Caramel (wlw)

chapter 2 - the ad

Self employment has its benefits, because I came in several hours late and no one can say anything about it.

I don't see any of my employees, and there are only three customers lounging around.

After placing my hand-lettered roommate ad next to the register, I hopped behind the counter to pour myself a nice cup of cold brew. With my eyes closed to savor the bean juice, I didn't see my coworker walk up next to me.

"Good morning, chief," said Jonatan, slapping me between the shoulder blades. This is an established morning ritual, but the coffee threatens to escape my mouth every time.

"Do you wait for me to take a swig before you hit me?"

"Cheer up, Valentin, it's a nice morning."

Grumbling nonsense because I didn't have anything legitimate to grumble about, I took a cleaning rag and wiped the spotless countertop, to let him know what could have happened.

Jonatan's my favorite employee—we've bonded over the lack of a singular letter in our otherwise conventional names. He's still in school, but he has never missed a shift or stolen anything. Good kid.

I may have been too focused on scrubbing the laminated wood to spite Jonatan, who was still watching, that I didn't register the door chime going off until she was standing in front of me.

"Uh, miss?"

My head snapped up at her tentative voice. It's Coat, and she's done something to her hair. The grey streaks are gone, and I missed them. Realizing I have an actual job, I took her order. Before she went to sit in her customary corner chair, her gaze lingered on my sign.

I made her drink, wrote 'Laura' on the paper cup, and called out her name. It's funny to me, I don't think she looks like a Laura, with her short, messy haircut. But what are the Lauras of the world supposed to look like, anyway?

Up close, I get a better view of her hair. It must curl a bit if it was longer, because as she nodded forward her wavy fringe fell over her eyes. It kind of looks like mine, but that's because I made it so. My hair is an engineered sort of messy, and though I like looking at myself in the mirror, I get frustrated styling it sometimes. Maybe I should just stop trying and go bald completely.

I both envy and distrust people with actual messy hair. It's not fair to the rest of us.

Just then, the door chimed, and several people came into the shop. Damn it, I should have clocked in later than I did. Just kidding, I like my job, but when you've worked in food service for so long, you start to not like people.

Four hours later, Laura still hasn't left the shop. It's a little after lunch, and she hasn't eaten anything.

"What are you looking at?" Jonatan backhanded my shoulder. I backhanded him back.

"Hey, what does that one like?" I asked him, motioning in Laura's direction.

"Hell, I don't know, why don't you ask her? Or don't, I doubt you're her type."

"That's not what I meant," I said, thunking him over the head with a rolled-up magazine, "and why would I not be her type?"

"You look like her."

"Just because we're both Asian, Jonatan, doesn't mean we look alike. And no, I don't." Jonatan, that bitch, only shrugs.

I really don't. Sure, we have similar hairstyles, but that's it. From the way we dress to the way our faces look, we're completely different.

After ten minutes, I walked with tray in hand toward an unsuspecting Laura, tapping away on her keyboard. Not for long, though, because she noticed me with an uneasy glance. Her hand crept, almost defensively, to the side of her laptop.

"Hi," I said, for lack of a better opening, "you've been here a while. Can I offer cake?"

She visibly relaxed, but her hand didn't move. "Oh, yeah, sure. Thanks."

"I thought you were going to kick me out, actually," she said as I placed a slice of caramel cake on her table.

"Nah, we're not really seeing a lot of customers. Even if we were, that'd be rude. Besides, I like you." Oops, I didn't mean to say that.

"Writer types, that is, you guys are stable customers and don't cause problems. I own the place, that's why I specifically said I—" should stop talking. Seriously.

She had a polite expression on her face, but her eyes were laughing. At least one of us thinks it's funny. I'm about to say bye and save myself from further embarrassment, but she spoke first.

"Say, about that ad at the counter." She pointed, so naturally I followed to look, even though I put it there, and inadvertently spotted Jonatan peering at us from behind the cake display.

"Oh, it's mine. Interested?"

"Yeah. I saw it's got a number on there, is it yours?"

"Yeah. Interested?"

She must have missed the joke completely, because I only got a weird look in return. "I'll just send a text, if that's fine?"

"Sure, no worries." And then I turned to walk away. If this woman was going to be my new roommate, I better not establish that I am a dumbass.

Jonatan was still lurking when I got behind the counter. He jumped out at me. "Well? What did she say to you?"

"She asked about my number," I said, trying to sound smug.

"No," stage-whispered Jonatan, and I wasn't entirely sure if the horror on his face was in mock, "No. That poor baby is not a top. Look at her Val, she's precious."

"Why do you assume that she's the top and not me?"

"Honey, you're just a posturing assho—" was all he could say before I took off his baseball cap and hit him with it.

Laura left in the mid-afternoon. As she stood to collect her things, I caught her glancing in the direction of the counter. I caught her, because I was already looking. Our eyes met and she gave a little smile.