He glowers at his watch like it just cussed him out.“The sign says you open at six.”
The deep rumble of his voice would’ve been sexy if it weren’t for the rude tone.
Someone really needs to tell this guy that being pretty doesn’t automatically give you a free pass to act like a dick.
Where’s Lola when you need her?Now I’m kinda sorry I didn’t call her for a ride.
After being in business for so many years, I’m well-versed in dealing with impatient, uptight jerks, so my smile for Mr.Punctuality never falters.“Yup.That’s exactly what it says.”My keys jingle when I pull them from my back pocket and slide them into the lock nice and slow.Wouldn’t want to bend them.
He holds his wrist up for me to see his fancy silver watch.“It’s 6:15.”
“Sure is.”I glance past him to the three white-haired men now hanging by the fence, their skin more leathery than that of a trio of old tortoises.“Morning, barnacles.”I nod to my regulars, who’ll hang around until almost noon and don’t mind if I’m fifteen minutes late, or closed on a random day of the week just because.“Sorry I’m late,” I tell them because I actually care what they think.“My car had a flat tire.”
Old Tom shoots Mr.Punctuality a withering glare before giving me a wink.“Don’t you worry, Sunshine.That smile of yours is worth the wait.”He might be a foot shorter than the newcomer and stooped like a shrimp, but he still knocks into Mr.Punctuality’s arm on his way into the coffee shop.His two sidekicks give the tourist the same “welcoming” treatment as they hobble over to their corner table.
Since I’m not completely heartless, I put my wardrobe change on the back burner and get busy flipping on the lights and warming up the espresso machine before setting the first pot of house coffee beneath the coffee maker.All the while, Mr.Punctuality waits with impatient glances at his watch from the other side of the counter.
Is he one of those people who is always in a rush or is he only in a rush today?
Here’s the thing about living at the beach: It teaches you to slow down.Clearly, this guy needs a few lessons.
I take my time tying on my apron and then make my beloved barnacles their coffees just the way they like them: a dash of cinnamon for Tom; a bit of maple syrup for Mark; and extra cream for Harry.Once they have their mugs, I take a deep breath through my nose and offer the tourist my sunniest smile.“Good morning, and welcome to Mugs.What can I get you?”
He removes his sunglasses and slides them onto his forehead, pushing his tousled, chocolate-brown hair off his brow.His eyes are a gorgeous light green, almost like the sea glass in our treasure bowl.
Too bad he left his manners back home.
“Hot coffee.Black,” he says.
If that’s all he wants, he could’ve gone to the 24/7 gas station down the road.“Like your soul?”I tease, smirking.
He doesn’t even crack a smile.
No matter.As soon as I give him coffee, he can be on his not-so-merry way.I don’t need scowling men bringing me down first thing in the morning.
I brew an Americano and pour it into a cup that suits his disposition.
Would you look at that?He’s frowning again.This time at the black mug I chose for him—one with a smiling poop emoji on the side.I didn’t think it was possible, but his frown actually deepens, and I have to bite my lip to keep from laughing.
Man, I love my job.
“I wanted this to go,” he says, glancing down at the coffee.
Then he probably should’ve told me that when he ordered.“Did you bring a travel mug?”I ask through a smile, bracing my hands on my hips.
A muscle in his jaw ticks.“Why would I bring my own mug when I came to a coffee shopcalledMugs?”
“Because single-use containers have been banned on this island for the last three years.That includes plastic bags, plastic cutlery, and disposable coffee cups.”I count on my fingers as I say each one, speaking nice and slow so he remembers and maybe won’t be so much of a jerk to anyone else in town.“Since I’m feeling generous this morning”—and I really want this grump out of my shop before I have to ask Willow to bring some sage to clear out his bad energy—“I’ll help you out.”
I grab one of our custom “Mugs” travel canteens that are available for purchase.It’s a beautiful, daffodil yellow—perfect for this guy’s piss-poor attitude.I dump the coffee from his poop mug into the yellow one, chuckling to myself.Dump.Poop mug.Classic.“Here you go.”I set the drink next to the empty tip jar.“The mug is on the house.”
After grumbling a curt “thank you,” he throws down just enough to cover the cost of the mug and the drink and stalks back outside.
Maybe the ferry gods didn’t send him after all.
Either way, my smile never fails.
Today is a very good day.
