Reckless Serenade

three | oliver

iii. in which we catch a glimpse of oliver york's uneventful life

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"WE ALL HAVE secrets, and I just happen to know hers. She struck a deal with the devil, sold her soul for some records. She's a sin on two feet, there's lust in her shoes. My condolences, boy, but she has her sights on you."

Suppressing a groan, I tried my best to block out the muffled sounds of the music currently blasting into the ears of the customer seated directly in front of me. He seemed to be around my age, if only younger. White headphones cradled his head, filling his ears with instruments and lyrics while simultaneously blocking out the rest of the world - myself included.

The barely audible noises were starting to give me a headache, only because the café was always dead silent during my shift - besides the normal conversations being held over a cup of Joe. I preferred it that way.

"Excuse me?" A small voice dragged my irritated glare away from the teenager to the little girl on the other side who was barely as tall as the counter. She gripped the edges of the booth, using her toes as support to peer over at my work space curiously. I made my way over to where she stood, grabbing the small towel perched on my shoulder to wipe my hands.

"What can I do for you, little lady?" I greeted her with a friendly smile despite my irritated mood, draping the towel back over my shoulder. I placed my hands on either side of her fingers, leaning down to see her face. She seemed to be around five, with golden locks pulled back into two braided pigtails to match her yellow sundress. Her bright smile reminded me of Elliana, even though this child was a few years younger than my little sister.

"My mommy wants to know if you have any more sugar packets. She says our table is all out." The little girl explained with a tiny lisp.

"Sure thing, kiddo." I nodded and ducked down to view the storage compartments just under the counter. From the years I've worked at Java the Hut, I practically knew every nook and cranny. In the space between the boxes stacked precariously against each other, I reached in and grabbed hold of one of the spare sugar packets.

I stood back up, hearing small cracking noises on my back as I stretched back to my full length. "Here you go," I announced, bending over the counter top to hand the packets to the little girl.

"Thank you!" she chirped and grabbed hold of the sugar before skipping back to her family's table.

I let out a sigh and leaned lightly against the coffee machine, closing my eyes for a brief second, knowing that I could relax for a few minutes. Business at Java was always slow, mainly because we were in a smaller location in the already-small town of Somerset. Customers were mainly locals who needed a morning cup of coffee to keep them awake for the day. Since the café was one of the only businesses around besides the grocery market, some kids hung out here instead of the freezer aisle down in lane twelve. I couldn't blame them, Java was everyone's escape from the grip of society.

With its vintage walls and classy decor, Java the Hut seemed to spiral you backwards into time, back into the realm of good music and gelled hair. The store was styled as a cozy, little area - wall ornaments included famous posters of classic rockstars against the old, flowery backdrop of the walls. There was an antique jukebox in the corner that didn't play, but gave off a refreshing vibe that added to the musical theme.

Towards the back was a small, elevated stage surrounded by potted plants. A microphone stood in the center, and a solitary acoustic guitar situated itself in the back corner. If only we used it, or actually, you know, played music here. Circular tables were scattered towards the center of the café, most near my coffee counter, while red, leather booths pressed themselves firmly against the windows.