Once in a Blue Christmas

CHAPTER THREE

JULY

SKY

There's a gorgeous aroma of lavender filling the room. One of the local bakers we work with dropped some lavender macarons off this morning and they've been flying off the display shelves. The café owner always tries to champion local bakers and local produce, and if the reception today is anything to go, I can see why.

Customers always seem more keen on a product if they think they're doing the local economy a favour. It's probably why this small café gets a decent flow of customers considering there's plenty of other big chains to choose from around here. The people that live around here are well-off anyway - you'd have to be to afford the new-build highrise apartments that are popping up everywhere in this pocket of the city. They're not exactly fancy apartments but in a city as metropolitan as this, anything shiny and new in the property market costs an arm and a leg.

Put it this way; I'll never be able to afford to live in this area on my barista wages. Even if I'd stayed in university and finished my anthropology degree I still don't think I would be able to afford it. And that's taking into account if I'd even become an anthropologist, which with my dismal grades I doubt would have happened. No matter what though, I'm proud to say that I've been financially independent since the age of eighteen, and that's an achievement no one can take away from me.

All of these thoughts spring to mind just because I'm restocking the macarons. I need to get a grip.

"They look interesting. I've never seen purple biscuits in here before."

His familiar voice shakes me out of my reverie. I bite back a grin from forming, because it'd be pointless showing an interest in him.

Every time he comes in here he brings a different female friend, usually blonde but occasionally brunette, and the routine tends to go like: they'll come in in the morning, he'll be dressed in a smart shirt and trousers ready for work, then he'll drape an arm over her shoulders as he whispers sweet words of nothing into her ear, and shortly after they'll engage in some form of kissing. On days he's not wearing his work clothes they turn left towards the residential lobby entrance, otherwise they'll turn right towards the train station.

So even though my senses apparently go haywire at the sight of his pretty face, I'm not willing to be another notch on his bedpost. He'll eat me up and spit me out within a day, and the worst part is I'll still have to see him day in and day out at work. I've found out the hard way that I'm not wired for one night stands or casual relationships.

"Yeah, they're lavender macarons. They're proving very popular today, so I'd grab some now if you're interested."

"Alright, I'll give them a go." With that signal, I take the tongs and start loading a few into a brown paper bag. "Ah, just one, please. I'm just peckish, not diabetic." I look at him bug-eyed. "They look like they're full of sugar. I'm trying to cut back on it."

I check the room and am surprised to discover there's no female friend with him this time.

"Sure. One lavender macaron coming right up. Would you like a drink with that?"

He braces his forearms on the countertop and proffers a Jack Daniels bottle, just like he did on the first day we met. He hasn't made a special request like this since, or at least he hasn't when I've been working, and I haven't heard anything from any of the other girls I work with. And I'd definitely have heard about it via our group chat - he's been quite the conversation topic this summer.

"Would you be able to make another one of your exquisite Irish coffees?"

"I don't see why not," I smile. I go to grab the bottle from him whilst his hand lazily slides off it. The slight delay causes our fingers to overlap briefly. He fixes me with a hungry glare in response, and I don't think it's because he's not eaten in a while. A nervous laugh bubbles out my throat, before I hastily take his payment then scurry off to make his drink, thankful that my back is turned to his captivating blue eyes.

By the time I set his finished coffee down on the countertop no new customers have appeared in the meantime and he's still staring at me, almost as if he never even stopped. I seriously hope my hair doesn't look too frizzy from the humidity of this hot summer's day. Working with milk steamers and panini toasters doesn't do wonders for my fair complexion either. I often end up resembling a grapefruit with my pink cheeks and orange hair.

"So, Sky, I haven't seen you much recently. I thought you were working mornings these days, yet here you are at three in the afternoon."

"It depends," I shrug. "We swap shifts depending on who feels like doing what, and also what Jones, the owner of this place, decides. And what about you, are you going to work today?"

I've often wondered what he does because he obviously doesn't work nine to five hours, but I've never really had the chance to ask him. He's almost always in conversation with his female company. I think he must have been in on his own a grand total of three times and all of those times I've been too rushed off my feet to stop and chat.

"No, I have a few days off at the moment. Hence, this hair of the dog." He nods towards the Irish coffee he's taking mini sips of, the creamy top leaving a white residue on his light stubble. "Out of curiosity, what time does your shift end?"

"Oh, I won't finish for hours. I only started at two, so I won't finish until nine or so. I'm closing the shop today."

"I see. They've got you working late tonight. Any chance of you finishing any earlier than that?"

I feel my skin prick because I know where this conversation is going, and I'm going to have to be resolute in turning him down. He's got bad news written all over him.

And besides, the fact he knows nothing about how I can't just up and leave when I'm closing the shop means he's obviously got no experience in dead end service jobs. He's a pretty boy in a suit who, judging by his plummy accent, has never had to work hard for anything. Whereas I'm a girl from a working class family who lives paycheck to paycheck. We're chalk and cheese.

"No, I'm afraid I can't finish any earlier." A woman in her sixties bursts through the front door with what looks like her grandchildren hot on her heels. "I should go. See you when I see you."