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I tapped my fingers on the counter along with the bassline. I liked nineties Trip-Hop, and it soothed my jagged nerves. The little café was busier than I’d expect for seven in the morning. We opened at six in the summer months, but my workday started at five thirty, when I took the milk delivery and watered the myriad of plants in tubs that filled the courtyard.
Looking after flowers and veggies was new to me, but it came with the job, and since I now lived in the room above the café, it was easy. I’d only been here a week. Not long enough to fuck up yet.
A steady stream of customers queued up, to place their orders with Lou. Most were regulars she greeted by name, her husky voice calling out their food and drink requests. As a concession to me, she wrote them down too, and a line of brightly coloured sticky notes trailed across my workspace.
I snapped the cap on the paper cup and lifted my head. “Two trim flat whites. Eric.”
“Aye.” A stocky guy in paint-splattered overalls stepped forward and took the drinks. “Thanks, lovie.”
I nodded, smiled, and looked down at the next order, but something jogged my attention. I glanced to my right, at the customer talking to Lou.
“Morcheeba.” He snapped his fingers. “Big Calm.”
Lou chuckled. “You’re the first person to recognize it. The new girl won the draw for which playlist we used.”
“Large flat white, please.” The man held out his debit card. “It’s forever since I heard this. She’s got good taste in music.”
“Good with the Gaggia machine too.”
Her compliment warmed me inside. I must be doing okay. So far. I watched them while I steamed the next jug of milk.
The man looked familiar. Did I know him from somewhere?
“You must be the new guy at the fire station,” Lou said. “How are you liking it here?”
“Love it,” he said, but his tone was off.
I took my eyes off him while I poured the hot milk onto the next shot. This was the tricky part. Pouring it at the right angle and speed made the difference between a good latte and a great one.
“Where were you before?” Lou leaned on the counter. There’s no way he could miss her generous cleavage. She must like him.
“Auckland City Central.”
“Must be a change of pace for you. Steph just moved here too.”
I paused before I finished the current drink.
“If you’d like someone to show you around, give me a shout.” Yes, she liked him. She didn’t normally hit on patrons. But what did I know?
The coffee was ready. “Sue. Large latte.” I handed the drink to the woman waiting, and then looked at the fireman again, and this time he faced me. As soon as I saw his curiously coloured eyes, one brown and one blue, I was transported back to the night at the club. Tara’s birthday party.
I froze.
Jesus. What were the chances of meeting him again? Here in Peka Peka, the middle of nowhere, hundreds of miles from Auckland?
What I’d thought to be a balcony that night was a section of scaffolding. I shouldn’t have been able to access it, but the door hadn’t been locked. Tara and all her friends thought I was going to throw myself over the edge.
No. I’d built a new life here, and one brief encounter wasn’t enough to bring it crashing down. Anxiety bubbled in my chest. Focus on the drink orders.
I stared at the next note in line, but the words danced in front of me. He recognised me. I saw it in his eyes. The stupid drunk girl, who almost killed herself. No. I wasn’t that girl any more.
With the soft, haunting tones of Morcheeba still playing, I sucked a deep breath, blinked a couple of times, and forced myself to concentrate.
Next up was Dean. He wanted a large flat white.
The buzz of the beans grinding helped to block out the incessant chatter in my head. Did I take my meds this morning? Yes.
I didn’t dare look up to see where Dean was.
The espresso shots were dripping nicely, and I steadied my nerves while I heated the milk. I was good. This was a blip. Not enough to throw me off.
I finished up, snapped on the cap, and wiped away a stray trickle of foam from the side of the paper cup. “Dean,” I called.
Before I could announce the drink, the fireman was in front of me.
“Thank you.” He took the coffee, and his fingers brushed mine. He frowned. “Do I know you from somewhere?” His voice was mellow, like liquid caramel.
There were a dozen different answers I could have used. Everything from I don’t think so, through to a simple no, but I froze again.
The gods of technology came to my rescue. The fireman—Dean—dug into his pocket and whipped out a cellphone, which he pressed to his ear. “Dean Logan,” he said, and turned on his heel to walk away.
I forced a smile and reached for the next order. Focus, I told myself again. Think about work. Tamping down the coffee grounds. Heating the milk. Blending the ingredients to make a sublime drink. The familiar repetition helped numb my thoughts.
“You okay?” Lou nudged my hip.
“Good, thanks.” My response was automatic. It became easier the more I said it. I was good. A damn sight better than I was six months ago. Out of habit, I tugged down my sleeves to cover my wrists, my multiple bangles jingling as I did. No sense in freaking out my new workmates.