Caramel (wlw)

chapter 1 - the scene

The nice thing about coffee is that you can pound cups of it down until you start hearing colors and no one will bat an eye.

It was a slow day in the shop; in contrast, life was moving too fast for me.

Last night, my roommate told me she was going back to school. She figured she should do something with her life, and she's decided to get a degree.

I know I sound bitter, but after six years of being roomies, I'm a little hurt. But she was offered a free dorm, and had I been in her shoes, I wouldn't have declined. Hell, after all, I took a roommate so they could shoulder half the rent.

No, I'm not really upset about the rent thing. It's just that, after staying so long in this situation, I thought it would never change. It's naïve, but I didn't think a good friend could just leave like that. I felt like things are moving on without me, but it's not personal; life just be like that sometimes.

I'm in limbo, but at least I'm spending it in an idyllic coffee shop.

It really was a pretty place; as the owner, I made sure it was. It wasn't mine to begin with, it was my late aunt's. She didn't have any kids herself, so she left it to me. God knows where I'd be right now if she hadn't.

Full glass windows to let the light in, cream couches and low tables for the lounging customers, quiet ambient music in the background. There are also a few desk and chair set-ups for that specific kind of clientele: the writers. It's another late afternoon, and there is a lot of them.

There's Manbun, he likes a nice flat white as he sits on the large table in the middle of the floor. A little way to his left is Turtleneck, who has never ordered anything other than a double espresso. She scares me. There's also Boots, who prefers to sit on a couch with his laptop on his, er, lap as he chugs his Irish coffee. I think he wishes it was straight whiskey.

They have names, but would you find it as interesting if I used those names instead?

They all stay here for so long and so often that sometimes we bring them drinks on the house. No, it's not an excuse for me to look at their laptop screens, I just can't help my eyes sometimes. Their favorite genres to write about range from slice of life to sci-fi to murder mystery, but not always, and it's an adventure finding out every time.

However, from this already delightful arrangement of folks, there is one character in my shop that I haven't quite figured out yet. She's here five days a week, but I know her the least.

She's Trench Coat, and she's always seated in the farthest corner of the place, back rested against the wall, caramel latte in hand.

She looks around the room, or sometimes at a spot on the desk, with those perpetually exhausted eyes of hers. Her hair has streaks of grey at the temples, which is weird, because her face looks young. Sometimes she takes her glasses off to pinch the bridge of her nose, a gesture which I find, frankly, cute.

I think I'm painting her as a cool collected badass, but no. If I'm not mistaken, she actually shakes whenever I come near her table. I have given her free drinks before, and she never denied them, but she has always been defensive of her laptop. Because of the way she sits, I've never been able to see anything she's written. Sure, her screen is reflected in her glasses, but I figured it would be rude if I stared long enough to read it. Anyway, I can't read backward.

Some people might consider me nosy, but I say I'm just curious.

That's not my problem now, though. My current issue is how I'm going to be paying rent at double the price.

Sure, I could put out an ad, but I don't like the idea of someone I don't know suddenly being able to contact me. There's a lot of unsavory people on the Internet. It would be so much easier if I had like, a sort of screening process before I took them in. That would be so much work, though.

Actually, no it wouldn't; I can just advertise it right here in the shop. I don't have a brand to take care of and, besides, I own the place, so literally no one could stop me. Yeah, I'll do that.

See, I don't even have to put my number on some weird website.