Against my will, I admit that his protective streak, while often taken way too far, can be pretty sweet. Sometimes. When aimed at not me and confined to the limits of reason and rationality.
I do not say these thoughts out loud, of course, because Roman turns the full force of his concern on me in the car, not in the form of words, but in the form of his hand tangled once again in my hair while his other holds the wheel, a soft “to home” on his lips.
To home we go, a Barbie soundtrack low in the background as his fingers twist further into my locks, making their own sort of home within them while my heart beats erratic, unsure how to behave in this new land where Roman is sweet, not salty. Eventually, it does calm down, slightly, but thateventuallyis when I’m alone in my bedroom, hair braided and bonneted, the memory of Roman’s palm against my scalp following me into my dreams.
Chapter Ten
We miss Sol. ):
Roman
One thing I’ve always admired about Elodie is the enthusiasm she puts into her work. Even before her phone call last Saturday scared the life out of me—her delicate, frightened voice making me realize that I don’t just care about her in a this-person-matters-to-me-because-she-matters-to-my-people way that I thought I did, but instead in a this-person-matters-to-me-because-she-matters-to-meway—I was proud, at work, to say that I know her beyond the surface-level Elodie that the customers get.
She embraces every day at Sweet & Salty with an eagerness that borders on zeal, greeting customers with her megawatt Elodie smile and lifting them from morning crankies to laughter, brightening not just the café, but the entire community with her sunshine. I’ve never seen someone who can deescalate an angry, uncaffeinated customer so smoothly, or small talk with a harried mother so gracefully. It’s talent, how she interacts with people and, more, how she contributes to the atmosphere in such a positive way.
Before we had Elodie at the uptown location, our numbers were good, but we were always behind by a decent margin compared to our downtown store. We just weren’t pulling people in the way they were, despite being in a higher-traffic area. The mystery of it plagued us—me, my manager, and the owner—for years until Elodie moved in with me and transferredlocations for an easier commute.
It took about three months for the numbers to reflect what we were already experiencing in real time as Sweet & Salty Downtown lost customers, only for them to find their way Uptown instead, gravitating back toward Elodie’s light. Moths to their sun.
The people love her, and it’s clear why. She greets every one of them with a genuine smile, taking time to remember their names, their faces, and whatever crumbs of personal information they offer, asking about kids and pets and hobbies with a confidence backed up by never mixing anyone up or getting her facts wrong.
It almost makes me feel bad for the customers who’ve fallen into my line this afternoon, their eyes darting toward Elodie’s, yearning for her brightness instead of my more… straightforward approach to fulfilling orders during a rush.
“What do you want?” I ask the woman at the front of my line, pulling on everything I have in me to be patient as she reads the menu behind my head. At the counter. When it’s time to order. And she had plenty of time in the line to peruse the offerings. And if, somehow, she didn’t have time in line during our most packed hour of the day, she had ample opportunity to step out of the line until she was done looking at the menu.
Not that they ever freakingdothat.
My eye twitches as the womanums anduhs, and I’m about four seconds from choosing her order for her when Elodie comes to her rescue, bumping her hip into mine as she leaves her register to grab a muffin from the pastry case. “Don’t mind him,” she says to my customer. “We usually keep him in the back, you know, because he can be a little grumpy.”
The woman glances at me, blinking at my scowl. I don’t think she realized I was grumpy until Elodie said something. She’s got realhead emptyvibes.
“He’s not so bad, though,” Elodie assures, lying through her teeth. “He’s the one who makes the food, you know.Killerlemon muffins.” She grabs one from the case, holding it up for her to see before tucking it into one of the brown paper bags we use for to-go orders. “You should try one! They go great with an Earl Grey, or, if you’re a coffee girlie, a medium roast.”
She comes back around me to hand the bag to a waiting mother, who nods her agreement, saying, “Best muffins in the city. And beyond. You’re missing out if you don’t have one!”
She’s missing out if she doesn’t order in the next ten seconds, because I’m refusing service and moving on to people who know what they want before they get to the ordering portion of the café experience.
“That does sound, look, and smell delicious,” the woman says, eyeing the pastry case where the rest of the muffins are stored. “I’m sold. I’ll take two, and two Earl Greys.”
Perfect.
I ring her up, grab her muffins and her tea, and send her packing with a huge,head-emptysmile on her face, which she throws at Elodie, telling her to have a nice day.
And I’ll just have the day I have, I guess, since that’s the third person from my line to wish Elodie goodness and me nothing. Probably for the best, all things considered, because I do not have the same appreciation or patience for these idiots as Elodie does. I want them gone so I can get back to the kitchen where I belong.
I count my line. Three people, and no one has come into the shop in the last thirty seconds. It’s slowing down. Which means these three people, then I can return to my empty kitchen. I will be back to the comfort of my stainless steel countertops and bakery racks, leaving behind the dark wood and glass cases of the shop floor.
Beside me, Elodie beams at the next man in line. “Paul! It’sso good to see you! You want your regular?”
“Absolutely I do,” Paul says, grinning. His eyes wander to me and widen. “Sol’s not here with you?”
I watch Elodie’s smile go brittle as she pokes at the screen of her order pad and replies, “No, no Sol here. He’s moved away, actually. Now I work with this guy.” She points a thumb at me, attempting levity. “Sol’s antithesis.”
An apt description.
Paul, not noticing Elodie’s shift in mood, barely glances at me. “That’s too bad,” he says. “I really liked Sol.”
My nose scrunches as I snag an apple fritter from the case, dropping it into a bag. Yeah, dude, it’s so sad thatyoudon’t get to see Sol. Not that Elodie is missing her brother and is now stuck working with me, the opposite of him. Poor you, unable to have double sunshine when you’re getting your coffee. Having to make do with only Elodie shining on your Sweet & Salty trip? What a struggle you’re going through. Sniff sniff, sob sob, a moment of sorrow forPaul.
