Phoenix | hs au

10 - Gatsby and Green Tea

We lie together in my bed for a couple hours. Harry shifts between consciousness and unconsciousness as I lay awake, thinking.

Every once in a while, he'll murmur a question or phrase that sometimes makes sense. God, he's so adorable.

His lips part ever so slightly when he's sleeping, and I remember all the times I've kissed those lips. I frown, Harry and I haven't done much of that since we moved. We're both stressed and busy and exhausted all the time. I miss him.

When the time comes for me to get ready for work, I slip out of bed quietly as to not wake Harry up. I lay the covers down gently after I get up, hopefully keeping him warm. I sigh inwardly, he's so exhausted with the band and the late night shows and rehearsals. I wonder if he still enjoys it.

I grabs some clothes out of my closet and get changed quickly in my bathroom. I wash my face, brush my teeth, and weave my hair into a French braid. After applying makeup and finding myself looking satisfactory in the mirror, I return to my room to tell Harry goodbye.

I gently kiss him on the forehead to which he mumbles, "A'leavin?"

"Yes, I'm going to work. I'll see you tonight." I whisper.

He opens his eyes and smiles, "You look pretty."

"Thank you." I pull the edge of the blanket up to his shoulders before walking out into the kitchen. I fill up my water bottle and grab a few snacks for during the day and shove them in my purse.

Finally I snatch the jeep keys and my phone off the oven and head out.

The drive north to Mesa isn't bad, mostly highway. I work at a quiet little bookstore downtown. Though, I suppose it's not just a bookstore. Patrons can rent books and relax on a couch, bean bag, or comfy chair while they read. We also sell coffee and small pastries which makes my heart ache for Barbara back in Chicago.

I park around back and use my keys to let myself in. The building is small and made of weathered brick. Bookshelves are arranged creatively around the floor space, opening up to the coffee and snack counter underneath clouded glass windows, which is where I will sit all day.

Sometimes I reshelve books, but the owner gets cranky if things are done wrong, so I usually save that for her to do. I enjoy reading while I work, answering questions when I can, and helping newcomers pick out a book to read. I run the coffee machines and sell pastries, but I don't bake anything.

I turn the lights on and unlock the front door. It's usually pretty quiet in here. I pick a nice mellow Spotify playlist to listen to and settle down for my shift.

I find my borrowed copy of The Great Gatsby underneath the cash register where I left it last shift. It's funny, that's where all the employees leave the books they were reading so they don't get rented or sold--but it looks like a full library down there. Everything from The Handmaid's Tale to The Hunger Games to The Old Man and the Sea. I sometimes wonder who is reading each book.

This job perfectly fits my entirely antisocial persona. I work alone and usually only speak briefly with our guests. I love it. I get paid to sit behind a counter and read.

A few regulars trickle in as the day goes on, renting out books or returning to the ones they didn't finish before. I sell some coffee, some tea, some pastries, and my shift is almost over when a familiar face walks in the front door.

"No way, Katie?"

I look up from my book, "Peter?"

"You didn't tell me you worked here!" He exclaims, earning a few annoyed looks from people trying to read.

"I mean, you didn't tell me where you worked either." I shrug. Suddenly I'm conscious of my outfit. Light wash jeans, rose-colored v-neck, light jewelry, Chaco's.

Peter looks exactly how I remember him. His dark brown eyes catch the light streaming in behind me and illuminate to a deep honey color.

"That's a fair point." He admits.

"What can I do for you?" I ask, gesturing to the book store.

"Oh, actually I was looking for a book for my English class. The school library is fresh out and I really don't want to buy it from the book store." He says exasperatedly.

"Oh, nice. What book?"

"The Grapes of Wrath, John Steinbeck."

I huff, "Oh boy, good luck with that one." I start typing into the computer in front of me to locate it for him.

"Have you read it?"

"Fortunately or unfortunately, yes."

"Well, which is it?" He asks.

"What?"

"Fortunately or unfortunately?"

"Oh, " I joked, "definitely unfortunately."

He groaned, rubbing the side of his face, "What's so bad about it?"

"Honestly, it's probably just not my cup of tea. It's got a lot of--in my opinion--unnecessary chapters."

"Meaning?"

"You'll see." I add with a wink, moving from behind the counter to the bookshelf where the book should be. I scan the names quickly, finding it in no time.

I return to the counter, "You can either rent it and read it here or buy it and take it home." For some reason, I hope he rents it so I can see him more often.

"I'll have to buy it." He starts digging out his wallet.

"Since it's a new copy it's gonna be a little bit more expensive than some of the other books." I add, typing the serial code into the computer.

"I already hate this class." He mutters.

"Hey, I wish I was taking an English class. I love books."

He chuckles, "Apparently not The Grapes of Wrath."

"That's true." I admit. "Anything else I can get for you?"

"Do you have any drinks besides coffee? Tea or smoothies or anything?" He asks, squinting at the chalkboard at the far end of the counter.

"Most main teas. Water. That's really it."

"Can I get a green tea to go?" He asks.

"Of course, hot or cold?"

"Cold, it's already hot outside."

"Fair point."

I hand him his drink and our hands brush again. I feel a twinge of guilt again with it. I think of Harry, probably still asleep in my bed at our home, how he told me I was pretty so easily while being half asleep. My heart flutters at the thought.

"Katie?"

"Sorry, I was in my head."

"I just said I'd see you tomorrow." He smiles.

"Tomorrow?" I question, but then remember, "Oh, right, duh, in class."

"You got it."