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ONE
CHARLIE’S DRINK SPECIAL: DAILY GRIND DRIP
The Colombian dark-roast hazelnut aroma jostled Charlie from early morning brain fog.
Nestled on a stool in the cramped storage room, she blew into her red-lipstick-stained rainbow mug and indulged in a grateful sip. The caffeine danced on her tongue before it left a trail of heat down her throat.
Coffee. Her true love.
She trailed a fingertip over the freshly inked butterfly on her inner wrist and flinched from the sharp burn. A few more days and her final freedom branding should heal. She drew a tiny heart on June 10th on her motivational quotes calendar, marking Sugar Mugs’s official six-month anniversary. Her dream of creating a safe space where kids, queers, and grandparents could all hang out was finally a reality.
For now.
A brown leaf from her bamboo plant on her bookshelf caught her attention. She moved to pluck it, then pried open the blinds to peek at the few regulars waiting on the sidewalk. Maybe today would be a good day.
Scratch that.Manifest. Focus.
Today would be agreatday.
Over her shoulder, she called out, “Ready, Peaches?”
Ben stood up from the corner table. “I’m caffeinated, moisturized, and having a good hair day.” His inky-black hair was perfectly pomaded, as usual. He wasalwayshaving a good hair day. He pointed double finger guns at her with an exaggerated wink. “Open.”
All morning a steady stream of customers filtered through Charlie’s neighborhood coffee shop. Each time the door opened, the unusual Seattle heat whooshed in carrying lavender scent from her outdoor plants. As her fingers tapped the order screen, stress evaporated.
“Really? Five pumps of regular vanilla and one pump of sugar-free?” Ben muttered a couple of hours later, his saltiness reaching max level. “What the hell’s the point?”
“You burnt out?” Crafting coffee drinks was physically intensive, but Ben normally held on for at least three hours before they rotated. She bumped him to the register and swapped places with him at the espresso machine.
“I’m hangry. And my abuelita sent a huge dish of arroz con gandules, and I can’t eat it.” He wiped his hands on the towel and rang up the next customer. He scribbled the order on the cup and pushed it towards her. “Cleansing sucks.”
“When did you start a cleanse?” she asked while pumping the espresso into the portafilter.
“This morning.” He turned his attention to the man who approached the till. “What can I get started for you?”
“Drip with room.”
Perfect.A proper order, highest profit margin. He was probably a purist at heart, just like her.
I’m so glad I opened this place.
“Excuse me!” The shrill voice erupted behind Charlie. “I said peppermint.Notvanilla.”
I should’ve never opened this place.
“Oops! Sorry ’bout that. Let me redo it for you.” She winced as she tossed the botched drink down the drain and mentally calculated the cost of her error.
An hour later, the rush slowed and Ben handed her a short Americano.
“A vendor dropped these baked samples off earlier.” He dug a banged-up white pastry box covered in masking tape from under the till. “Twenty bucks says they taste like hell.”
“I’m not even taking that bet right now.” She took a quick sip and relished in the welcome reprieve of the chaotic morning. “It’s like they didn’t even try.”
He ripped open the box and handed her a droopy, pink-cream-topped muffin. “Bottoms up, baby.” He bit into the muffin and faked a gag.
She poked at the crusty frosting, sniffed it, and took a tentative lick before sinking her teeth into it. “Eww. This tastes like feet.” She threw her dehydrated muffin in the compost bin. “Wait, I thought you were on a cleanse?”
“I’m already over it.” He clapped the crumbs from his fingers.
