Touched Page 2

  Just wear what’s comfortable, Peta had told me the day before when I met her at the café. I hated it when she did that. She knew better than to give me such vague instructions. Comfortable was my favourite pair of tracksuit pants and an old t-shirt. Comfortable was my pyjamas. Comfortable was not trying to decide what to wear on my first day at a new job.

  I sighed and flicked through the clothing. It fell into three categories: office wear, dresses, and lazy slop. Peta had provided me with a white shirt and baby blue apron, but the rest of the ensemble was up to me. I tried to think of what the staff had been wearing, but I hadn’t actually taken any notice. And even though I’d frequented the café often when it first opened, thanks to the recent events in my life, I had never actually met any of the people that worked for my best friend. The people about to become my workmates.

  In the end, I pulled out a black pencil-skirt and wiggled it up over my hips. It was too tight, and the slight pouch of my stomach stood out, making me look like I was at the beginning stages of pregnancy. The pre-wedding diet had long been discarded. I tried untucking the shirt and pulling it down to hide the small bulge, but then it just looked scruffy. I tucked it back in and grunted at my reflection. At least the apron would cover it. Already I was stressed, and I hadn’t even arrived.

  I slipped on the most sensible pair of high heels I owned and walked to the kitchen to collect my handbag and keys. Smudge meowed and looked at me expectantly.

  “I’ve fed you already.”

  He meowed again, a howling, painful meow, and walked over to his food bowl which was still filled with the biscuits I had placed down earlier. He looked up and blinked slowly.

  “There is still food in your bowl.” I reached down and shook the bowl, hoping the sound of the biscuits would somehow convince him to eat. Smudge ignored the shaking and wandered over to smooch against my leg.

  “Bugger off,” I said grumpily and nudged him away with my foot. One leg of my black pantyhose was left covered in white hair.

  “Arsehole,” I muttered under my breath. Smudge blinked indignantly and meowed again, refusing to give up on whatever it was he wanted. I gave up trying to figure out what.

  Smudge was an arsehole. There was no other way of explaining him. The mixture of black and white on his coat made for an adorable kitten, but as he grew, the adorable kitten was replaced by a demanding, annoying cat. I think Derek had assumed that a kitten would somehow replace my loss, but instead, all it did was emphasise it. And even though it was Derek who adored the stupid thing, somehow, I ended up with him. Apparently, his new apartment didn’t allow pets. But I suspected it probably had more to do with the fact that pets required looking after and Derek was used to being looked after. He didn’t do the looking after.

  I felt a momentary wave of guilt over moving Smudge with my foot and bent down to pat him. He hissed and backed away.

  “Smudge,” I cursed and hissed back. Smudge and arsehole had become synonymous in my vocabulary.

  I arrived at the café ten minutes early. I couldn’t stand being late. The man behind the counter looked me over slowly.

  “Lauren, isn’t it?”

  I walked over and held out my hand. “Hi.”

  He took my hand, shaking it for slightly longer than what was comfortable. “Mark. I saw you yesterday over there with the boss.” He nodded to the table we had sat at the day before. “You’re starting today, right?”

  “Sure am,” I said, giving him what was probably something between a smile and a grimace.

  “Peta won’t be long. She had to pop out. Just have a seat and wait.”

  He kept looking at me, an amused expression on his face, as he served the customers that flowed through the door. I glanced down at my outfit, certain something was wrong; a stain on my top, or a ladder in my pantyhose, but I couldn’t see anything.

  Peta opened the café two years ago and it had quickly become one of the most popular ones in town. Decorated in creams, light blues, and natural woods, she aimed for the feel of something thrown together, a quaint cottage style. Hence the name: The Cottage. With mismatched chairs and tables, odd collections of tea pots, china cups and bold lettering on the wall, it certainly had that thrown-together holiday-home feel, but somehow, the entire effect looked like something out of a magazine. The food was divine too. Peta had never trained as a chef, but her skills were unparalleled. I used to feel embarrassed whenever she came to my place for dinner. My attempts at cooking felt meagre and basic compared to hers. The opening of the café had met a sudden bump when Peta discovered she was pregnant with her third child, but with her husband at her side, that woman could do anything.

  “Hey you,” Peta said, coming up behind me and wrapping her arms around my shoulders. She planted a kiss on my cheek and then frowned as she looked down at my legs pressed tightly together and ankles neatly crossed. “I said comfortable, Ren. It looks as though you can barely walk in that.”

  Peta was dressed in plain black pants and her blonde hair was pulled back in a no nonsense pony tail.

  “Comfortable is sweatpants or pyjamas. I didn’t think you would want me turning up in either of those.”

  “Comfortable is being able to move easily. Do you not own anything other than office attire?” She frowned and looked me up and down. “It will have to do for now, though I suggest a pair of comfortable pants for tomorrow.”

  “I don’t own any comfortable and presentable pants,” I said, mentally taking a note to go shopping before work tomorrow. “You should have been more specific. I thought I had to look, you know, business-like.”

  Peta sighed and rolled her eyes. “It’s a café, Ren, not an office.” She sighed again. “Never mind, let’s get you sorted.”

  I followed her behind the counter and out into the kitchen where she introduced me to Mark, the man who had greeted me earlier.

  “This is Lauren,” she said to him, offering no further explanation.

  He looked at me, still with a slightly amused grin on his face, and nodded. “We meet again.” And then he dropped the smirk, grunted and turned back to where he was hand-mixing some dough on the bench top.

  “You’ll get used to his moods,” she said, then she turned back to the cook. “Won’t she, Mark?” She playfully shoved him and he flicked a small piece of dough over his shoulder in her direction.

  “I was at that counter for half an hour, Peta,” Mark said, finally turning around to face us. “Half an hour. You know how much I hate serving. My heart belongs in the kitchen.”

  Mark was in his forties, maybe. He was short and his hair was thinning. Fine stubble trailed over his chin and his glasses sat lopsidedly on his face. He didn’t really look like a cook but, then again, I didn’t know what a cook was supposed to look like.

  Peta held up her hands. “I was as quick as I could be, Mark. It’s not my fault that staff called in sick today.” Peta turned to me, explaining, “We like to have at least four staff on at all times, more if we know we’re going to be busy. That way there’s at least one to man the register, one on coffee, one in the kitchen and one to serve and gather dishes. Today, two staff called in sick and we’ve been under the pump. Usually, Mark is a sweetie,” Peta said as we exited the kitchen. “Well, when he wants to be,” she yelled over her shoulder.

  The last job I had was a personal assistant for my fiancé who was a real estate agent. I was used to making phone calls, photographing houses, and filling out contracts, but the constant flow of information I received over the next hour left my head spinning. All the buttons on the cash register looked the same, and the required number of shots for the multitude of coffees on the menu caused a fine sheen of sweat to form on my forehead. And we hadn’t even got to the food. Give me commission percentages and contracts over that stuff any day.

  Peta laughed at my dazed expression. “Don’t worry, you won’t be expected to remember everything, I just want to give you the full rundown.”

  “I’m not sure if I’m up to thi
s, Peta,” I said as a familiar wave of anxiety began to flutter in my chest. I liked knowing things. I hated floundering around and having to figure things out as I went.

  “You’ll be fine,” she said. “You always stress over things and they always turn out fine.”

  Not always, I wanted to say, but I kept my mouth shut and smiled. “I hope you’re right.”

  “Of course I’m right.” She shrugged then winked. “Just ask Shrek.”

  Shrek was Peta’s husband. Of course, his real name wasn’t Shrek, it was Dylan, but his wide smile, small ears that poked out from his head, and closely cropped hair earned him the nickname as soon as the movie had come out. I’m not sure if Dylan appreciated it or not, but since everyone picked up on it, he was left with little choice but to accept it.

  Shrek was a stay-at-home dad to their three boys while Peta ran the café. She had recently increased the hours from closing at four to staying open until nine, so in order for her to at least spend some time at home, she had offered me a job. Really, she was just being nice. She knew I needed the job, needed the money, and even though I had no idea what I was doing, she hired me.

  “I just don’t want to let you down,” I said.

  “Nonsense. You won’t. Soon you’ll be flitting about, wondering why you ever felt nervous.”

  “If you say so.”

  “If you ever need to know something, just ask. Someone around here will know the answer. Or they should.”

  “They’re going to hate me on sight for coming in like this.” I despised the thought of being the woman that only got the job because she was friends with the boss.

  “On sight?” Mark called from the kitchen. “We hated you before we even saw you.” He walked through carrying a tray of freshly baked scones. He winked at me as he placed each one into the basket by the cash register. The scent made saliva pool in my mouth. “I’m just yanking your chain. We’ve all got to start over again at some stage in our lives.”

  I threw Peta a frustrated look and she shrugged apologetically. She had obviously filled Mark in more than she needed to.

  “We’re a pretty tight bunch,” Mark offered, noticing my look of annoyance before concentrating on his display of scones. “Perfection every single time.” Slowly and deliberately, his eyes moved to the scones leftover from the previous batch. The ones he had placed down looked lighter, fluffier, and altogether more delicious.

  Peta laughed. “Yes, Mark. You win. You are the scone king.”

  “It’s the buttermilk,” he said, sprinkling icing sugar over the golden scones.

  My stomach growled loudly and Peta sighed. “You haven’t eaten yet today, have you?”

  I shook my head. Eating had become less of a routine and more like sporadic binging since Derek had left.

  “Go on then, you can have one. Jordan will be arriving soon and then the afternoon rush will start, so you may as well grab something now while you can.”

  I needed no further invitation and grabbed one of the warm scones. I was just about to bite into it when Mark interrupted me.

  “Oh, no you don’t! Treat that scone with respect. I don’t slave over a hot stove all day for you to merely shove it in your mouth hole.” He walked into the kitchen leaving me with the scone half in my mouth.

  I removed it and looked to Peta. “Mouth hole?”

  Peta just grinned as Mark walked back towards us. “Yes, mouth hole.” He took the scone out of my hand, broke a piece off and slathered it in butter. “Open up.”

  Hesitantly, but obediently, I opened my mouth and he popped in the piece of scone.

  “Well?” he asked, hands on hips, waiting impatiently.

  “Divine,” I mumbled around the scone.

  He nodded as though he expected no other answer and walked back into the kitchen.

  Around quarter to three, a girl flew through the door, backpack half open with books and clothes hanging out slung over her shoulder.

  “Sorry!” she yelled to Peta as she rushed past us to the storeroom that also served as the staff room.

  “That’s every day this week, Jordan,” Peta yelled after her. After a few moments Jordan reappeared, cheeks flushed red and smoothing out her hair. She joined us behind the counter, undoing the bun on the top of her head and twisting her hair into a high ponytail. “Sorry,” she said again, screwing up her nose. “I promise it won’t happen again. Hi.” She flashed me a smile. “You must be Lauren.” She stuck out her hand and I shook it. “I’m Jordan.”

  I started to respond but Peta talked over me. “You said that yesterday.” From the way Peta interacted with her staff, I got the impression that this was a rather laid-back workplace. She was telling the girl off, hands on hips, stern expression, but there was still a hint of amusement. “So what happened this time?”

  “I swear I was on time when I left home, but when I was driving here, this person just walked out in front of me. It wasn’t a crossing or anything, and I just happened to nudge him with my bumper. It wasn’t anything really, but the police came and then the ambulance…” Her voice trailed off and she shrugged her shoulders apologetically, screwing up her nose again. “Sorry.”

  “You ran someone over?” Peta’s voice rose in pitch.

  “Well, I just gave him a friendly nudge, really. There was no need for the ambulance to come. It was just a precaution.”

  “Goodness knows what we are going to do with you, Jordan.” Peta shook her head. “Did you hear all that, Mark?”

  Mark appeared in the doorway just as the first wave of the afternoon rush started. He lifted one eyebrow and shook his head dismally.

  Peta smoothed down her apron and turned to me. “Ready to man the register?”

  “Now?” I said, my heart racing a little. It seemed ridiculous to be this nervous, but after spending months on the couch, wallowing in my misery, everything was a daunting experience.

  “No better way than to throw you in the deep end. Jordan, you can be on coffee while I show Lauren the ropes. Mark, I’m afraid you’re on food and serving until Gabe turns up. Looks like he’s late too. Why do I keep hiring such terrible staff?”

  Mark grunted and pulled on a clean apron. “Because you love us, boss.”

  The first person in line ordered a cappuccino in a latte bowl with no froth and no topping. I frowned and looked to Peta, whispering quietly. “Isn’t that just a latte?”

  “What the customer wants, the customer gets,” she whispered. “Just smile, nod, and repeat the order. Smile and nod, it’s my motto around here.”

  I stared at the buttons on the register until they made sense and keyed in the order. I looked back up to the customer, smiled, nodded, and repeated the order back to him. He grunted so I took it as correct.

  I got flustered about fifteen minutes into the rush. There were people lined up all the way out the door and I could hear murmurs of impatience. I wasn’t used to working under such pressure.

  “Here,” Peta said, moving me to the side. “Let me take over for a while, just until things settle down a little. Would you pop out the back and grab some more takeaway cups? They’re in the storeroom on the left.”

  Grateful to be leaving the register, I walked away as quickly as my skirt allowed and headed to the storeroom. It was crammed full of boxes and silver bags of coffee beans, so I had to search through a number of boxes before I found the cups. Unfortunately, they were right at the top of a pile of coffee bags and rather difficult to reach, and I couldn’t find a stepladder. Stretching on my tiptoes, I reached out as far as I could, but my fingers only just brushed the edge of the box. The fabric of my skirt strained as I stuck one leg out behind me for balance. I was in no way considered a short person, but the box was simply out of my reach.

  “Damn it!” I muttered under my breath.

  I wasn’t even capable of doing a simple task like getting cups. I could feel tears gathering and growled, frustrated that something so small could undo me so easily. Hatred towards Derek for making me t
his way surged through me, but it was mixed with sorrow. I hated him, but I still loved him.

  “Need some help?” a voice said behind me.

  I jumped, surprised I wasn’t alone and turned to face the newcomer.

  “Hey,” he said, reaching over me and lifting the box down with ease. He wasn’t that much taller than me, but obviously tall enough. “I’m Gabe. Lauren, isn’t it?”

  I nodded numbly and took a deep breath to gather myself. “Yes, it’s Lauren. Hi.” I smiled and shook his outstretched hand. “Thanks for that.” I nodded to the box in his arms as he placed it on the ground. He opened it and pulled out two sleeves of the cups and handed them to me.

  “Sounded like you needed the help.” He grinned, grabbed his apron off the hook and tied it around his waist, leaving the top part hanging, rather than looping it over his head. He was also wearing a black t-shirt rather than a white shirt like the rest of the staff. Maybe the rules didn’t apply to him. His shirt was tight, but I wasn’t about to complain. He was extremely handsome. But he was young, early twenties maybe. Shoulder length dirty-blond hair framed his face and sat tucked behind his ears. His blue eyes twinkled mischievously and he had a smile that made my heart skip a beat. I inwardly laughed at myself, unable to control my body’s response. But he was extremely good looking in a scruffy, young, immature kind of way.

  “Something funny?”

  I shook my head. “Just been one of those days.”

  Gabe swept his arm towards the door and bowed dramatically. “After you.”

  I peeked out the door to the line of customers and took a deep breath. “Round two.”

  Thankfully, due to Peta at the register, the line of people were waiting for their orders, instead of waiting to order, and once Gabe got to the coffee machine things began to speed up. He worked swiftly, steaming milk and pouring the coffees while Jordan lined up the coffee shots. I kept myself busy taking orders to tables and clearing dishes, while Peta manned the register for the customers still pouring through the door. Around four o’clock the type of customers changed, and instead of business people lining up for their afternoon coffee break, the café became filled with teenagers, still in school uniforms, ordering iced coffees piled high with whipped cream and dripping with sweet toppings.