Devil's Food Cake [✓]

1 | espresso

I wanted to find out who or what had made him so downbeat. On a breezy Saturday afternoon, he'd come into my dad's bakery and approached the counter, a scowl on his face which seemed to frighten even the pastries.

When I'd greeted him cheerfully, he stared at me like their was something odd about me.

'One coffee to drink in,' he ordered gruffly.

Grumpy seemed to think that I wasn't worth even giving a quick polite greeting to...

Maybe he was having a bad day. Everyone had one of those. I decided to cut the guy some slack. I had no idea what he was going through.

I raised an eyebrow.

'What kind of coffee?' I kept my voice chirpy. He winced as though it was an affront to his ears.

I pointed at the board in which I'd chalked in my best swirly writing the list of coffees, teas and smoothies.

His eyes, denim-blue, scanned the list while he rubbed his fingers against his chin. A queue was gathering behind him and if my dad had stepped out of the kitchen, he would have been cross with me, saying that each customer should have been dealt with more speed and efficiency.

Grumpy was taking longer than the usual three minutes and I soon heard disgruntled customers scuffing their shoes against our floors, tutting impatiently as well as glaring down his rather broad back.

He looked like he played a lot of sports in his down time.

'If you're spoilt for choice,' I hurried out, trying to get back to the job at hand, which was serving a customer, 'might I recommend the strawberry and banana smoothie? It's delicious."

His lips pursed into a thin line as he regarded me. 'Right. That's a completely useful suggestion when I just said I wanted coffee earlier.'

The look he gave was not the most friendliest.

I felt as though he'd burned my skin with a lighter and I almost winced at his sarcastic tone. Some of my customers were already walking out and sooner or later I was going to get into trouble with my dad. Or, even worse, with Dorothy, who was bringing in some of the freshly baked pies and savoury pastries for lunch. Always a snitch, she loved to see other people get into trouble.

'Well,' I said, trying to keep a smile on my face and be utterly professional, 'there's plenty to choose from. Cappuccino. Americano. Latte. You look like a latte kind of guy.'

Grumpy wrinkled his nose and snapped, 'I'll have an espresso shot.'

Releasing a sigh of relief, I went to work on making him an espresso, trying to ignore the glares directed at my back from him.

He wasn't exactly cheerful but I could live with that.

Glancing over my shoulder, I nodded towards the array of pastel pink cakes. 'Would you like a bun or cake with that, sir?'

The icing was as soft as velvet and melted in your mouth from the first bite courtesy of my pastry chef father's secret method. The buns were golden and light as a feather, guaranteeing that my dad was a shoe-in for numerous food awards annually.

While most people would be tempted, Grumpy didn't even look at them.

Again, he had that same inscrutable expression on his face, no warmth, just a blank stare that I could see was rapidly becoming bored of my attempts to engage with him.

'Not much of a sweet tooth, eh?' I muttered, with a wry smile. Grumpy grunted. Once I set down his espresso cup in front of him, he slapped a five pound note into my hand, stunning me. I briefly felt his rough hand brush against my smooth one.

He smiled.

What he'd done was so deliberate.

I hadn't even enough time to give him his change back or react. With a lingering taste of anger, he left me standing there. He made a dash for one of the window seats at the back. I figured that he'd been so rude that a tip from him was more than enough compensation, even if it probably was unintentional.

I forgot about him, directing my attention to a kindly looking elderly woman, who'd come here at least twice a week.

Her name was Prudence and she loved my dad's brioches (apparently she couldn't get enough of them and she took home extra for her grandchildren!).

Compared to Grumpy, she talked a minute, asking me about my weekend and I appreciated that because folks hardly ever made small talk.

It brightened up my day. Regardless of the shifting moods of our customers, I loved working in my dad's bakery.