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"Can you speak French?" I ask him.
"Yes. Can you?"
"A little. I know the basic stuff like oui, bonjour, croissant, baguette. Also, j'veux ton amour, et je veux ta revanche."
He stops in his tracks and looks at my mouth. No, he 𝘴𝘵�...
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I love my job.
It's usually empty.
Harry comes over to me. "Hey, 'Stelle. Can you go wipe down that table for me while I go to the bathroom?"
I hate when he calls me that. We're not friends, buddy.
Okay, maybe this is why I don't have any.
The reason I think like that is because I've had bad experiences. One of them was there was this girl in my high school friend group and we were so alike and I really tried to be her friend but she despised me and I didn't notice until it was too late and I had already embarrassed myself by not realizing she hated my guts. One time, I was near her and she said, 'ew.' not even trying to hide it. I wanted to cry. I'm pretty sure I went home early that day.
So now I try not to be the one trying to be friends in fear of seeming desperate. What if they don't like me and I'm just annoying to them?
It's hard to view yourself differently from the way other people view you.
I take the cloth from his hand and go and wipe down the small wooden table.
I feel hungry and I think I'm going to go to my favorite bakery on my break.
I head back behind the counter and glance at the clock. I can go when Harry gets back from the bathroom.
When he does, I let him know and I head out of the small building, walking a few blocks before I arrive.
Walking around so much is chaos.
I get to my destination and head inside. This place is more popular than the cafe, but still relatively small.
It has booths along the wall and a few wooden tables like ours.
I look around and see most spots taken.
I go up to the counter and look at what they have. I end up ordering a croissant.
The guy behind the counter smiles at me. "I love your accent."
I often get comments on my Australian accent. I understand. It's weird talking to someone and expecting a certain way of speaking to come out of their mouth but instead, it's entirely different. It's a pleasant surprise usually.
"Thank you." I give him a big smile.
"Could I maybe get your number?"
Oh.
"Can you hurry up? I don't have all day."
I hear a voice behind me and turn around.
Oh lovely.
It's murderer man.
I don't know why I see him so often. It's a huge city.
I glance down at his fancy outfit. He's wearing a dark gray buttoned shirt tucked into fancy black dress pants.
