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I shoved a bit of gingersnap past my lips and chewed slowly and continued on answering her previous question. “Well, it’s shitty, has old paint, the floor creaks when I walk on it, and I'm positive my neighbor is a vampire due to all the garlic she uses, but it’s mine. All mine.”
“It will take some time to adjust to being on your own, but this is good for you. You don’t deserve to be with such a sleazeball.” She finished the rest of her coffee.
I placed my elbows on the table and pressed my palms into my cheeks. “Now, if only I could find a better paying job.”
The whites of Mia's eyes widened with excitement. “I totally brain farted. I saw this post when I was combing through the incoming job posts. I’ll text you the link.”
My phone chimed, and I pulled it out of my purse. Trying to curb my enthusiasm, I opened the link and read the post. “An executive assistant? I can’t even keep my life organized, let alone someone else’s.”
“Faith, my child. Also, you’ll be getting a package tonight. A special home warming gift from yours truly.” She jogged her eyebrows up her forehead with a goofy look on her face.
“Oreo has too many toys as it is. I’m running out of room.” I let my words trail off and finished the last of my coffee.
“Call me later.” She stood and slid her arms through her thin jacket.
I waved bye and leaned back in the chair, taking in the comforting sound of chatter and the grinding of the coffee machine. I really did like working at the coffeehouse, but it didn’t pay enough, and now that I was on my own with literally zero savings, I needed a job that would help me get back on my feet.
“Hey, Olivia,” my manager called.
I raised a brow at her request, and my shoulder slumped. I had a feeling she was going to ask me if I could work for a few hours. Although it wasn’t super crowded, it was a lot for one barista and a manager who didn’t know how to work the new espresso machine. She reeled me in with a promise that she’d pay me overtime for my four hours, and in a blink of an eye, I was putting on my apron and tying my hair into a bun—the broke life of Olivia Mason.
With my back to the counter, I casually told the customer demanding my attention that I would be with them in a second. Then my stomach released a swarm of butterflies, and my words turned to mush. He repeated his coffee order once more and pulled a $50 bill from his wallet. I stood there like a deer in headlights, my movements slowing to a crawl. I didn’t know what was happening to me and why I couldn’t pry my eyes away from the hazel ones in front of me.
“Are you going to make my coffee, or do I have to go behind the counter and make it myself?”
I swallowed and grabbed a large cup from the tower next to me. Counting down the seconds until the machine stopped, I took another glance in his direction and regretted it almost instantly. His glare was so strong I was certain he knew every thought running through my brain. I plopped the top on his cup and slid over to him.
“Keep the change.” Refusing to break our gaze, he snatched the coffee and turned toward the door.
