Irish Coffee

CHAPTER TWO - NEUROTIC GIRL

Just as Susan thought, her new boss was none too pleased about her remarks on what needed fixing. She did not get a new portafilter – or any repairs to the machine that would make it run smoother.

He did admit the machine was not as new as he first said, but since it had been completely overhauled, there was no need for more repairs in his opinion. Since she was an Italian trained barista and this was an Italian espresso machine – made in China the label at the back said – surely she would be able to operate it.

She got the feeling he'd overpaid on the equipment and now was lashing out at her to hide his own incompetence. He wasn't fooling anybody, though.

However, she did have some successes. She was allowed to buy new espresso cups, six of them, and a new milk pan. Well, there had been no choice really – any milk cooked in the old one got a strange metallic tang. How anyone could have burned it was beyond her – the milk never should be heated above 60°C. It probably got left on the stove by some idiot. Anyways, the pan was a health hazard and had to be replaced. Then again, so was the portafilter – but that was just a danger to her, nobody else. It was a good thing this job came with health insurance.

With so few espresso cups, che would have to constantly clean them and tell her customers to be keep them in one piece. That was, if they dared to order the real deal. Not amused with how small a cup of espresso was, or how strong, the boss had ordered Susan to water them down at first.

Not that she was a great lover of coffee, but that was a step too far. She did have some pride in her work. So after fighting for what was right, she had convinced the boss to put two types of espresso on the menu: the real Italian one and an American version. She could have just put “Americano” on the list. But American espresso it was. And for the brave, there was the “Italian Espresso.”

Well at least her obsession with Robert was going slightly better. They would talk from time to time, and she would manage a decent conversation without saying too many stupid things. He still made her nervous though.

“Argh. That damn machine. Come on. Get loose!” she cried, hitting it with a spoon. It was hopeless – steam had expanded the metal, and the damn thing just wouldn't budge. She shouldn't have set the lever that low but since she had finally been able to order good beans, she had been experimenting with the settings to make the perfect caffè. Which had made the damn machine go into anarchy mode. Luckily, there were no customers that were in need of coffee at this time of night. In fact, besides one regular, the place was empty. It was nearly closing time on a Tuesday , and she was trying to dismantle the thing so it could be cleaned.

“Allow me,” Robert offered, already reaching over.

“NO! Careful! Don't...!” She quickly grabbed the first rag she could find to cover the machine and tried to push him aside, but it was already too late. He forced loose the filter and steam burst out everywhere. The shove she had given him had enough momentum though that they toppled over each other.

“Ouch,” Robert groaned laying on the floor with her on top of him.

“You okay? No burns? Did you hit your head?” Had she hurt him? She sounded like a neurotic madwoman, checking to see if he was okay. There was no blood, and so far, no burns. Please, let me not have hurt the cutest man in my life at the moment, she silently prayed. She did not want him in pain for trying to rescue her. He was the perfect guy – handsome AND sweet. And the five seconds she had not been paying attention to him, he got himself hurt because of her. She was an idiot, and now he probably hated her.

He grabbed her hands. His gray eyes honed in to hers, and she stopped what she was doing, lost in the rough gray sea - breathe Susan, breathe. She had trouble thinking.