Behind closed doors

Week 1

You ever look at yourself and think how did I get here. I did four years in journalism I have a masters degree, I'm an actual doctor of journalism. Yet here I am listening to a teenager tell me the right way to make an oat milk latte. Deep breath in Emily. It's for the greater good.

The ding of the door letting us know someone has entered the tiny Brooklyn coffee house sounds. 10:04 right on time. She stands there, grey trousers that are too short for her, white wife beater vest, leather bomber jacket, tote bag over one shoulder. Brown hair half up and sunglasses even though the last time I checked it wasn't even slightly sunny. Three Reddit forums, four tumblr threads and slightly suspicious Twitter DM told me this is where she write's music and hangs out when she's in the city. They also said she lives near by but I have to let her have some privacy. For now.

She starts moving towards the counter.

"Hey babe, you want your usual?" Christian, the latte teaching teenager, asks her.

"Yeah, can you open me a tab, I think I'll be here a while today." She says pushing her sunglasses towards her hair.

"Can I have an almond milk latte with a caramel shot?" He looks at me, I'm up, my time to shine.

"I'm sorry if this is trash, they've let me loose on the coffee machine." I send her a shy smile.

"Don't worry you can't do any worse then me." She starts making her way towards a table in a secluded corner.

Under Christians very watchful eye, I make her coffee and move towards her table.

"You'll have to let me know if it's any good, be honest. I'd rather have my dreams of being coffee master if the world squashed now then later" I say as I place her coffee on the table in front of her.

She doesn't say anything, she's too busy staring at the laptop in front of her and drumming her long fingers on the little table beneath them. I'm back at the counter by the time she finally thanks me. I manage to muddle my way rather successfully through a lunch time coffee rush and finish my shift. I should be going into the office now with a progress report, but she's still here, two coffees and a green tea deep so I figure I can do my work here in the hopes I'll make small talk.

I set myself up two tables away from her but on the same bench seat, order myself a tea and send Henry an email telling him what I'm doing, I also shoot Jess a dribble face emoji. She'll know exactly what it means, I'm already excited to debrief our two second conversation and what it means.

I'm halfway through writing a story about an 80 year-old-lady that was reunited with her twin brother she lost when they were separated at birth. When I feel a presence next to me. I look up and Lynsey is stood there, rubbing the back of her neck.

"You okay?" I say glancing up at her, I can hear my heartbeat in my ears.

"Bit of a weird one, I can't help but notice we've got the same laptop. Any chance I can borrow your charger?" She talks with her hands a lot, I get the feeling she's nervous but I don't really know what for.

"Yeah sure." I reach into my handbag and pull out the white cable. "Do you wanna swap tables? Cause the only plugs down here."

"No no it's fine, if you don't mind the company?" She's already picking up the things off her table. The wife beater vest rides up her torso and I almost die on the spot.

"Go ahead" I motion to the seat opposite, she sits and plugs herself in.

We sit in silence like this for nearly an hour, before another tea is placed in front of me.

"Consider it a thank you gift for the charger."  She shoots me a half smile.

"I'll have to let mysterious girls in coffee shops borrow things from me more often. Especially if they look like you." Shots fired. Time to get the flirting rolling. She blushes. It worked. Guess the rumours are true, maybe she is a bottom after all. "What is it you do anyway? You've come in here nearly everyday since I started here and you're always glued to that." I notion towards her laptop. I know you Lynn tell me you're a rockstar.

"Oh erm. Nothing." I raise my eye brow. "I mean it's not nothing. I like make music, and draw and stuff" she shrugs, playing herself down. "How about you? You type a lot for someone that wants to be a coffee master."

"I'm a writer, well I say writer. I've not written anything that's not back page stuff. Maybe one day."

We continue like this making small talk. I tell her I like graveyards. I don't they terrify me. I tell her I love long car rides and travelling. Even though I can't because my moms not well. I feel bad for lying. For letting her like a fake version of myself. It worked enough to get her to stay talking to me till closing. Then on the pavement outside. "Hey so I don't do this a lot but any chance I can get your number." She looks at the floor and shuffles. I hand her my phone. You're making this almost too easy Lynsey I think to myself. 

Number of my celebrity crush. Check. Just a shame I have to keep working at this shitty coffee shop for a bit longer.