I Like You a Latte {Completed}

4 | Testing the Waters

Beverly tapped her fingers in an absent rhythm, her eyes trained on her computer screen and the blinking cursor that stared back at her from her half-finished discussion post.

Why was writing with words so difficult? She'd rather write with code any day, which said a lot, considering what a pain C++ was.

"Alright, Miss Bev?" Came the call, and she was already smiling before she even looked up at Cynthia, grateful for the distraction.

She had tucked herself in the table nearest to the window, since it sat hidden from the rest of the café; tucked behind one of the walls that lined the entrance, no one could see Beverly until they were standing right at the register, and the sense of privacy allowed her to focus just a bit better.

It was a Saturday, but Beverly hadn't felt like going to the library, and Cynthia had taken one look at the papers spread out over the small table and promised the younger girl that she could have as many mochas as she wanted for the day.

The offer was exceptionally kind, especially since it was nearly one in the afternoon and Beverly had been at the shop since ten.

"So-so," Beverly shook her head with a slight chuckle. "Could be better, but could be worse, right?"

Cynthia flashed a thumbs-up. "That's the attitude!" She passed a to-go cup and a muffin to a middle-aged man on the other side of the counter and thanked him for his business before wiping her hands on the towel hanging off her hip and turning to face Beverly head-on. "Grammar?"

Beverly groaned, slamming her head down onto her arm, which was curled just in front of her laptop. "English sucks."

The comment earned her a bright laugh. "I won't argue. My English Comp. One teacher wanted to throttle me with my papers, I'm pretty sure. He despised me."

Tilting her head to the side, Beverly quirked a single eyebrow. "How come?"

Cynthia's grin turned wicked, popping a hip out and settling her hand—complete with a perfectly-manicured nails—on it like some kind of expert supermodel. "Because I flirted other students into writing my papers, hon."

Beverly's mouth fell open, and she let out a rather loud gasp. "No! Cynthia!" She hissed the words, feeling as though she'd just been told top-secret information. God, if she even thought about cheating or skipping out on her work, a shudder would crawl up her spine, and her mom's voice would immediately be in the back of her mind: "I'll throttle any one of my children who thinks cheating is acceptable in an education setting. If you're going to cheat, become a gambler or something, Beverly."

That talk had been before middle school, but if she was going to be around Cynthia every day, then Beverly might just need it again. "Do boys really fall for that?"

"Boys and girls, hon. My talent knows no bounds."

"But how?!" Why would people write a paper for flirting? Not even a date? Surely they would want more than just flirting, right?

As if to demonstrate, Cynthia leaned forward, the hand on her hip slipping forward until it was trailing across the table slowly. "It's amazing what a flutter of the lashes and a well-placed touch will do," the woman purred, leaning down further, her eyes wide and her eyelids opening and closing in a rather odd rhythm.

Beverly blinked. "But you look crazy, not attractive." Realizing what she'd said, she squeaked and slapped a hand over her mouth. "Sorry!" The word was muffled.

Cynthia cackled even louder, uncaring of the other customers, some of whom shot her bewildered glances. "You're adorable, Miss Bev," she said, her tone filled with amusement and something like affection. "Let me fill you up," she held out her hand, and Beverly passed her the empty mug that had been mocking her for at least fifteen minutes.