4 months later...
» July 3rd, 2015; Manhattan. «
October.
Back to square one. Re-stacking Starbucks cups and adding whipped cream on top of the macchiato I was working on.
And just by the looks of the four months that I was MIA, the coffee shop had changed tremendously. And so did I.
The old man was gone. I couldn't spot his dark green sweater or black flat cap anywhere. And all I am concluding now, is that he had found another café to detest and other employees to grouch at.
The caramel macchiato I was working on now was for the blonde woman in her business attire - only her hair cascaded down to her shoulders and she wore a smile on her face, which I returned surprisingly. She placed a kiss on the cheek of her girlfriend next to her.
I was shocked when Michael and I walked through the glass doors and Bruce actually hugged us both, more than happy for us to take our jobs back - even if we sucked balls at it. I missed him, too.
Another shocking surprise is that he was the one that offered our occupation back, even if the ends of my dark hair was a mixture of dark turquoise and purple. Almost every single student in Courtauld had eccentric, unusual yet remarkable hair-do, some women with fiery coloured hair with one side shaved, and some boys with pink rat-tails. I wasn't one to conform to society (or Michael's begging so I could finally join his hair-a of the era, since his hair was now a bright red), but it was tempting. And now my hair was contained of mermaid-themed hues. And I loved it.
I hadn't gotten rid of my apartment back in London; I was set to go back again, since London was astoundingly beautiful and I just knew that Luke would enjoy it. And maybe all of his brothers would like to tag along with him, as well. I was set to go back. And I was going to drag him with me.
And maybe it seemed like I had given up too early and graduated after four months (thanks to the good friend of my father, along with my mother's persuading), and maybe I did kind of cheat my way through university and got my diploma, but a good percentage of that was my part. I had studied the history of art ever since I was in high school, and I practiced for a good amount of time. Part of my diploma was made from my hard work, not just my mother and father's connections. And I was proud.
Luke called me before I could tell him when my flight was, his voice laced with excitement and the minute I picked up my phone he exclaimed, "Okay, so I was taking a dump, right? And I was playing Farmville on my phone, and an alarm popped up, so I was like, 'what the hell'. And then I saw that it said, 'Baby's coming home', and I literally flipped shit. Like, actually."
And despite the gross surroundings of his story, along with the fact that his alarm name labeled me 'baby', all I could say was, "Wait a minute - you still play Farmville?"
Now, he was supposed to meet me here at my work - I told him that I asked for my job back - and he normally came around ten in the morning. At least that's when he always came in before I knew him.
"Openin' up time, it's openin' up time," Michael sang as he took over the register, and I grinned to myself, wiping the top of the messy counter with my back turned against him.
"Actually, it isn't," I crooned back and turned to him, "We opened at nine."
Michael pouted, but continued my lyrics anyway, "I was trying to be expressive, 's not your song but it's mine-"
"Do the work I assigned," Bruce popped up from his office corner, firmness in his voice but his playful smile told me otherwise.
Once he stalked back into his hideout, Michael and I turned to one another, mouthing the same verse, "And it isn't like we had a choice, anyway."
We shared another silent glance before suppressing loud laughter, and I handed another one of my fellow workers the drink set up for the blonde. 'Maya - have a nice day :-)'
"I told you not to add fucking noses to the smiley faces. It creeps people out," Michael scolded, and I whip his back with my tea towel and turn back to the messy stacks of Venti-sized cups.
"Don't care," I singsong, flipping a piece of my partially turquoise hair off of my shoulder, when I heard him 'tsk' at me.
"Oi, Tobes," he muttered, keeping his eye on the entrance, "There's your boy."
My eyes widened as I turn slowly, the butterflies in my stomach bursting out into more and more, and it took almost everything in me not to jump over the counter and into his arms.
He hadn't changed; he wore a snapback, the brim turned back along with a black hoodie and dark jeans - which I didn't understand, seeing that it was July in Manhattan and it was almost thirty degrees outside.
He wore the pair of shoes that I got him for Christmas a while ago, the same dog-tag necklace loose around his neck.
The only difference was he took a seat - in the café, and not outside in the same old, brown bench. It was still sitting out there. Only Luke was not.
He greeted a little girl, smiling widely at her small figure and she giggled shyly, before hiding under the arm of her mother, who he also bid a warm greeting before leaning back against one of the chairs and pulling out his phone.
I knew that he knew I was here. What an asshole.
"Psst," I felt a wrapper touch my arm, and I avert my attention to a beaming Michael, who held a Starbucks wrapper in front of me, a cookie inside it. "You're going to go over there, and-"
"No shit, Sherlock," I tease, kissing Michael's cheek out of pure happiness and taking the wrapper from him, along with throwing my green apron off and onto his face.
I stepped past the tables sprawled out across the coffee shop's floor, my eyes only trained on the blue-eyed blonde that was slouching, scrolling mindlessly through his phone. I saw the corner of his lip twitch up.
I wipe the smile off my face and set my lips to a straight line, standing right in front of my douche of a boyfriend and his eyes trailed from his screen to my Keds, making its way up my legs and to meet my own.
"Excuse me, sir?" I smile politely, and he copied my actions, playing along with my game.
"You looked stressed, so I brought you this."
I reach the wrapper out in front of him as he purposely ran his fingers along the back of my hand, then grabbed the wrapper and examined the inside of it. His face cracked.
"Oatmeal," He gleamed, his act fading as he started to get up from his seat, staring down at me and I couldn't keep my straight face any longer. "My favourite. How'd you know?"
I scoff, "Well, duh," I state, rolling my eyes and smacking his shoulder but he caught my hand, lacing it with his. "You're my boyfriend. The one who sets timers and plays Farmville, for Christ's sake. Of course I know."
And with that, we break into fits of happy giggles and he wraps his arms around my waist, lifting me up into his arms and not caring who in the café watched us and I wrap my arms around his neck, nuzzling my face into his and finally exhaling a breath of relief.
He didn't care who was watching, and neither did I.
Because he isn't old Luke anymore, who sat on benches and asked for a different drink everyday and never left a name.
He wasn't any Luke, really, not an old or a new or even a better.
He was Luke and Luke only, the one who painted my walls and pouted like a child and could grow flowers just by smiling.
The only Luke he was, was mine.
☺ THE END ☺
