Smitten Over Coffee

Chapter Two: Salted Caramel Mocha Latte

Julian opened his laptop and connected to Doki Doki's wifi. As he waited for his old computer to load the web browser, he took a sip of his salted caramel mocha latte. The sweet and salty flavors swept over his taste buds, washing away the exhaustion from his long shift at the diner. He flexed his bandaged index finger, wondering if maybe he should have gone to the hospital for stitches rather than just fix it up with a butterfly bandage. But it had been a busy morning with no time to stop, and by the time things slowed down, he had sort of forgotten about it.

His inbox popped up with eighty-nine notifications. He groaned inwardly at the thought of going through so much mail. It would be easier to keep up with things if he had Internet access at home. Although, knowing him, he'd still find some excuse as to why he couldn't check it. He hated going through email.

As he clicked on the first message, the bell at the front door sounded. He glanced up and saw a short, chubby girl walk in. She was on the phone, although the expression on her face suggested it was the last thing she wanted to be doing.

"Jayda, just hang on. If I'm going to deal with this sort of crazy, I need caffeine," she said as she approached the counter. "No. No. Just hang on, all right?"

She lowered the phone and ordered her coffee. Julian continued to sift through his emails. Junk. Junk. Invite to a party—a wine tasting party? Trash that. Junk. As he started reading a very long, not-so-funny joke his mom had sent him, the girl who had walked in came closer to stand by the pick-up counter. She was back on the phone.

"All right, so what do you need?" she asked. Her face scrunched up. "The what painting? No, I don't know what you're talking about. No. Jayda, you can repeat the same description over and over again and I'm still not going to know." She closed her eyes and pinched the bridge of her nose. "The painting of the murder guy in the scary movie about scary movies? Are you talking about The Scream? Jayda, I'm pretty sure the movie came after the painting, not the other way around. I don't know who painted it. Why would you think I'd know?"

As the girl argued with her friend, Julian pulled up a new tab and did a quick search of the painting. The name of the artist popped up, along with a picture of the work of art. He couldn't help but smile at the comparison the girl's friend had made to the fictional serial killer.

"Edvard Munch," he said.

The girl turned to him and tilted her head. "Excuse me?"

"The painter of The Scream is Edvard Munch."

A smile slowly spread over her face. "Thank you." She picked up her coffee from the counter and continued her conversation with her friend. "Edvard Munch. Yes, Edvard Munch. No, not Wes Craven. Gah, Jayda, hang up right now before your date gets back and sees you on the phone with me. What's he doing in the bathroom? You spilled what on him?"

As the girl made her way to the door, she looked back at Julian and waved, mouthing another thank you to him. He smiled and waved back. The bell jingled as the girl left, and Julian took another sip of his latte before returning to his mother's long winded joke about men being like grapes.