Total pages in book: 160
Estimated words: 163475 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 817(@200wpm)___ 654(@250wpm)___ 545(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 163475 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 817(@200wpm)___ 654(@250wpm)___ 545(@300wpm)
I bump Monica out of the way with my hip, and she stumbles to the side.
“Good,” she mumbles, “I’m dying of Bourbon-itis.”
“Bourbon is bad. That shit will kill you,” I whisper.
The next person in line steps forward.
“Hello. How can I help you?”
“Do you have goat’s milk?” the trendy-looking woman asks.
“Umm.” I glance behind me to ask Monica but she’s disappeared. I’ve never heard of goat’s milk before.
“I want a goat’s milk turmeric latte, thank you,” the customer says.
“Let me go check.” I quickly dart out the back to find someone to ask. Lance is cutting up boxes. “Do we serve goat’s milk turmeric lattes?”
Lance screws up his face. “Who the fuck would want to drink that shit?”
“This nut out there.”
“Fuck’s sake,” he mutters dryly. “People are trying too hard to be trendy. Goat’s milk turmeric. Now I’ve heard it all.”
“So, that’s a no?”
“Hard no.” He smashes a box up. “This is a goat free milking zone.”
I giggle. Monica walks past us, out the back door and into the ally. “Going to the bathroom. I feel sick.”
“You okay?” I call, watching as she runs for the door.
“What’s wrong with her?” Lance asks.
“Hungover. Bourbon.”
Lance winces. “Nasty.”
“Cover the coffee machine for me, will you?” Monica says as the door bangs shut behind her.
I go back to the front of the shop to see I now have a huge line waiting. Great. “I’m sorry, we don’t have any goat’s milk turmeric.”
“Why not?” the customer asks.
“Because we don’t stock it. I’m sorry.” I fake a smile. “This is a goat milk free coffee house.”
“That’s not good enough. I want to see the manager.”
Oh, fuck off, bitch. I’m not in the mood for you today. There isn’t even a manager on duty.
“Now!” she demands.
I fake another smile. “I’ll just go get him.” I march out the back to Lance. “She wants to see the manager.”
“Who does?”
“The goat chick.”
“What about?”
“I don’t know. Fucking goats! Get out there.” I march back out to the register. “He won’t be a moment.” I smile. “Can you please step aside so I can serve the next person?”
She glares at me and crosses her arms, she then steps to the side and waits.
“Can I help you?” I ask the next man.
“Hi.” He grins. Oh God…. not you. “It’s me, Michael.”
“Yes.” I cringe. “I remember. Hi, Michael. What can I get you?”
“I’ll have the usual.” He winks.
I take his order and the bell rings over the door to tell me someone else has entered. “That will be four pounds ninety-five,” I say coldly.
I take Michael’s card and swipe it through the card machine. I can’t make casual conversation with Michael because he’s way too flirty.
“I want goat’s milk,” I hear the woman demanding.
“Well, we don’t have any,” Lance replies. I can tell by the tone of his voice that he isn’t in the mood for this crap today, either.
“I want you to put it on the menu immediately.”
I glance over to Lance. His face is murderous, and I bite my lip to hide my smile.
“Look, lady, if you want goat’s milk, you’re going to have to go somewhere else. We are not into milking goats.”
“You’d rather milk a cow?”
“Or kick them out of my coffee shop,” Lance mutters dryly. “Either, or.”
Jeez… I drop my head to hide my smile.
“Did you just call me a cow?” the woman gasps.
Shit, buzz off, bitch. Enough with the dramatics. Just leave already.
“Can I help you?” I ask the next customer and look up at the queue.
Big brown eyes stare back at me, and I step back in surprise.
It’s him.
The guy from the street.
“Hi.” I smile bashfully and tuck a piece of hair behind my ear.
He’s wearing a perfectly fitted dark navy suit and a crisp white shirt. He looks like he may be European or something.
“Hello.” His voice is deep and husky.
I feel my cheeks blush and I smile nervously. “Hi.”
We stare at each other. Fuck me. This guy is completely gorgeous.
A trace of a smile crosses his face as if reading my mind.
I smile goofily over at him and hunch my shoulders.
He raises his brows. “Do you want to know my order?”
“Oh.” I pause. “I was waiting for you.” I lie. Fuck, I’m acting like a star struck teenager. Get it together, stupid. “What would you like?”
“I’ll have a double macchiato, please.”
I twist my lips to hide my smile. Even his coffee is hot.
“Would you like anything else?” I ask.
He raises his eyebrow. “Such as?”
I open my mouth to say something, but no words come out.
He smirks, realizing he has me completely flustered.
Oh, hell, act fucking cool, will you?
“A muffin?” I reply. “They’re delicious.”
“All right.” His eyes hold mine. “Why don’t you surprise me, April?”
I stare at him as my brain misfires. “How do you know my name?”
“It’s on your apron.”
I scrunch my eyes shut. “Oh… right.” Please, Mother Earth, swallow me whole. Way to bimbo it out. “Ah, excuse me. I’m not with it today,” I stammer.