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“Hi, I’m Chloe Daniels. I’m looking forward to learning how to make the perfect cup of coffee.” It feels lame, but what can I say? I’m working in a coffee shop because I got fired from my last job? I want to be an artist, but there’s no money in creative careers unless you know the right people, so making coffee will have to suffice.
“Well, you will certainly know how to make the perfect cup of coffee by the end of today.” Piero beams. The happiness on his face appears to be a permanent feature. No wonder he is the front man of the business.
“Okay, now we know everyone on the team, I’ll introduce you to Sam, who will train you today.” Sam appears from behind the counter. He nods at us as he takes his place next to Piero, his pale face, skinny waist, and blond hair are a complete contrast to Piero.
My heart pounds as Piero darts around the table, handing everyone a booklet I hope I will not have to read. I swallow hard as I pick up the heavy document. The picture of the cup of coffee on the front betrays the dense text inside. I flick casually through the pages, trying hard not to focus on the individual words and the number of them. I tell myself not to panic. The bulk of the training will be practical, which I’m fine with. And I have my own methods for memorizing the finer details I’ll need to commit to memory.
* * *
Despite my bad start to the day, I enjoy the training. I didn’t need to worry about the paperwork since we spent all day using the coffee machine. There’d been so much to take in, but I took time getting to know the rest of the staff too.
Faith is certainly the most likable of the three. She has a homely feel, and honesty radiates from her smile. Casey seems like hard work. She is sullen and quiet, her grip on the real world not quite firm yet. Lewis is the one person I can’t judge. He is straight to the point, verging on being rude. I wonder if it is a nervous thing, and if he’ll relax a little once the shop opens. Other than Gianni, everyone seems normal.
It can’t be any worse than the café. Cora had been the queen bee to the customers and bitch of the century to me.
“You’re not chatty enough with the customers,” she complained. “You don’t write the orders down properly, and you’re not quick enough at making sandwiches.”
My existence seemed to rile her as much as if I was a fly that continued to buzz in her beloved café, no matter how many times she swiped at me.
I didn’t get paid enough to endure her viper tongue day in and day out. But it was convenient. The early start got me out of bed, and the early finish meant I had plenty of time to work on my art in the afternoon. So, I smiled, breathed deeply, and filed her harsh comments and insults away in the miscellaneous file. None of it mattered. She was Cora. There was no changing her. I’d brush it all away as soon as I’d stepped out of the door at closing time.
Well, until I met Richard.
I close my eyes and breathe deeply until the image of Richard is gone.
I must make this new job work. I want it to work. I want to be happy. Maybe I will be as long as I can keep my past where it belongs and Gianni stays away like Piero promised.
ChapterThree
The churning feeling in my stomach that began this morning is now threatening to stay for the rest of the day as I stand behind the counter. Despite Lewis’s assurances the shop would be quiet, it is brimming with members of the Abbasscio family. Today is the soft opening of the coffee shop, an event designed to test the equipment and staff by filling it with friends and family before it opens to the public. The torrent of Italian words and gestures being brandished about makes me feel as if I’ve skipped countries. They are boisterous like old friends who haven’t seen each other in decades.
Piero is in his element, greeting everyone with warm European hugs and kisses. His casual clothing looks odd in contrast to the suit he normally wears. In tow is his heavily pregnant wife, who has a mass of dark radiant hair and glowing bronzed skin that matches Piero’s. She is beautiful and appears European, although I’m assured she is English. Even with her swollen ankles and large maternity dress, she doesn’t fail to light the room. They make a striking couple.
The shop bustles as people order drinks and delve into conversations. The family members are easy to spot. Their Mediterranean genes are a giveaway. Some staff members from the other branches are also present, some are helping us behind the counter, and some are here simply to enjoy a drink. Piero seems to be everywhere, talking to everyone and trying to sort out the teething problems. Lewis is doing his best to help him, but he doesn’t seem to operate with Piero’s ease. I wonder where Gianni is and why he isn’t here on such an important day.
There’s a commotion by the door as an elderly couple arrives. The crowd seems to part for them, and Piero abandons the cash register and heads straight for the door. His arms are spread wide, and his face lights up as he announces the arrival of his parents. There is much hugging and kissing before Piero insists on introducing them to all the staff.
He steers the elderly pair over to the counter, where we silently arrange ourselves in a line. Our uniforms are crisp and clean, and the greeting process feels like a royal visit. As the introductions begin, I work out Piero’s mother’s name is Amita, and his father’s name is Luca.
Amita is small but looks as strong as an ox, her once-dark hair pulled into a neat bun at the base of her scalp. Her warm smile mirrors Piero’s, but a stern flicker at the back of her eyes tells me no one should dare mess with her family, which makes her resemble Gianni. Luca is lean and shares Piero’s boyish looks but has an added pinch of age. He oozes a sophistication that emanates through his smile. He knows his worth but doesn’t need to flaunt it.
I stand at the end of the line with Lewis heading the pack as the couple walks down the row of staff, shaking hands and nodding as Piero reels off our names. The couple warmly shakes the hands of the new staff members. Everyone is on their best behavior. Even Casey manages a smile. Faith is standing next to me, and Amita holds her hand and smiles as if they’ve known each other for years. I prepare myself for a similar greeting, but as Amita lets go of Faith’s hand and her eyes meet mine, the entire room seems to stop.
Amita stands before me, her eyes locked on mine and her hand shaking in front of her. Her mouth is open, her lips appearing to tremble. She seems to have stopped breathing.
Seconds pass, and I think she’s having a heart attack. Surely, there is something medically wrong? After what feels like an eternity, she finally takes a breath. I should be relieved she appears to be alive, but I’m too shocked by the noise she makes to feel anything.
A cry escapes her mouth that brings a mother on the news to mind from an item reporting from a war-torn country. Amita crumbles before me, a stream of Italian coming from her lips. Luca is beside her, his arm wrapping itself around her shoulders like he’s done it so many times before, but as he takes up his role, his eyes follow his wife’s. I now have two pairs of eyes staring at me as if I’ve just announced I hate all Italians.
Time moves again as Piero sweeps in, trying to rescue his mother from whatever dimension she is in. I want to step back as the three of them crowd around me. I peek at Faith, standing next to me, but she is as baffled as I am. The Italian words continue to pour from all three, resembling an orchestra who has never played together before. The noise hurts my ears. I can discern nothing from it other than that Amita is nearly hysterical. Piero steers her away from me, and Luca follows after giving me one last look-over.
“Well, I’ll be damned,” Faith hisses at me. It takes me a second to find my voice.
“Did that just happen? What even wasthat?” I turn to Faith. Her face is as clueless as my own.
“I have no idea.” She shakes her head as we move back behind the counter.
“Do I have something in my teeth? Have I got mascara running down my face?” I’m desperately searching for an explanation for Amita’s reaction, but everything I think of is too bland to have created the shock on her face.
