Sparks Fly (Tell Me You Love Me sequel)

3: I Love Each Freckle on Your Face

Hi all, I've been extraordinarily busy with exams and assignments and its been so very hard to get any time for writing lately. But...I have been able to. Just then, I had fourty-five minutes to do what I wanted so I wrote a little bit more. 

This chapter is a bit BethXJesse so its kind of nice...Next chapter's when all the action begins to happen so stay tuned!

Sorry for the +month wait! I really appologize and thank you for your patience. By the end of next week, everything should be back to normal.

Xoxo

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Beth's P.O.V

I pull the apron off of the staff only door and wrap it around my waist, tying a little bow at the back with the two white ropes. I tie my dark hair up in a long ponytail and pulled open the door, exiting the staff only room and stepping out into the over-heated bakery section of my mother’s shop.

Through the that divides the florist and the bakery of my Mom’s shop, I see people  wandering around, picking up flowers and sniffing them before either tucking the bouquet under their arms or placing them delicately back into the buckets or vases that they were sitting in before.

In the bakery section, people are either waiting in the line that trailed all the way to the front door to the cash register or seated in the over-populated café area. I begin my slow walk towards the cash register, being careful not to knock anyone over and conscious of the fact that I am smaller than everyone else.

I lift up one of the tops of the benches, creating a walkway into the cash register area where there is finally a bit of room to move. My Mom and my best friend Pilar stand at the two open cash registers busily serving people.

Mom catches my eye and bustles over. Her short blonde hair is tied up in a bun and her forehead glimmers in the light from a thin layer of hard worked sweat.

‘Can you work at the cash register for ten? I need to sort something over at the florist…one of the orders arrived late and they’re entirely manic over there,’ she says, already making her way out of the cash register and towards the arch that separates the florist from the bakery.

I see her walk out of sight. ‘Well, all right…’ I say to no one in particular, making my way over to the cash register and smiling at the first customer; an elderly couple slowly discussing what to have.

‘How may I serve you?’ I ask politely.

The elderly lady catches my eye and smiles sweetly at me, her blue eyes glistening.

‘I shall have an English breakfast…with milk…’ she says, her voice frail and thin. The man crinkles his eyes, squinting to the blackboard above my head where Mom had wrote the specials in different colored chalk.

‘Vernon…just order.’ The lady says, smaking her husband playfully on the arm. The man readjusts his glasses.

‘And I’ll have…the…ehm…’ he clears his throat. ‘I’ll have the hot chocolate, please.’ He orders.

‘Is that all?’ I ask.

‘Yes…I think so.’ The lady says, reaching for her purse. I key in “white English breakfast tea” and “hot chocolate” into the machine in front of me, sending the order to the kitchen where one of Mom’s staff will serve.

‘You are…’ a number pops onto the screen. ‘order number one hundred and eight…won’t be a moment,’ I say to the elderly couple as they move off to the side and scrutinize the muffins.