From Hate Flourishes Love (Editing)

A Cancerous Compulsion

🅚🅐🅘

It's been almost a month since I met the Storms, and I'm not taking their offer. My dad made the mistake, so he should be paying for it, not me. That doesn't make the consequences any easier to live with. I can't bear the possibility of him going to prison, leaving my mom lonely and homeless. He'd have a bed, food, and a roof over his head in prison. What would we have out on the streets?

It's only been two years since she finished a three-year battle with cancer. She's a fighter—I know that—but no one should have to face losing their husband after surviving that. He's far from perfect, but he made her happy. Dad didn't start gambling because he loved the thrill. He started because he was desperate to pay for Mom's chemotherapy. Imagine having to put more faith in a blackjack hand than in the healthcare industry.

The gambling worked at first, but eventually his luck ran out. Add to that the pain of watching cancer slowly steal my mother away, and it stopped being a solution. It became an escape, then an addiction.

Sigh.

Could I even make a good partner for Zander?

I shelve the thought for another day and head to work. It's almost 4: 30. I should've already started my shift.

Washing my hands, I take over the cash counter from Rose. And as I wait for a fresh pot of coffee to finish brewing, my problems start to bother me again.

"Kai?"

I turn around, raising a brow at Rose."Huh?"

"The coffee," she says, nodding toward the steaming pot.

"Oh," I mutter, biting my lip.

Hopefully, she doesn't think I'm slacking.

I fill the to-go cup, snap on the lid, and hand it to Rose before pouring coffee into ceramic mugs for the customers dining in.

I glance at the ticket. First up: one black coffee. Black coffee. I don't know how people do it.

Walking to the back of the café, I spot the guy I spilled near-boiling coffee on the other day. I didn't think he'd come back, but he did. Now he shows up whenever I'm on shift, always ordering the same black coffee.

As I approach him, the moment I embarrassed myself flashes through my mind. I flush, seeing his suit. He's always in an expensive-looking suit— the kind that threw me off enough to drop the coffee.

I carefully set his coffee on the table. I couldn't afford to burn him again.

"Same as usual, Mr. John?" I ask.

He looks at me like he's reading straight through me, and I feel my nerves spike.

After recommending the Portuguese custard coconut tart, I step away to tend to another table before returning to him.

"What's your name?" he leans forward, letting his elbow brush my apron.

"Kai,"  I gulp, feeling stupid for not introducing myself earlier.

"I'm sorry... I didn't introduce myself earlier," I add.

Why am I always apologizing to him? He probably just asked my name so he could send me a thousand-dollar dry-cleaning bill to the café.

"Kai, your recommendation was very good. I think it should be added to the menu," he says.

I'm glad he enjoyed it. Ms. Rose wasn't sure it would be a good fit for our menu.