Americano | The Dark Brew Series -1-

Chapter Four

For hours, I had been going through old drafts, trying to come up with new ideas. Most of the jobs I found online asked for references. Up until now, I had none-no previously published articles, no short stories, nothing.

Just thinking about the process of convincing publishing houses to hire me made me nauseous. Step up your game, Reyna.

Once again, I didn't get any sleep. The entire night, I had been trying to develop a strategy to prove that I was made for this job. I was trying to figure out ways to persuade them to give me a chance. I wasn't asking for much-just an internship would be fine to start with. I just needed one foot in the door of the industry. After that, I could aim for higher-paying jobs as a journalist. If everything worked out.

So, I started assembling the documents the publishing houses required: certificates, my CV, and maybe even my left kidney. But the cover letter-that was the real challenge. If it didn't ooze creativity and passion, I knew I wouldn't be invited to any interviews. To be honest, I used Google for good examples, suitable adjectives, and even for grammar tips. It's not that my grammar and spelling were bad, but I was terrified of sending HR documents with typos. My anxiety needed that reassurance.

In the end, I came up with something I was somewhat proud of. I hadn't gone through the application process in about three years. Just thinking about it made me nervous. But I knew it would be fine. The worst that could happen was rejection-and rejection was something I had grown accustomed to.

It wasn't just the job hunt in New York City that was difficult. Socialising was hard too. The only friends I had made since coming here were my coworkers from the Dark Brew. One of the only good things about that little coffee shop. My boss, on the other hand, could make my life hell if she wanted to. Being loud and bossy were two of her main traits. I sort of understood it-it must have been hard for her to deal with everything on her own. She chased the American Dream just like I did: coming to New York City, opening her own coffee shop, and giving it her all at all times. For her, the American Dream was almost within reach. For me, it seemed like I had left any potential of living it in the small bedroom I had at my parents' house.

My alarm snapped me out of my daydreams. Less sleep, more grumpy. That's exactly how I thought I would get through the day. Until a pair of paws pressed against my leg. The sleepy dog was stretching his whole body as if he had just woken from the deepest sleep possible. Jealousy wasn't the only thing I felt-I also felt pure joy at having something in my life that needed me, a little creature to keep me company.

Tucker raised his head, his eyes still closed. His silly face was all scrunched up from lying on the sofa funny.

"Do you want to go for a walk?"

The word "walk" did its magic. The once-sleepy dog was now full of energy, hopping around the room as if his life depended on it. My laugh filled the apartment with pure joy-something it had been missing for quite some time. Loneliness makes even a city full of people feel empty. And though I did go out clubbing and tried to make friends, it was harder than I thought. Cultural differences were bigger than I expected. You couldn't compare the British to the Americans. Most of the people I met didn't understand proper British banter. They thought I was being rude, that I should be nicer. But I was nice-they just didn't understand. I never meant to make fun of anyone or make them feel stupid. But Americans are so soft. Not in a bad way-they're actually a lot nicer to strangers than Brits are.

In the end, all my accent earned me was toxic men. They thought I sounded exotic. How could you call a British accent exotic? We spoke the same language; their enunciation just sounded a bit more silly. Silly.

When Tucker and I arrived at the park, I looked around, hoping to spot the handsome stranger I met last evening. He didn't even tell me his name, so I had to refer to him as "Joggers" in my mind.