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You weren’t expecting to see James in the middle of the busy breakfast shift. It took you a while to realize why , and when you did, you felt silly about it.
You didn’t know where he spent his days, or what he did with his life, but for some reason, you’d squished his existence into the slim time blocks of the late and early hours, when you might catch a glimpse of his inky figure between all the other shadows. He’d been a scarce sight since you first officially met him, a week before, and you hadn’t asked after the cookies yet. He still looked as slender as ever. If you could eat that many cookies and not gain a single pound, the ocean must be on fire.
At least you were on your feet all day. There was no need to worry about an excess buildup of unnecessary calories, like the kind your customers craved. You were always on the move in your little café; it was a hotspot, so close to a residential area, and you were decidedly good at what you did. People loved your place. New faces cropped up all the time, and you kept an eye out.
The first thing you saw was a black bipedal in your peripheral. There he was, standing on the sidewalk outside the storefront, head cocked like he considered coming in. You remembered blinking in surprise—because it was definitely not early morning or late night—and there he stood. Then someone called you over and you had to stop staring.
Did James know you worked here? You barely talked to him, even when you did happen to catch the guy in his lurking hours. There was a bit of friendly interaction there, sure, but you weren’t really friends. He was probably just here to check the place out. It was pretty close to the complex, after all.
The poor guy looked tired. He looked like he could use a hot drink, and maybe a muffin, if you were honest. Your muffins had a pretty consistent track record of general life-improvement. Surely one would fix James up. At the very least, it might convince him to stop loitering on the sidewalk like a lost dog.
James was an unusual character, for sure.
When he eventually decided to walk through your doors, his pensive face felt like a challenge. There was something tense in his posture despite his slow, casual walk. His eyes drank in every detail of the room with practiced scrutiny. He seemed skittish. Add that behavior to the slim computer bag on his shoulder, the dark gloves you never caught him without, and the glum colors of his dress, most people would have chalked him up to no good. He looked out of place in your cheery, quaint café.
To be honest, you weren’t going to bother the guy unless he caused trouble—which, based on your past interactions with him—was not likely. You knew him to be harmless enough. So what if he wanted to take advantage of the free wifi and get some work done? Who were you to judge? You were on the clock too, even if it was your clock.
“James, hi!” You smiled and waved when his sharp scan of the place fell in your direction. His surprise was very well-hidden, but it was there.
A quick once-over of your classic barista outfit had his expression back at parade rest. He set his bag down at a booth in the corner and nodded. Had he made his decision about you that quickly?
“Hi there.”
If he had any intention of furthering your interaction, he would have put in the minimum effort, but you weren’t letting him off the hook that easily. The least he could do was indulge you for two seconds, if he was going to take up a table and use your internet.
“How are you?” You made your way over and gave him a warm, ten-out-of-ten customer service smile. “Can I get you anything?”
If he wanted something, he would have gone up to the counter like a normal person and asked for it. But you wanted an excuse to take in his handsome face up close. Besides, you were neighbors. It was only polite to acknowledge his presence with a minute of friendly conversation.
His tight, reciprocating smile was not as genuine as you would have liked. It wasn’t rude, but you got the feeling he didn’t smile very often. Poor guy.
“I’m alright, thanks.” He answered shortly.
Darn. So much for conversation.
But then he tilted his head with a thoughtful twitch of his pretty lips. “I didn’t know you worked here.”
Yes!
“I’ve run the place for about five years.” You tucked your hands behind your back and puffed up a little. Your café was something to be proud of, for sure. Hands down, you made the best coffee for thirty city blocks. Not to mention the croissants were to die for. You could prattle on about your cakes, sandwiches, teas, and jams, but James hadn’t asked.
“I see.”
His gaze grew more curious, though his conversational skills could use a bit of work. It seemed he was only trying to be agreeable.
“Convenient place.”
You smiled, because of course he noticed that. He was pretty perceptive, actually, even if he didn’t voice everything. Whether that was in his nature or whether it came from a personal sort of paranoia was none of your business. You left it.
“Got that right. Let me know if you need anything, okay James?”
The next smile he gave you was more gracious than before.
Slowly, the hours ticked by. Rushes came and went. You barely paid mind to James tucked away in his corner, which seemed to be his preference. He’d hunkered down with a sleek, logo-less laptop and a cheap pair of headphones, absorbed, seemingly, if not for the discreet and routine scans he made of the perimeter. You wouldn’t have noticed that small detail if his eyeline hadn’t happened to be your route to all the customers.
On the flip side, there was something else you couldn’t quite ignore. James didn’t order anything! He just sat there for hours, plucking away at his computer, hardly moving at all if only to breathe. He didn’t get up, didn’t rearrange himself, he barely even slouched. He sat in the same spot and neglected the counter; not even a glance was spared your painstakingly-calligraph-ied menu. (Admittedly, you couldn’t do calligraphy. One of your younger girls had organized the chalkboard).
You didn’t mind. Not all the way. Any attention in the business world was profitable to some extent. If he liked sitting in and doing his own thing, he’d be likely to come back, and the more he came back, the more likely it would be that he’d actually chalk up the courage to buy something. You could speed the process along, maybe, if you were charming. Not that you considered yourself a charming person in general—but it couldn’t hurt to try. Poor James looked like he could use a little kindness anyway. Despite not moving since sitting down, the lines in his face had changed, deepened. He looked really tired.
Apparently, he also intended to stay right up until closing, long after everyone else went home. It was one of those days when you left the lights on late and stuck around for it, only because the mood on the street outside was romantic with the not-quite quiet and neon shadows. In these sleepy moments between the last order and your clock out, you usually spent the time tidying up the café, putting things in order, and cleaning off machines. Sometimes, you’d get a start on pastries for the next day, prepping doughs, batters, and icings. It was lazy work. You’d let everyone else go home.
Outside, city lights glowed proud and bright, no longer competing with the sun for show. They cast shapes on the sidewalks. The occasional passing car sparkled.
And still, James stayed where he was.
You’d be locking up in an hour; maybe he needed a note.
But he looked so absorbed in his work, now that the café was mostly vacant, and approaching him dry might be a little inconsiderate. You’d leave the muffin for another day. For now, just a coffee would suffice.
You made one for yourself too, just to avoid being awkward about it—but that turned out to be unnecessary when you poured the fresh cup and set it on James’ table. He was startled, though not unreceptive.
“Coffee?” You offered with a soft smile.
Ripe suspicion warred with the delicate want on his face. Coffee, it seemed, was a nice gesture, but what he needed was sleep. His eyes were hollow with mistrust. Nevertheless, the grateful part to his lips kept you feeling unoffended. You’d give him the benefit of the doubt. You were pretty sure you hadn’t done something to warrant this aversion from your neighbor, so maybe he was simply acting off of instinct, and there was nothing wrong with that. It only meant he’d need more coffees to warm up to you—and maybe a muffin wouldn’t hurt.
He twitched, flustered. “Oh, uh, I didn’t ord—”
“It’s on me.” You amended quickly. “I figured a warm drink would be nice.”
At your patient pause, his expression turned thoughtful, guarded. He was studying you. The scrutiny made you uncomfortable, but you couldn’t back down now. Even if it was awkward to wait for him.
The half minute crawled. But then he relaxed, raising one brow just the tiniest bit.
“You’re closing soon.” He decided.
A little caught off guard by the odd comment, you blinked. Maybe he’d just remembered? Your hours were posted on the wall by the door, easy to miss from where he was sitting. You thought his lingering presence just meant he hadn’t seen. Or maybe he’d run through a list in his head of reasons you’d speak to him, and came to the most likely conclusion. He seemed like the detective type. The hobbyist version.
“No rush.” You said. Then, because you were good at customer service, you doubled back to the counter for a small tray of amenities. It was strange you couldn’t peg James’ coffee preferences. These things came easy to you—from a first glance, even. But you couldn’t tell whether he was a soulless gruff who took it black, or if he was more normal than his favorite color suggested.
To be on the safe side, you set the items beside his cup, motions delicate and gentle. “I usually give it another hour. Cream and sugar?”
His expression softened. “Yes please.”
When you retreated to the counter with your own unnecessary cup of caffeine, you easily busied yourself with a few menial tasks there. You doctored your drink in between, then nursed it lazily as the minutes ticked by. It pleased you to see James do the same. Two spoonfuls of sugar, you noticed. And one generous drizzle of cream.
He left without a fuss that night, ten minutes before the top of the hour. Somehow, your café was quiet without him.