Sanditon Steamy Brew Cafe

Chapter 1

"Don't look now. Mr. Parker has entered the shop," my sister, Alison groaned. I too shared in her sentiments. Mr. Sidney Parker came into our little cafe, the Sanditon Steamy Brew Café, just about every morning and on occasion in the afternoon. We had only been open for business for two months and were trying hard to make a name for ourselves in our small community. Sidney Parker was probably our most regular customer, even if we weren't fond of his business. Every day he came in, he had a complaint about something; his coffee was cold, it didn't have enough cream, it was made incorrectly, his muffin was dry, there wasn't enough meat on his sandwich, the room was too crowded. You name it, he's complained about it. He'd always ask to talk to the manager, which was me; owner, manager, barista, baker, food artist. I did it all with the help of my sister who really wasn't a whole lot of help when dealing with difficult customers.

Every time Mr. Parker complained about something, I'd offer to fix it or refund his money and then he'd refuse and decide to settle for what he had. It was the most infuriating thing to deal with every day. I kept busy at the café and didn't have time for entitled people who thought the world revolved around them like Sidney Parker. My baked goods were just fine, our coffee was just fine, even the room was just fine. We didn't need his baseless opinions.

"I'll deal with him," I offered.

"Good luck!" she said, as I walked over to the front of the counter.

I stared at him with contempt already. "Mr. Parker. What can I get for you today?"

He stared at the menu on the board above me as if he was looking at it for the first time. He knew what was on the menu. He knew what he wanted to order. But just to irritate me, he wasted my time. I sighed angrily and shifted my weight to one side waiting impatiently. "Why do you stare at the menu each day as if you think it might change?" I asked.

He diverted his eyes from the menu to mine and for a moment it appeared I had caught him off guard. "Perhaps someday it will," he answered.

I had to fight back from rolling my eyes. His comment seemed like yet another dig. If it took him this long to stare at the menu, he clearly didn't like what his options were. "There is a line forming behind you. If you don't know what you want, could I suggest you stand aside and let the person behind you go first?" I asked.

"No, they can wait," he said with a smirk.

This time I didn't hold back from rolling my eyes. "Alison!" I called. "Do you want to get the next person in line?" She glanced at Mr. Parker then at me and also rolled her eyes. She knew it was already starting out to be a tense morning with him.

"I'll take a macchiato and a raspberry danish," he said, finally telling me his order. I rang up his order and started making his coffee while he swiped his card. I glanced over my shoulder at him, feeling his eyes watching me. I assumed he was making sure I made his drink correctly. Our eyes connected for only a moment before he shifted his eyes and picked up a flier about the upcoming book club meeting we were having. If he wasn't such an ass, I'd actually be attracted to him.

I remembered the first time he came in. We were newly opened and eager for any customers. When I saw him, I had butterflies in my stomach. The ones you get when a really hot guy walks up to you and all coherent thought leaves your brain. He was the type of man who knew he was beautiful and used it to his advantage. He had a very elegant woman draped on his arm who was even more rude than he was on their first visit. I don't know why I felt the need to look for rings on their fingers during that visit. I guess I was curious and thought they had to be married since they were so similar. Neither of them wore a ring and he never came in with that woman or any other woman ever again. It was just his ever so pleasant self he graced us with his presence. Once I was done making his coffee, I placed it in front of him and waited expectantly for some sort of criticism.