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The strange, yet familiar, scent of coffee mixed with vanilla ice cream greeted my nose as I swung open the doors to Nadia's. It was a quaint building, painted an attractive blue, that produced a fair amount of business. Considering that it was both a coffee house and an ice cream shop. The combination, to some, was odd, but the daily and occasional customers seemed to enjoy it.
The coffee and hot beverages were typically served during the colder seasons (though breakfasts were an exception), and the ice cream was sold in the warmer. Except for this past year, the weather had been confusing: first it was snowy and now it was in the mid-sixties. So the ice cream portion of Nadia's had been temporarily opened. And most people seemed to enjoy that.
I stepped into the building and walked behind the counter. It might've been a coffee and ice cream shop, but it also tripled as my employment. Being a barista and ice cream server wasn't exactly my first choice, but it was the only work that I was satisfied with---and the paycheck supplied my portion of the rent and left a bit of savings in my pocket.
"Hi, Angela," my fellow co-worker, Tracey, greeted. Her raven black hair rippled over her shoulders in natural, tight curls. "Barely on time, as usual."
Along with her gorgeous hair, Tracey Dunham had a porcelain complexion, frail build, and dark brown eyes. Besides Ginger, she was my closest friend---though our interests were nearly polar opposites. I adored musicals, whereas she preferred daft punk and crazy rock---at least it seemed crazy to me.
And, in complete honesty, her favored music genres weren't heavy metal or rock, they were just so different than my precious, heart-warming musicals, that everything else seemed so metal-ish.
"Hey shorty," I said, playfully sticking out my tongue at the whopping 5'2" girl in front of me.
"Run over anyone on your way here?"
"Nope." I grinned at her.
"There's still time," she said, fiddling with the cash register.
I walked into the small back room, pulled my assigned white apron over my head, and presently resumed my position beside Tracey. "How are you going to spend your weekend?" I asked, tying the faded apron strings behind my back. "With your friends? Oh wait- I forgot! You don't have any."
She produced a fake laugh and placed her hand on her hip. "No. Actually, I'm going to see a show."
I mimicked a shocked gasp and pressed my hand against my chest. "Has my good example finally rubbed off on you? Have I converted you into a musical theatre-goer?"
"If you count the Blue Man Group as a musical," she said, laughing at my genuine disappointment.
I shrugged her off, knowing that one day, I would make her see the reality. Which was that musicals were way better than any genre of music.
