Barista

The bell jangles twice as I walk in, rays of sunset burnishing the wood floor and softening the scuffs on my black Converse. I sidle up to the counter, checking out the menu board, but I know what I want. A couple male baristas chat with each other as they grab cups and whipped cream canisters and syrup bottles. I eye them before checking out the pastry display. Oh. Yum. The chocolate cupcakes call, the gleam on the black icing a subtle siren’s call.

One of the baristas slides an order in a white cup across the counter. He wipes his hands before turning on his heel and striding toward the register. “What can I get for you today?”

I smile and glance at the board, like I don’t know. “Can I get a tall vanilla bean frappuccino?” I’ve been craving one for weeks, but the closest the little faux-café above the cafeteria can come is a grande caramel frappuccino. It’s way too much.

He slides his jaw to the right in a frown and furrows his eyebrows. But the corner of his mouth keeps puckering up, and his blue eyes sparkle like he’s trying moderately hard to hide a smile. He rubs his chin with his right hand. “I don’t know about that.”

I feel unexpectedly delighted. He’s teasing me. I grin and raise an eyebrow. “If you feel like it today?”

He shrugs, the half-smile shifting to the left side of his mouth. “Maybe I will tomorrow.”

I tip my head back and laugh. I love this rare occurrence, when people know I’m not so fragile as to be thrown by instant teasing. Maybe it’s the hair. I parted it to the side, and randomly pulled it into two low pigtails. My big black-rimmed sunglasses are propped behind my ears. It looks kind of artsy. Now that I think about it, that’s how I feel. Fitted brown shirt, bell-bottom jeans and Cons. I went natural on the makeup. No foundation, just blush, some brownish-rose lipstick, and wine-colored eyeshadow, with gold dusted across the top. Maybe I look like that free-spirited person I want to be sometimes.

He laughs too and punches in the order. “One tall vanilla frappuccino. Anything else?”

I pull in my bottom lip and study the pastry case. “I think I’m gonna have to go with a chocolate cupcake. Those look really good.”

He nods, plucking a little paper bag from a container. “Ohhh yeah.”

I tilt my head. “So they are good?”

He slides the back of the case open. “Yeah, they’re great. I think the vanilla ones are better, personally. Everyone else in the store likes the chocolate, but I go for the vanilla.”

I pause and hold my breath as he moves the tongs toward the back chocolate cupcake. “Well…”

He pauses too before raising an eyebrow and flicking the tongs between the chocolate and vanilla cupcakes. “Which one?”

I smile. “Based on that recommendation, I think I’m gonna have to go with the vanilla.”

“Good choice.” He plucks one out, drops it in the bag, and slides it across the counter.

“Thanks.” I hand him my debit card, and he runs it through. Afterward, I step back and sit against a circular table. I crack open the bag with two fingers and extract the cupcake. The icing convinces me to try it now, rather than wait until I’m in the car. Sugar explodes across my tongue.

A minute later, I see the barista slide my drink across the counter. “One vanilla bean frappuccino!”

I swipe it up. “Thanks.”

He smiles. “Good cupcake, huh?”

I smile back. He must have seen me eat that first half. “Very good.” I walk to the car, sit down, and polish off the rest, carefully licking the frosting from the crinkles of the wrapper.