Sam takes a moment to think. ‘In this scenario, I’m not the coffee shop owner?’
In this world of fake romance with Sam, does he own a coffee shop? Maybe he owns a chain of coffee shops, and he is filthy rich and we travel around the world often, living the high life.
‘No,’ I say, because the logistics don’t work. ‘No. We linked on Tinder.’
‘Okay,’ Sam says.
‘In Cardiff.’
‘Right,’ Sam says. ‘So, I live in Cardiff now?’
‘This version of you lives in Cardiff, yes.’ I describe my apartment to him so that he knows where I keep my salt and pepper, and which drawer is the cutlery drawer. You know, in case anyone asks.
‘And Tinder brought us together and we went on a date to a coffee shop.’
‘You want to get a coffee shop in there somewhere, don’t you?’
‘Yes,’ Sam says. ‘But where do I work in Cardiff?’
A pause.
‘Starbucks.’
‘No.’ The sound that comes from Sam’s mouth is demonic. ‘No. I wouldneverwork at Starbucks.’
‘What? Why?’ I ask. ‘I love my caramel macchiato, and yes, I’m a pumpkin spice guy in the autumn.’
‘You hurt me.’ Sam grimaces, clutching his chest. ‘Pumpkin spice? I can’t believe you would like pumpkin spice.’
‘I love pumpkin spice. There’s a romance book I think you should read, by Laurie?—’
‘And Starbucks, too.’ Sam is shaking his head, and in that moment, I think he’s re-evaluating everything about our friendship.
‘What’s wrong with Starbucks and pumpkin spice?’
‘What’srightwith Starbucks?’ Sam gasps. He’s reacting like I asked him his opinion on something a lot more serious than a coffee chain. ‘Everything about Starbucks goes against what a coffee shop should be.’
‘What should a coffee shop be?’
Sam literally stops in his tracks.
‘Have I gone too far?’
‘Yes,’ he says.
‘Trade you a Charizard?’
Sam waves my joke away. Off the hook. ‘I’d rather a Bubble Mew.’
‘God, I’d love a Bubble Mew.’
‘Starbucks is cold,’ Sam explains, back to business. ‘It’s corporate. It’s a place where people buy overpriced coffee, and sit on their phones and laptops and don’t speak to one another. There’s a lot of questionable things about the company, too, if you ask me. As for the pumpkin spice, well, where do I begin? Nobodylikespumpkin spice. That is pure corporate capitalism. A fad for the social media influencers who think it gives them a personality. And yes, I’ve readThe Pumpkin Spice Café, and yes, I loved it, and Laurie Gilmore can do no wrong, but that’s as far as my pumpkin spice love goes.’
‘Pumpkin spice is my personality,’ I insist. ‘For an introvert like me, not speaking to anyone is perfect.’
‘No, it’s not,’ Sam says. ‘And I can say that because I’m an introvert. No, a coffee shop needs to be a community. You should know your barista. They should know you, and not because they have to ask for your name. Your barista shouldn’t be someone who feigns interest in your life because they have tomeet targets. Or because their manager is always watching and breathing down their necks. You’re supposed to go into coffee shops and they know your order. You sit down in a familiar seat, and you see the same people, and you read the newspaper, read a book, relax and unplug from technology. Get to know your neighbours. Support local makers and small businesses. Starbucks is to coffee shops what Tesco is to the greengrocer.’
‘Convenient?’
