Reality's Escape: a collection of short stories

Tomorrow at the Coffee Shop

So... I just kinda let this Reedsy prompt take me where it would, and I ended up loving the story! I hope you do too :)

Jack closed the door behind him and took off his dripping fedora. He removed his outer coat as well, hung both on a nearby peg, then glanced around the interior of what was supposed to be cozy little shop. He wasn't quite sure, between the water drops on the outside of his glasses and the fog on the inside. He wiped them on his shirt and replaced them. Everything looked just as he had expected: two employees behind the counter, three patrons behind their laptops, and expensive drinks stencilled on the chalkboard.

He seated himself on a barstool behind a glass display case. Inside were rows of brownies, cakes, cookies, even cheesecakes... perhaps this would be a long stakeout.

A tired-looking boy in a grey apron approached from the opposite side. He said something, but it was muffled. Obviously, he was new; most customer service representatives were experts at articulating themselves through the mandatory masks.

"Pardon me, what was that?"

"Can I interest you in any of our pumpkin spice specials today?"

"No, thank you."

"Then what can I get for you?"

"A coffee, please. Black."

"Size?"

"Medium."

The boy sighed and nodded, then headed to the cups. Jack seen now that there was a sign which read Sizes: Poem, Novel, Bestseller. That was what had caused the sigh. There was no medium.

Jack casually glanced around the shop again. A barista bustled past him with her hands full. One held a plate with crusty brownie, the other a mug that steamed around its foamy topping. She dropped it off at a corner table to a woman—Jack had to stare at that woman.

He hadn't seen her in his initial sweep of the shop.

She was hunched over a laptop, embraced by a knitted cinnamon cardigan, with a messy braid over one shoulder. She typed vigorously for a few seconds, then stopped short and bit her lip. In the midst of an eye roll, she noticed the order. She called a thanks to the retreating barista, took the cup, and brought it to her lips—

The boy set the coffee down in front of him. "That'll be three dollars and fifty-six cents."

"Debit." He paid for the expensive coffee, removed his mask, and took a sip. It was good, he had to admit.

He looked back at the woman. Her mug looked like the Bestseller size, and with the amount of whipped cream plus the brownie, she must have been hard at work on something impressive. It was obvious that her mind was miles away.

But now he needed to concentrate. If his watch was right, and it always was, it was five minutes after six o'clock. He made himself comfortable on his chair and tried to stop staring at the woman in the corner. He was not here to stalk the first female that caught his eye.

He had a mission.

A police officer came in through the door. "Man, it's really pouring out there!" She kept her coat on, Jack noticed, and acted as a rain cloud over the path to the counter. "I'll have a Poem, please."

The boy poured an espresso shot and handed it to the officer, who paid, knocked it back, and handed back the cup. "Thanks, man, I needed that. Back to the grind!" She exited, leaving puddles in her wake. The boy took the cup and washed it, scrubbing his own hands in the process and finishing with changing his gloves. He then went for a mop and cleaned up the puddles.