"Yes, please."
"Such nice manners," the girl remarked, still toying with me as she placed the donut and a coffee cup in front of me.
She stepped closer until only the stippled width of the well worn Formica countertop separated us. Her eyes focused on the porcelain cup as she poured the coffee while adding a final dig at me.
"Your Mom must have trained you well."
There wasn't time to think of a retort as now I was hit by something far more powerful than her verbal barbs. It was an intoxicating mix of scents that flowed over me, urging me to take deep and savoring breaths. Vanilla, mint and a suggestion of something sweet and fruit-like were all discernable. Plus a hotter, more spiced aroma that I assumed had to be her perfume. They quickly replaced coffee and donuts at the top of my list of favorite scents.
She set the coffee pot on the counter and I looked for her name tag.
"Thank you, Stephanie," I managed to say, drawing another deep breath, thankful for more than just the coffee and donut.
"Anything else I can get for you?"
Despite the slightest hint of a smile at the corners of her mouth, I couldn't decide if she'd intended more than one meaning behind her question but I decided to act as if she had. Needing a job anyway, I decided there and then to apply for whatever position they had open. Regardless of what the pay was, there was certainly one obvious benefit if I got it and that was to get to know Stephanie better. And if I was going to work there, addictive scents or not, I decided I needed to assert myself and let her know I was no puppy on a leash, "trained" or otherwise.
"Actually, there is."
As I took a long pause to sip my coffee and let her ponder the possibilities, I studied Stephanie. Her ebony eyebrows elevated slightly and she smiled in anticipation, no doubt in mental preparation to verbally skewer me. Was she thinking I was going to hit on her? That was certainly what I wanted her to think so that when I only asked for an application she'd learn she no longer had the upper hand.
