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“Make that eight.” He waves his own sticky note, which I know isn’t an order for him, but for the mayor. Chuck is in his late fifties, bald, and built like a Patriots lineman. Every winter, he plays Santa for the staff and their families, and he’s so nice that I sometimes wonder if he’s really the jolly old man in hiding.
“I’ve never had a serving job, but I swear after a few months here, I might be good at it. Balancing hot coffee in cardboard while walking down Congress is no small feat.”
“Well, like you said. At least you wore flats today,” Chuck jokes, handing me the additional sticky.
I give him a wry smile before grabbing my crossbody purse and heading to the elevator. At this point I can practically make this walk with my eyes closed. I’ve been the fetcher about a dozen times. There are two other interns, both from the university, and they’re usually working on bigger projects. Bottom of the totem pole, as they say, but I like working my way up. And I like that despite who my father is, this office doesn’t give me special treatment.
I wouldn’t mind fewer coffee runs, though.
I read the orders while I walk, mentally grouping them so I can rattle off my requests faster. That’s another thing I’ve learned—the Congress Street Coffee Co. baristas are not very patient. I’m so deep in concentration that I don’t realize the line is spilling out onto the sidewalk and I ram directly into an immoveable dark gray suit jacket.
“Oh!” My sticky notes go flying as I cup my nose with my hand, sure it’s bleeding. It’s definitely numb. My eyes water from the impact, but I spin around and search the ground around me for the tiny yellow papers.
“I got ’em.” The jacket scrambles. Thefamiliarjacket. Worn by a six-foot-plus young man with broad shoulders made for climbing, wavy brown hair, and the most infectious laugh.
“Cameron?” My voice is muffled, my hand still cupping my face. He stands, my notes in his fist, and gives me a crooked smile as he leans his head to the side and steps in close enough to inspect my face.
“Yeah, what are the odds? Here, lemme see.” His palm covers mine and he slowly pulls my hand away from my face. I expect blood to gush out, but I guess by his deepening dimple that my face is fine.
“Is it broken?” I blink a few times, the burning sensation still very much there.
Cameron chuckles.
“No,” he says, shaking his head. “You smacked yourself good, but I think you’ll survive, Brooky.”
I squint at him and grit my teeth at the nickname, which has zero deterring effect. He simply chuckles and spins me around to move forward to join the line.
“Let’s compare orders,” he says, pulling out his phone to read a text string. I take my notes from him and begin to read.
“Your coffees are all sweet and floofy,” I say. “I mean, that one . . .” I point at his screen. “That’s really a milkshake. Let’s be honest.”
“True, but I also feel like your orders could all be made in the break room. I mean, how many plain black coffees? Three? And two more with sweetener and cream?”
“Point taken,” I say. “We may have uncovered some grand study about the differences between lawyers and public servants.”
His eyes narrow and his lips purse.
“Public servants?” His eyebrow lifts with his question.
“Mayor’s office? Elected officials?” I know what he’s getting at, but I won’t say it.
“And who gets elected?” he presses.
“Nope,” I say, crossing my arms and shaking my head. We move another step forward in the line, and Cameron questions the woman who just stepped in behind us.
“Excuse me, ma’am, but can you help me with this word I’m trying to think of?”
I squeeze my eyes shut at his boldness. My cheeks are burning, but I know there is no stopping him.
The woman nods and Cameron begins giving her clues. It’s what you would call people who become mayor, or maybe city councilmembers, or legislators, or—”
“Public servants?” the woman answers.
I spit out laughter and turn my back to them both so that the woman doesn’t think I’m laughing at her. The opposite, really. I want to high five her.
“Thanks, but no,” Cameron huffs, folding his arms around his body and moving to stand in front of me.
“He lost a bet,” I explain to the woman, whose eyes were drawn in tight with confusion. She nods with raised brows, clearly wishing she was in any other line right now.
