The Genetic Code

Chapter 19

Juliette

Rain splatters in a raucous symphony outside, painting the landscape a dull grey. Droplets slip down the fogged windows, as I absentmindedly trace their tracks down the glass with my finger.

"Hey, newbie, don't daydream on the job. The manager'll get mad," Max, my brown-eyed co-worker, reminds me as he wipes down one of the adjacent tables.

"Ah, sorry," I mumble, smoothing down my red apron. I shiver slightly from the cold, and rub my hands together for warmth before clearing the mugs from the chestnut brown round table by the window and bringing them to the back.

The place is relatively empty, save for a few students on their laptops, and some others enjoying their Sunday coffee despite the bad weather. The usual general murmur of voices fills the air along with the churning sound of the coffee grinder and the aroma of fresh brew mingled with vanilla.

I get back behind the counter and begin organizing the clean mugs into neat stacks when the bell jingles, signaling a customer's entrance. I blow the loose strands of hair out of my face and turn my body towards the front door.

"Welcome to The Grind, how can I help—" the words get lodged in my throat as my eyes land on the sight before me, and I feel like the wind has been knocked right out of my body.

Standing before me, in the doorway of the coffee shop, is a dark-haired boy, drenched from head to toe, pale as death. He breathes heavily as beads of water drip down his temple, down his cheek and off his sharp chin. His practically see-through white shirt clings to him like a second skin, doing little to hide the set of rippling muscles underneath.

But I barely notice that, because my eyes are fixed on his wide flashing silver ones, in an intense staring match with my trembling hazel.

"Sterling..." his name is barely a whisper under my breath.

Seeing him in front of me right now makes me feel like that moment in concerts when your favorite artist finally comes out on stage for the first time. And I hate myself for it. I'm still figuring out what I should feel toward him, helplessly navigating my wary teenage brain torn between the two versions of the boy in front of me — the one I think I know, and the one I saw in the video.

How rude of my weak teenage heart for choosing for me.

Sterling marches rigidly towards me until he's right in front of the counter, tensing his jaw multiple times, not once breaking our gaze.

"Can we talk?" His voice sounds strained and dry.

"I'm working now. Are you going to place your order, sir? Or did you come to a coffee shop without the intention to have any coffee?"

I remind myself to breathe.

He puffs out a rugged breath, licking his lips. Finally he breaks our eye contact, looking somewhere past me, above my head, and seems to catch sight of what he was looking for.

"Al!"

No, he did not just call my manager, Albert. The one who scolds me for not organizing the cups all in the same orientation, parallel to the countertop.

I hear the door to the backroom swing shut. A man with deep brown skin and gelled back hair graying at the ends comes up beside me.

Ah, but he did.

"Oh! Steph, my man, I haven't seen you for a while." You're kidding me. Sterling— I mean Stephan and my boss know each other? To the extent that they're on nickname basis?

"Yeah, sorry Al, I've been away. How's Judy doing?"

"The wife's fine. Just naggy, as usual."

I sneak a glance from the corner of my eye at my manager, who's doing some weird thing with his lip.