ASSUMPTIONS [H.S.]

chapter 1

A/N: heyy I just wanted to remind you to give this story time to expand and grow. the first chapters may seem a bit boring, but I promise I'm trying my best <3

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March 26th, 2017
Amber Easton

Not much happens in a life of working in a secluded cafe in Los Angeles.

Every day's pretty much the same; put on a smile, please everyone, wipe the tables, clean the floors, lock up, repeat. Even though it seems like nothing, it's utterly exhausting.

I'm tired.

Over the months of working here, I've understood you eventually learn how to grow a thick skin. I swear if I hear comments like "excuse me, my coffee lacks sugar," or "don't you think this meal is too expensive, dear?" one more time, I'm gonna flip my shit. Like my dad has always said; patience is a virtue, Amber.

Don't get me wrong, I don't mind chatting with the locals and regular customers, but sometimes people just love getting on my nerves.

"Welcome to Beachwood cafe, what can I get for you today?" I ask the middle-aged woman with a platinum-blonde bob haircut standing in front of the glass vitrine with all kinds of sweets and pastries inside.

"Can I have the strawberry eclair and an Iced Mocha?" she says in a snarky tone, her eyes drilled into her phone the whole order.

"Sure thing, although that is a raspberry eclair, can I get you one of those instead?" I ask politely, before she scrunches up her eyebrows, about to argue, then lifts her eyes to see she was mistaken, then drops her eyes back to the phone, subtly rolling them.

"Whatever," the lady mumbles in an annoyed tone, turning back to her table. Geez.

Patience, Amber, Patience, your shift is ending soon anyway.

"One raspberry eclair and an Iced Mocha coming right up," I sigh and push on a fake smile before turning away to turn on the coffee machine.

As I'm blending the ingredients for the coffee, I hear the small bell sitting on top of the front door frame ringing. I turn to see a fairly young man with unruly chocolate brown curls and piercing green eyes sit on one of the barstools in front of the counter.

Although it's the first time I've seen him here, I feel like I recognize him from somewhere, but I just can't quite put my finger on it.

My best friend, Landon, who's also working in this cafe, is already on his way to serve the green-eyed customer, seeing that I'm still busy working on the previous order.

I've known Landon for about a year now. We met when I got hired for this job. His father owns this cafe, and honestly, I think he's only working here to keep me company, which I don't complain about, but sometimes I feel like I'm being a burden to him.

"Welcome to Beachwood cafe, how can I help you?" is all I hear him say before zoning out to complete the snarky lady's order.

Once I'm finally done mastering the coffee, I scan the place in search of the middle-aged woman. It's not hard to spot her, considering there are only a few people roaming around the cafe.

It's always this quiet around here. Even if there are never many customers, the rich people coming here keep this place running.

This place honestly has such a cozy vibe to it — the warm lights accentuate the caramel-toned brick walls and oak floorboards. The piano sitting on the side of the room and the decorations on top is the perfect mix between bohemian and modern-day interior.