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Chapter Twenty-Four
“One large no-foam latte, half skim, half-whole milk, with split quad shots—two shots decaf, two shots regular—two packets of Splenda, and four small sprinkles of cinnamon. One avocado toast with the toastslightlyburnt at the corners and exactly one avocado’s worth of topping. No egg, extra chili flakes, and a medium sprinkling of salt. Oh, and one blueberry muffin with not too many blueberries. Or too few.” The bleached blonde rattled off her order in one breath without looking up from her phone.
Kris’s eye twitched. In her four days as a server at Alchemy, she’d received some balls-to-the-wall orders, but this one took the cake. What was the point of putting skimandwhole milk in your coffee? To say nothing of the other arbitrary stipulations.
How about I add three shots of spit to your ridiculous latte and you shove it up your ass?
Kris opened her mouth to say just that before she caught Nate’s subtle headshake out of the corner of her eye. He knew her well enough by now to catch her before she reamed a customer out.
She took a deep breath and forced a tight smile. “You got it.”
She rang up the blonde’s order and started working on the latte. Out of spite, she used all whole milk and left out the skim.
It was petty, but Kris never claimed to be a saint. It wasn’t like the woman would taste the difference. Kris was pretty sure people came up with these ridiculous orders just to make baristas’ lives miserable.
After less than a week dealing with this kind of bullshit, she had a healthy, newfound appreciation for those who worked in the service industry. The adage, “the customer is always right” was so freakin’ wrong.
“I’m impressed.” Nate reached across her for the vanilla syrup, his forearm brushing against her chest as he did so. Heat sizzled in her veins, and she side-eyed him, certain he’d done that on purpose. The twinkle in his eyes confirmed her suspicion. “I thought you were going to tear her a new one.”
“I wanted to.” Kris added the cinnamon sprinkles. “But Liza is still pissy about the time I called out that asshole for lying about his order.”
The jerk had sent his burger backthreetimes—claiming it was too rare, too well-done, too salty, though he’d miraculously scarfed down half his food each time—before Kris lost her shit, the jerk lost his shit over her losing her shit, and the cafe manager lost her shit over the entire situation.
So yeah, Kris was already on thin ice. She wouldn’t have cared, except Nate had recommended her for the temp position and she didn’t want to get him into trouble. She may be leaving for Seattle soon, but he depended on this job.
He’d talked to Elijah’s father on Monday, and she’d started work Tuesday morning. Liza, the manager, hadn’t been thrilled about taking on someone with zero service experience, but Kris was decent at her job—unless the person on the other side of the counter was a jerk.
She was still learning the ropes on the whole “customer service” thing.
Kris plucked a blueberry muffin from the pastry case and dropped it onto a small plate. It was late Friday afternoon, and the cafe’s earlier craziness had died down to a manageable four tables plus the occasional takeout order.
Thank God. She was looking forward to a long, hot shower followed by a longer, hotter session between the sheets.
She’d officially moved into the Reynolds house the same day she started at Alchemy. As Nate had predicted, his family welcomed her with open arms and, in Skylar’s case, a hug and a squeal that they probably heard across the Atlantic. Nate had offered to sleep on the pull-out couch in the living room during her stay, but she’d shut that down quick. She didn’t want to displace him from his room. He wouldn’t let her sleep on the couch either, so they shared his bed.
No one said anything about the sleeping arrangements. Nate and Kris were adults in a relationship, and Michael and Skylar weren’t idiots. They had to know that if a couple lived under the same roof, there’d be shenanigans, even though Kris tried her best to be quiet.
She’d also convinced Nate to accept rent for housing her until she left L.A. He’d refused at first, but caved after she made it a non-negotiable for her moving in. Once he did, she packed her bags, slapped a quick note on her nightstand for Risa or whoever to find, and split. She wasn’t sure why she’d bothered with the note at all—her father hadn’t reached out to her once since she walked out of their big, cold Beverly Hills mansion.
“I’m still impressed by your restraint.” Nate leaned down to whisper in her ear. “Remind me to show you just how impressed I am when we get home.”
Kris almost spilled the piping-hot latte on herself.
“You’re incorrigible,” she said, but she was grinning.
This was the best part of the job—whenever she and Nate had the same shift, it was like an extended foreplay session. He didn’t even have to touch her to turn her on.
“I try my best,” Nate drawled before a new customer snagged his attention.
“You two are disgustingly couple-y.” This came from Elijah—Kris had stopped calling him Blue Hair, partly because Nate had asked her to and partly because Elijah had re-dyed his hair a hot pink—who returned from his trip to the backroom with a carton of oat milk to replace the empty one sitting on the counter. “This is a professional workplace.”
“Please. Don’t think I don’t know what you do in the employee bathroom during your break.” Kris kept her voice low so only Elijah could hear her.
His jaw dropped. Paired with his fuchsia hair, it made him look like a surprised anime character. “C’mon Kris, you know I was joking,” he complained. “Why you gotta call me out like that?”
“I wasn’t calling you out.” Kris glanced at the open window looking into the kitchen just as the cook slid an avocado toast sans egg onto the ledge. The orders from the computerized register fed straight into an electronic screen in the kitchen, eliminating the need for staff to run back and forth. “Thatwould be unprofessional, and I’m such a nice coworker.” She flashed a sweet smile.
Elijah stepped back. “Don’t do that. You freak me out when you act all nice and innocent.”
