•Word Count: 1,548
-Present Day-
Couldn't have thought of a better suited character to have owned this place, I muse, only now noticing the light, yet elegant feminine touch to both the interior and the exterior of the Café.
Even the name reflects a hint of pristine femininity.
"Royaume de la Caféine" or
"Caffeine Kingdom"Only a classy woman would go for royalty.
Still mesmerised, I miss the very last words Joe throws over her shoulder as she walks away to retrieve some fresh pastries off the display case.
I was told to prepare an Iced Caramel Macchiato. In a mason jar.Now that is a genuine coffee enthusiast.
Halfway into pouring the milk over the vanilla syrup, there's a sharp tap to my shoulder that not only startles me but also nearly has me splashing milk everywhere.
Irritated, I turn to meet the well-mannered subject, not quite surprised at the icy stare belonging to my high-toned colleague, Bijou.
"Take this to Julien" She instructs, acting rather superiorly for our co-working statures, shoving a platter of croissants in my direction.
I have to remind myself that I'm not to stoop low, barely curbing my anger at the apparent insolence.Refusing to give her what she wants -an unlady-like quarrel- I accept the platter wordlessly, and go to leave the kitchen.
"Finish the Iced Caramel Macchiato I've started, will you?" I tell her in a somewhat courtly tone compared to her own, hoping to have her learn some manners, before walking out of the kitchen and into the Café's main site.
I'm not sure what I was expecting but what I've just walked into, is certainly nothing anticipated.
When I saw those men strolling in like they own the place, I presumed disrespectful personas, brought about by their wealth.
Yet, I'm looking at civilised businessmen, all sitting around a single huge table -must've been two tables assembled together- discussing apparently clandestine matters.None of them acknowledges the women standing scattered across the room, awaiting orders, not a single head turns when the girls go to refill cups or pour some water.
How long I've stood there before the realisation dawns upon me that I have no idea who Julien is, I can't tell.
Panicked, I glance at each of the girls to ask for help, but they all seem to be preoccupied.
From the corner of my eyes, I catch a red streak.
When I turn in that direction, I'm met with the same shock of red hair belonging to none other than the very prosperous owner of this place.As per usual, Juniper's face has a warm smile forever affixed to it, I notice, as she stares at me. If she finds my loitering bothersome, she doesn't show it; instead, she points with her nose in the direction of a man with dirty blonde hair, sitting directly across from her.
Comprehension only lags for a second before it hits my mind, and I realise she's in fact pointing at Julien.
With a grateful smile, I walk over and place the luscious croissants in front of the man, who murmurs a soft "Merci" distractedly.Then, I make the imbecile mistake of stealing a look at the faces of every man sitting around the table, faltering when my eyes fall on the occupant of the head of the table.
Had I been myself and not some woman in a daze just by looking at a man, I would've shaken my head and been on my way. But no.
I remain glued to my spot, supposedly infatuated, I'm afraid.What I notice first, is a tousled finesse of chocolate hair combed to the back, with a single rebellious strand swearing off the crowd and deciding to dangle neatly over his forehead.
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