The Delivery Girl

21. Cafe

Callen

I pull into the parking lot of the 24 hour cafe just outside my neighbourhood. My memories here go way back, studying in the middle of the night during university when I wanted a snack. Or coming with friends for a coffee to sober up after a night of partying.

I send Eliza a quick text, letting her know I had to leave for an emergency.

Julie takes a few wobbly steps out of the car. Her heels look terribly impractical, especially in her current state. I can't recall what she's wearing under my coat, but she seems warmer now at least.

"Here, give me a second," I say and rummage through the trunk. Just as I had suspected, Eliza left an entire spare outfit in my car. I swear that girl is convinced she's a princess and everyone exists around her to do her bidding. I hand Julie a pair of pastel blue slip-on sandals. Luckily she and Eliza seem to be around the same size. "You might want to wear these."

"Thanks," she mumbles and slips them on.

We enter the cafe, finding ourselves immediately enveloped by the warm scent of coffee. It's been a while since I've been here, but it's more or less what I remember. Black and white tiled floors, off white walls, soft lighting, and antique decor.

"What would you like?"

"Um, black coffee, please."

Her words are still a bit slurred, but clear enough for me to understand.

I nod. "Alright. Grab a seat and I'll bring it over."

As I wait for our drinks, I use a napkin to clean up the dried blood from my arm where the guy cut me. It's a minor injury, not very deep of a cut at all. I'm more so pissed about the rip in my clothing. That coat was fucking expensive.

I scan the room and spot Julie in the corner once I've picked up our drinks.

"Here you go." I place the pale grey mug of coffee in front of her and place my own in front of myself.

"Thanks," she whispers, not looking up. She takes a shaky sip before taking a quick peek at me. "I'm sorry, this is so unprofessional."

I give her a sympathetic smile. "What you do with your time outside of work is none of my business," I say. "And I'm glad you're ok, Miss Leong."

She looks at me shyly. "Um, you can call me Julie if you want," she says with a sheepish chuckle. "Miss Leong is a little formal for someone like me."

I can't help but smile in amusement. The inebriated version of Julie seems to have some extra bravery. I'm drawing a blank trying to remember her ever trying to correct or change something I say. "Even at work?"

"Only if you're ok with it," she adds.

"Alright then. You can call me Callen, if you'd like." Did I really just say that? I don't know what's gotten into me lately. I chalk my misjudgment up to the residual adrenaline from tonight's incident.

She blushes and looks down at her coffee, giving me the tiniest nod.

The calm, peaceful noises of the cafe settle over us. Quiet classical music, the hiss of milk being steamed, taps of cutlery against dishes. Out the window, the streets have grown quieter as we pass midnight. The moon hangs low in the sky, illuminating the world in a cool glow.

Julie nervously chews on her lip. "So, um... I've been wanting to ask about this..."

"Yes?"

"I really don't think I ever applied to Sterling Studios, or even sent my portfolio before."