The Darkest Roast (chapter 1)

A/N: I said I was gonna do it, and y'all said I should post it if I did. Pleas be gentle with me, rofl:

“Finally!”

My first customer of the day, a really, really emo kid rushes in the front door, bringing in a gust of freezing, winter air.

I started opening early so the kids could get coffee before school. I was worried about influencing growth (height and all that) till I realized kids will get contraband (coffee and others) even if I try to prevent it.

“Quinn, you almost opened late today! I’m so glad this store is near the bus stop!”

Raquel is a regular, at my shop, rocks that big, must-have-been-teased-for-2-hours-minimum hairstyle. I thought it went out of fashion 10 years ago, but I guess I’m just old fashioned. At least, that’s what he said the first time I asked.

“Caramel macchiato, black, please.” Raquel orders with a wink. He’s a cute kid with way too much energy. I swear I can feel myself aging every time he talks. There’s no such thing as that drink being “black” but I think saying it makes him feel prouder of his drink choice, I don’t understand kids these days.

“Damn, Raquel, flirting this early?” Jean, another one of my highschool student regulars, who actually owns a car, walks in the door. Wincing as the bell chimes to announce her arrival, Raquel turns to her.

“You finish copying my homework yet?” At Raquel’s flinch Jean and I share a grin, obviously he stayed up playing Elder Scrolls instead of studying again.

“No worries, dude, I’m just yanking your chain.” Jean turns to me after shooting a nervous Raquel a grin. “My regular, if you would, Quinn.”

I had already started making Jean’s regular breakfast, a green tea with a chocolate croissant, the second Raquel ordered.

Where one is, the other is sure to follow. They really were cute together; a few other regular patrons had suggested they date. The kids always refused, saying they didn’t want to mess up the good thing they had going.

We always opened early, just to catch the school goers, teachers always arrived later than kids, picking up pastries or yelling at the ones who played hookie.

To be fair, I had made an effort to make sure even if they come here during school they would do homework or work towards interests.

Wifi was free, bookshelves were lined with books; textbooks, fiction, non-fiction, and even some from required reading lists, often donated by the teachers themselves, and there was even a portion of the cafe allocated to study, with desk tables and chairs.

A few months after opening, one of my favorite customers, James, had referred his husband to me, Hector, to make all the furniture at a fraction of the cost. Each of the desks had the ability to add a sliding partition between the seats, allowing for more privacy. Many students said it really helped them focus.

I finished both Raquel and Jean’s orders, throwing in a breakfast sandwich to Raquel’s order after overhearing he was too nervous to eat because of an upcoming test in AP chemistry.

“Here you are,” smiling I handed them their orders. “Eat the sandwich, Raquel, you can’t test well on nerves alone. Have a good day at school.”

Both waved goodbye and rushed back outside into the frigid weather. Normally Raquel would get back on the bus, but today I watched as he got into Jean’s car. Unusual, but eh, who really wants to follow teenage drama anyways?

A customer walked in while I was starting to clean the counters, cleanliness has always paid a very large role in my cafe’s ratings.

Turning at the chime, I saw Hector walk in with James and an unfamiliar face.

“See, this is the cafe, super cozy, but most customers are super goth, wild eh?” James and his mouth will get him in trouble one day.

“I see,” the stranger muses.

Hector orders a latte, while James, ever the idiot, orders iced coffee, it’s less than forty degrees, he’s going to catch a cold, again. The stranger looks at me curiously. Clearly, I’m not what they were expecting.

“What would you recommend? I don’t normally like coffee.”

Ah, one of these customers. I can feel myself fighting the urge to grin. These customers are always cute, they don’t know what they want, but they don’t want to be a burden. It’s best to choose for them, and not give them a choice to be disappointed.

“I’ll make you something yummy, no worries.”

I’m making them hot chocolate.

As I’m making all their drinks, James calls out over the clamoring.

“Hey, Quinn!” I tip my head back towards him so he knows I’m listening.

“You need any work done on the loft portion?”

The shop is a three story building, I live on the top floor while the second is open for tenants. I’m not tall, and the space isn’t small, but it can be a tight fit sometimes, so I just moved to the top floor. The extra space that was stolen from the second floor went into the making a loft in the cafe.

The loft is located directly over the counters and cooking space in the cafe, it’s full of more bookshelves, top to bottom, attached to the wall, made by Hector’s genius craftsmanship. Some crisscross and make diagonals, others are just normal shelves, it’s beautiful.

Whoever the first owner was added a small hexagon window in the back of the loft, allowing for some natural light, and a perfect view of sunrises.

I filled the entire floor with sitting tables and cozy cushions, it’s a pain to clean, which is why all users are free to use the wipes and electric vacuum attached to the wall near the top of the stairs to the loft. I’m not lazy, but still.

“I’m not sure, someone wrote another recommendation to make it more cozy, but I don’t know how or what that even means.”

“Ugh.” Hector’s simple comment sums up my opinion on that recommendation. I don’t know how to improve on an already comfy room with that kind of feedback.

“What asshole wrote that?” The stranger asks me as I shake James’s drink.

“Who knows, I don’t have cameras near the feedback box, just near the entrances and exits, oh, and the hexagon window.”

The memory of the break in still scares me.

“I see. That makes sense, if someone sees a camera watching them give feedback they’d be scared to tell honest feelings.”

I give an acknowledging nod as I pass everyone their orders. I added a bit of spice to Stranger’s drink. I personally like it, but we’ll just have to see if they do, now won’t we?

They relocate to a small table near a store front window, sipping and chatting.

I get back to cleaning. Once finished I lean on the front counter, watching for more customers, but also getting lost in thought.

“Yo, Quinn!”

I smile at that voice. One of my favorite people has just walked in, his voice covering the sound of the chime completely.

Yousef is a college professor at a nearby university, he’s teaching greek and roman classics, normally, apparently this year he’s teaching something on romantic writing too, some other professor got caught coercing a student into illegalities, so Yousef took over.

If gold stars were people, he’d shine the brightest.

“What’s the classiest drink you got today?”

We both grin. His greeting is a reference to back when I first started the cafe, surrounded by a ton of goths who were upset that their previous hang out had been taken over by a ‘stupid cafe,’ he’d hollared that. I still see every goth from that day, they’re all regulars.

I think he just wanted coffee, and those goths just wanted to know if the previous land owner was okay. She is, she moved to Florida to be closer to her grandkids.

I whip up a latte filled with honey and add a Hawaiian umbrella garnish. It’s been our joke since we met. I didn’t have anything “classy” at the time so I panicked and just took the stupid garnish out of someone’s hair and gave it to him with a tart, screaming: “I’m sorry I don’t have anything fancy!”

The entire crowd had hushed, and then rolled with laughter. After that day I bought all sorts of garnishes for my drinks and treats, but Yousef still loves getting his “fancy drinks” despite the fact they look ridiculous.

Abruptly, as Yousef leaves the cafe, I hear the noise I had been waiting for all morning.

The van is here.

The Goths have arrived.

I start making coffee the second I hear the clamoring junk of a van. Honestly, they’re an amazing group, half only ever wants sweets, only to tromp upstairs, read for an hour, and tromp back down to leave at eight thirty for work. The other half wants coffee “as black as their souls” which actually means they want is super milky and super sweet, except for that one guy. The guy who actually looks like he eats children.

He is nice, and always pays for the entire group, drives alone in a car that follows the van here, sometimes holding up to two of the group in it. He’s super intimidating. He gives off that, “I’m in a suit, but I probably have at least 5 large tattoos to cover up the names of those I’ve killed” vibe.

There was a GroupMe poll going for a bit (we had GroupMe, now we use Wattsapp), with our theories on his background; ex-mafia, ex-yakuza, ex-crime lord, current crime lord, Russian mob, some really rich guy who just owns stock and never works, and many others of a similar fashion, honestly no one knows.

The wild part, all store regulars are welcome to join the group chats, it helps me manage the store and stay in the loop, if anyone has a preorder, and social anxiety, they don’t have to call, and everyone can receive updates on how busy the shop is or days that could mess with their coffee schedule.

So, this guy, who everyone calls Wolfe, was in the GroupMe. Not only that, he voted too.

He thought it was funny. We don’t know if his ex-yakuza boss vote was serious or not, I’d believe it though.

Today he walks to the front and hands me his own personal “on the go” mug, and gives me his card as the orders start flying in, so many different coffees, sweets, and teas.

I give Wolfe a nod as I set his coffee down in front of him. The group that is staying clambors upstairs, and the ones headed out immediately for work walk back to the van.

Wolfe finishes paying, nods to me, and walks back to his car, some luxury brand, and drives away.

I don’t know who all The Goths are, many choose to not be in the group chat, but I think some go to school, some go to work, and once the van finishes dropping this load off, it comes back for the ones that read.

My morning is just getting started and I’m already exhausted.

Next up are normally the teachers of local highschools.

My prediction come true as six car roll into the parking lot, and teachers, bundled up roll in. Next come the irregular customers, who only come because it’s faster than starbucks on their way to work.

Taking orders and making drinks fills up my next hour as the teachers buy up all the homemade doughnuts, and irregulars fill the shop with sounds of work anxiety, impatience, and stress.

The van arrives for the leftover goths, and the shop goes quiet as everyone leaves to get their day started.

The occasional customer rolls in from nine to eleven, but the shop stays pretty calm for the most part. A few students playing hookie, as it’s a Thursday, and only a few people have work off.

My regulars have been suggesting a winter party, once the school year ends, and I’m starting to think they’re right.

This is the fourth month we’ve been open, and by the time school ends we’ll be at four and a half. I expect my cafe to turn into what it always is on weekends, but only everyday instead.

A local hangout for the goths and studious students.

There’s even a tutoring group Friday and Saturday night to help students. On Sundays there’s an all day revolving Dungeons and Dragons session, lead by Yousef. The rest of the weeknights are full of other activities, I teach a cooking class once a week for those who fill up punch cards, and many other regulars have workshops throughout the week.

The only requirement is there needs to be interest. So one wall of the shop, beside the suggestions box, is full of interest sheets for people to sign up or post ideas.

Tonight the session is all about hairstyles and how to “make em happen.” I don’t even know what that means, but the group chat was blowing up about it, apparently even Wolfe is coming in for it.

One of the regulars works as a hairstylist and wanted to teach people. I think I’ll just sleep in the loft while it happens, I’m not interested in changing my hairstyle.

I’m not lazy, I prefer the phrase “living a relaxed life.”

Maybe I should hire a part timer?


END CHAPTER 1
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