COFFEE GIRL

Chapter Two

"You'll get another job, honey, it's not the end of the world."

Dad kept repeating that over and over again, but I was certain he had no idea what it felt like being fired.

Since he had found out he was going to be a dad at the young age of twenty-two, he had worked as a freelancer hoping that would give him time to help Mum raising me and keeping the house cleaned. So no, he had no idea.

He'd turned down uninteresting jobs and even people he didn't like because, according to him, 'you gotta do what you gotta do to sleep at night'. Now that was a long forgotten slogan.

Since we moved back to L.A, and even before that, Dad had taken crappy jobs in order to support the family. Mum was starting working again as a paralegal assistant; that was why my job at the café shop was kind of a big deal for me.

Unlike my parents, I wasn't a free soul.

I was the first member of my family being accepted at UCLA, I couldn't afford to be a free soul right now.

"How can you even say that?" I huffed over dinner, taking a particular big piece of roasted potato into my mouth. "I need the money to study. And even if I didn't, I almost killed a guy."

"I'm sure that was an honest mistake," Mum said with her usual calmness, ignoring my predicament.

"Of course it was a mistake, I don't feed people with food they are not supposed to eat just for fun."

To my surprise, Dad chuckled and so did she. Her curls, the same thick springy loops that I'd gotten from her, bounced a little.

Me, on the contrary, couldn't laugh.

Next to my parents I looked like an old lady. Always cranky, always snorting in response to their funny comments. I couldn't understand how I became so different from them. They never pressure me, never demanded anything; quite the opposite, they were always proud of me, celebrating every single accomplishment I'd achieved. Probably that was the reason I tried so hard to keep up to their standards.

When their laughter died out, Mum spoke again. "You'll get a job that's worthy of your talent, Cleo, you'll see?"

"The economy is recession, Mum." I rolled my eyes at her words. She made it sound so easy.

"Says who?" Dad intervened.

"Um, the newspaper."

"Don't believe everything you read." He shrugged, popping a baby carrot into his mouth.

"I won't." It was useless to keep arguing. Their conception of the world was distorted sometimes. "Thanks for dinner, Mum, it was great," I said putting my cutlery aside and standing up. "Gotta finish a paper for Friday."

Once inside my bedroom, instead of focusing on getting my creative writing degree, I sat with my eyes trained on my laptop. The screen shone with written words from my blog, the post I'd relinquished days ago still unpublished.

I knew I had no obligation towards this blog, but I did to the small group of readers that followed me on Wix.

My elbows supported the weight of my head, which was now slightly pouding under the events of the past days. It hadn't stopped since Tim fired me.

However, despite I was jobless, I couldn't stop thinking about that man.

The man I food poisoned with a peanut butter muffin.

How could I be so careless!?

Besides losing my job, which in reality I disliked from the bottom of my heart, I'd lost my concentration; I'd let my clumsy genetic nature stand in the way and a poor man had suffer from it.

I knew he was okay by now. Before firing me, Tim had been nice enough to tell me the man was fastly recovering. He'd gone to visit him in the hospital to cause a good impression and avoid a law sue.

How thoughtful.

Still, handling that piece of information didn't make anything easier. I felt terrible.

Letting the air abandon my body I stretched my arms and shook my shoulders.

No title for the article came to my mind. It was completely blank and I was too exhausted to keep trying.

Without thinking, I opened a new document and, as the white background shine casted on my face something inside me stirred, something that craved to be freed.

With hesitation I tapped on the keyboard the last words that danced in my head.

"The day I accidentally food poisoned the man of my dreams.

You might think I'm overreacting with the last part. Well, yes, I am. Maybe a little.

The first part, though, is one hundred percent real.

You might also think how dare I to write something like this in a blog; this supposed to be a parody of a twenty-four-year-old woman's life, who has travelled for the past five years across South America. Well, you could also think this is something that might happen in a movie. Believe me, it's real and painful af."

I couldn't believe how ease and smoothly the words flowed from my fingers, how real and private they felt as I typed them.

Writing about the distressful aspects of my life rawly was not something I was inclined to do. But letting it all out made my shoulders feel lighter under the weight of guilt.

"So sit tight, grab a bucket of popcorn - or whatever snack is of your liking - and get ready to know how I screwed myself up."

After that, I simply couldn't stop.

Old Pasadena was a fifteen minute ride from Glendale, where my parents and I lived. But as I didn't own a car, the metro rail ride took almost fifty minutes including switching lines at Union station.

However, despite moving around L.A was a real pain, this little sacrifice was worth to be made. As I walked through the busy streets of Pasadena, I recalled Gareth Daniels' voice the previous day telling me he'd found my blog and was interested to meet with me. According to him, there was a junior editor position in his marketing company and I might be interested to know more about it.

Heck yes, I was.

As I left behind the eateries and shops, I walked in the building which style resembled a lot to the Chamber Commerce Buildings from across the States with dozens of square windows one next to the other one, and a smooth cream texture that screamed sobriety.

Once inside, an middle aged receptionist asked for my name and, after making a call, told me to take the elevator to the fifth floor.

Saying I was a handful of nerves would be pretty accurate. As the elevator rose, I strived to take a couple of breaths to ease my heartbeats and relax my throat. I really needed to get this job.

Surely a lot of people needed this job, but I wanted it so bad.

The elevator stopped on the second floor, letting a man come in.

A man I knew.

His eyes were huge when they met mine. The dark-cinnamon swirls around his iris sparkled as beautifully as the first time I'd seen them causing the exact same tug in my belly as it did weeks ago.

"Coffee girl."

The words strangled in my throat when I tried to speak, my cheeks suddenly burned doing nothing to help me act remotely cool and collected.

"Hey."

Hey. Really? That's all you can say, Cleo?

To my surprise, the man chuckled, his head shook. His reaction soothed me, the muscles of my neck loosened. He didn't seem as upset as I'd imagine he'd be if we ever meet again.

I gulped. "You're okay."

"Almost, yes." He nodded, locking his eyes with mine. "Are you?"

I couldn't believe his question. He'd been good poisoned and he was interested to know if I was okay? Was this man even real?

"Yes, yes, of course I am," I gulped, my saliva thick as it went down my throat. Daring to look directly at him, my gaze rose. "You have no idea how sorry I am for what happened-"

Ding!

The elevator stopped. I looked to the hallway that appeared when the doors opened. We were on the fifth floor already.

Crap.

I used my arm to block the door so it wouldn't close again.

"I should go," I hesitated. I wasn't sure why. There wasn't much more I could do except apologize. " This is my floor. Again... I'm so sorry."

I left the elevator and the door closed as soon as I stepped out if it. The last thing I saw was his smile fading away, his shoulders sagged.

The rapid beats of my heart resounded all over my body, like a giant bell on a campanary. I closed my hands to prevent them from trembling. I needed to be calm if I wanted to nail this interview.

Still, another energy told me I should have stayed inside that elevator, that I should have stayed with him instead.

"Cleo Fuentes?"

I turned at the call of my name and found a grinning man in his late thirties. His hair, honey colored, was combed nicely to the back and he was dressed in casual shirt and night blue trousers.

"Yes, that's me." I walked to him and offered my hand. "Gareth Daniels?"

"It's to meet you."

"Likewise."

"This way, please."

I followed him across the hallway as my eyes scanned my surroundings. White walls enclosed us, decorated with colorful, abstract paintings that reminded me to a modernized fifties sitcom.

His office, a relatively large room with windows that faced the street, was neat and tidy when we entered; we both took a seat in the small couches area. His secretary came behind us and left a tray with lemonade for the two of us.

"Well, Cleo, let me tell you I'm glad I could finally put a face to all the articles I've read," he begun with a pleasant, fruity voice.

I smiled at his words, discovering a tingle of pride in my chest. I'd put my heart and soul in those articles, even when I suspected they'd lead me nowhere. Guessed I was wrong.

"I'm glad you came across them," I replied accepting a glass of lemonade. The cold liquid ran down my throat, cooling my heated body. The brief encounter with the man from the cafe shop had left me flustered. "How did you find them, by the way?"

"This will probably sound ridiculous and even spooky, but I promise you it's nothing like that." Despite his warning, I didn't feel particularly concerned about his words; his low-key melodious voice did that and I was sure he knew exactly how to talk to people. This was, after all, a marketing company.

"Okay..." I shifted on my seat, almost hanging its edge.

"Your last article, The day I accidentally food poisoned the man of my dreams, was spectacular. It was hilarious and still emotional. But most importantly, it was relatable."

A wide smile appeared on my lips. "Thank you. That was all I was looking for."

"Do you have any brothers or sisters?" he asked, startling me a little.

"No, I'm an only child."

"I do. He's the youngest and we like teasing each other - sending us stuff we see in the internet, memes and all sort of things. I guess it's what brothers do."

"Okay." I wasn't really sure where he was trying to go by telling me that.

"Anyway, he's usually very careful when it comes to his allergy but he was food poisoned last week and, so I was surfing the web looking for something to mock him for. And that's when I came across with your blog."

"Oh. " I recalled the man's face in the restaurant that afternoon, the terror that caused my heart to kick against my ribcage and I wondered if Gareth was trying to be funny. It wasn't funny for me. It'd been hell.

"I know you probably had an awful time dealing with that situation, but I assure you my brother is perfectly fine by now."

"Your brother?" I frowned, suddenly confused.

"Yes," Gareth nodded, his eyebrows rose. "Despite thinking your writing is unique and fresh, I couldn't help to feel sorry for the fact that you lost your job because of an innocent mistake."

His words boomed inside my head like a gong, making me dizzy and more embarrassed than I'd ever been. My palms went suddenly wet, almost sticky like cookie dough between my fingers.

"I-I poisoned your brother?" This couldn't be real.

"I assure you, he brought it to himself," Gareth said with a trace of laughter in his voice.

"That's hardly possible," I answered feeling my cheeks warm under such realization.

"How about this? My brother being poisoned brought you here. Doesn't sound too bad to me." His black humour was shocking, even for me who enjoyed dark comedy more than many people could understand.

"I guess so, " I trailed, wringling my hands together.

"We can talk about the details after we finish this interview, if you're still interested," Gareth offered retrieving my resume from a black folder.

I bite my lower lip. "Okay."

The sun dazzled above the sky, the narrow clouds doing nothing to mask its mighty rays as I stood in the middle of the street with a huge smile plastered across my face.

I'd gotten the job. I would be the copyright assistant for the Spanish community market.

I couldn't get out of my amazement. This had been the most bizarre interview of my entire life - not that I'd had many in the past. I wanted to jump and bump in the air like Rocky.

Losing no time, I grabbed my phone, texted Mum and Dad a short but effective 'Say hello to the new copyright assistant', and started walking towards the subway. Still, one thought hit me like a thunder, filling me with unanswered questions.

Was the man from the Cafe shop here just by chance? Did he know I'd be here? Had he read my article?

The day I accidentally food poisoned the man of my dreams.

The man of my dreams.

Oh, dear God.

If he'd read the article too I could consider myself a mortified woman until the day I died. I squeezed my eyes shut, not really wanting to think about that now. It was embarrassing enough knowing his brother had read it.

"Hey, wait!" A male voice called somewhere behind me. "Hey! You, coffee girl!"

I halted, my eyes snatched open in surprise.

Turning to the source of the voice, I gasped when my gaze found the man trotting towards me.

It was him. The mahogany eyes man.

He stopped before me, his breath slightly hectic yet his stare gleaming like the first time I'd seen it.

"Hi," I muttered when he didn't speak.

"I can't believe you're here," he said, catching the air.

"Right back at ya," I responded with a wheeze.

"I went to the cafe shop looking for you," he said, as if trying to explain.

"To sue me?"

He ignored my question, surely catching the joke hidden between my words. "They told me you didn't work there anymore."

"I was fired." I shrugged.

"Because of me?"

"Because I mixed up the orders and almost killed you."

"The doctors said you saved my life," he said taking a step nearer me. "That you applied the epinephrine just in time."

"That? It was nothing really." I had no idea where all that confidence was coming from, but to my surprise, the man chuckled showing me his pearly smile.

"Well, you did nothing just in time."

We stared at each other for muted seconds, as our gazes remained connected; it seemed like the time had slowed down, like the traffic sounds didn't exist.

"I'm Gus." He offered a hand that I took with no hesitation. His warm skin made contact with me, and even though I felt no electricity, I did feel a soft warmth spreading through my body, like a fluffy blanket on a rainy winter afternoon.

"Cleo."

"Cleo, the coffee girl."

"The copyright assistant," I corrected, faking importance. "Do you work here as well?" A tiny part of me hope he did, so I'd have an excuse to see him again.

"No, I'm a teacher. Elementary school," he clarified.

"That's nice."

A moment of silence went by as we stood in the middle of the sidewalk.

" Would you like to grab a bite or something?" he asked, stuffing his hands in the front pockets of his jeans.

"I could eat." I nodded, feeling the bliss coloring my face and neck.

"I know a nice place a couple of blocks from here," Gus pointed out, inviting me to walk by his side.

"Great."

"I hope the waitress doesn't mix the orders this time," he teased, winking at me.

"Lucky for you, I'm not waitressing anymore."

The sound of his laugh came deep within his lungs, but it was also in the way his gaze sparkled and the unrestrained joy that was drawn on his face. I hardly knew Gus, but I was certain that he irradiated a genuine delight with his presence.

When his laughter died out, he glanced at me. "So, Cleo the copywriter, I was told you're a diary blogger. I'm curious, have you written about the day you almost killed a customer?"

"Of course I did. But I'm not showing it to you," I defended myself, masking my embarrassment beneath a snort.

"Why not?" Gus almost squealed, making me smile. I guessed Gareth had had some decency and kept the blog to himself.

"Maybe some other day."

"Some other day sounds like my kind of day."

Oh, Gus Daniels, you sound like my kind of guy.

AUTHOR'S NOTE

Cleo and Gus came to my mind after watching too many romantic comedies from the nineties, like the ones Meg Ryan and Tom Hanks fell in love after exchanging a bunch of emails. How could I resist to write something inspired on that?

Unlike my other stories, I decided I'd give these characters a Latin background (I live in Argentina - South America, is any of you is hasn't heard of the country ;D ) and, even though I would have liked to explore and show you more about Cleo's past, I decided against it. I didn't want the story to drag forever.

I had a great time writing this short story and, luckily, I'll be able to write more as the year goes by.

Don't forget to stop by my profile if you enjoyed this story, and of course to leave a comment and share it with your friends.

All my affection,

Aggie