Hatchetfield.

overspilled tea

Emma Perkins was slumped over the counter, liable to drop dead of boredom at any second. It had been a slow day at Beanies. It was more of the same shit — Nora getting on her ass for not singing, Zoey being bitchy as per usual and crooning some number from Phantom of the Opera , and the same handful of patrons. These days, their policy of tip-for-a-song wasn't enforced too strictly. No one tipped Emma anyway. Besides, Zoey got most of the tips, and she was more than happy to break into song when given the chance.

But Emma was working the counter today, and there were only around three people inside. She watches as the bell on the door rang, and — was that the fucking mayor's daughter? What the fuck ? She straightened up a bit more. The mayor's daughter walked in with one of the regulars, a snot-nosed teenager often sporting suspenders and a bowtie, now dressed in a regular-looking sweater. Emma called him "hot chocolate boy" in her head. The kid needed it for his blood sugar or something.

She watched with renewed interest as they found a table in the corner, speaking in hushed tones, looking nervous. She recalls Mayor Lauter making a statement on the news, mentioning that his daughter was being investigated for the two murders in Hatchetfield High. God. Fucking Clivesdale. Our football team really sucks, Emma thinks dryly as she begins preparing the hot chocolate boy's order. Sure enough, he walked up to the counter, hands in his pockets.

"You've gotta wait, kid. The milk isn't warmed up yet," Emma says. The boy sighs and forks over his payment. He was always exact, so she never bothered with the change. "Anything for your friend there?" She glances again at the Lauter girl.

"Um—" He looks behind him. "Steph, you want anything?" he calls out. The girl — Steph , apparently — shakes her head. He turns back to Emma. "Uh, no. Just a hot chocolate for me, please."

"You got it," Emma replies. This was only getting more interesting. She didn't expect the level of familiarity to be so close. She wasn't really much of a gossip, but now that her curiosity was piqued, she had to know more. "So why's a dork like you hanging out with the mayor's daughter?"

"We're doing completely normal activities!" the boy answers, rapid-fire, then he scurries back to his table. Emma bites down a laugh. She turns her attention back to the hot chocolate. It was nothing fancy anyway, just a packet of Swiss Miss with some whipped cream and a bit of milk. Another one of Beanies' shitty trade secrets.

The bell rings again. Emma sees a familiar face walk in, looking sure of himself. She knows him quite well; he's been coming in for as long as she's been working, ordering a black coffee every time. Sometimes he'd make a call and order through delivery, which was the only time she got to see CCRP up close. She never really got that company's deal.

"Hi," he says with a small smile. "I'll have a black coffee, please."

"Sure, coming right up." It's muscle memory at this point, watching the grounds drip down to the coffee cup. She gives the guy a sardonic grimace. He was gonna know that all the baristas spit in the coffee at some point. "Still gonna remind you that the Starbucks is right across the street."

"I dunno, I like to think that Hatchetfield's finest coffee is in this very place," he says with a shrug. Damn it, why don't I know his name? Emma thinks. She suddenly feels really silly. He was probably their best customer, coming in without fail, and she was blanking out on his name. She definitely remembers writing it on the side of the cup multiple times, but fuck, she was really losing it.