“I don’t do garlic,” Sebastian said. “Or poppyseeds. My chef would never serve that to me.”
“You have a chef—like a private chef?” Bridget asked, raising her brows as she swiveled to place the bagel in the toaster oven. She held it up before popping it in.
“Doesn’t everyone?” Sebastian asked. He sounded sincere. Must be that he has a dry sense of humor, Bridget thought. He’s just messing with me.
“Yeah,” she said sarcastically. “Right. My chef’s just been on a very, very long vacation.”
“Mine must be on a vacation right now, too,” Sebastian said.
Bridget laughed again, and shook her head. He was pretty funny. She felt that tingling warmth spread through her. Joking with Sebastian was a nice relief, compared to the stress of her morning.
“What’s up next?” she asked, as she popped the warmed croissant into its waiting bag.
7
The Beast
Sebastian looked at the noodles floating around inside the paper cup. This is supposed to be my dinner? he thought, utterly disgusted.
He’d just returned to his apartment from his shift. His feet and legs ached. Though he did impressive leg workouts with a personal trainer two mornings a week, he’d never actually been on his feet for seven hours straight.
It was all that squatting to get to the mini fridge, he thought. I must have done that a hundred times or more.
Not only was he sore, but he was also tired. Exhausted, actually. Working with the public, plus learning so many new things all at once, had drained him. He’d never been this bone-tired in all of his thirty-five years. He usually arranged for a nap if he felt even the slightest bit weary—that was easy to do, since he made his own schedule everyday.
He yawned, and then looked down at the pale, curly noodles submerged in boiled water again.
A flash of silver caught his eye. There was some sort of packet inside the plastic wrap that the noodles had come in. He picked up the silver packet, and saw that it was spices of some sort. Feeling puzzled and a little bit curious, he tore it open and sprinkled it over the noodles. The brown powder dissolved into the water, making a sort of broth.
Did I just cook dinner for myself? he thought, with a vague sense of satisfaction. Huh. I think I did. Maybe I can cook! Look at that!
He picked up the paper bowl.
“Hot, hot, hot!” he shouted aloud as the bowl filled with boiling water scorched his fingers. He dropped the whole thing. It bounced off of the counter, and he jumped back just in time to avoid being splashed in the face with the hot broth. Noodles slithered across the countertop, and broth dripped onto the floor.
He cursed under his breath. Unsure of how to clean up the mess, he decided to leave it. Surely a maid would come once he was done with the apartment in two more days. He’d just leave it until then. At least he’d bought a box of crackers at the little market where he’d grabbed the instant noodles.
He moved to the lumpy loveseat and ate a few dry crackers, feeling miserable. How do people live like this? he wondered.
He picked up his phone and dialed his father’s number. “Dad, I’ve had enough of this,” he said, the minute his father answered.
“Hello, Sebastian,” Giovanni said. “How was work?”
“My feet hurt. My back hurts. I’m hungry. I’m tired. I miss my life. I get your point, Dad.”
Giovanni laughed. Sebastian didn’t see what was so funny.
“Do you really get it, son?” Giovanni asked. “Have you helped a customer yet?”
“Of course! I’ve helped more than I can count. I’ve done nothing but help customers for the last two days!”
“No,” Giovanni said. “Sebastian, I’ll know it when you have. I’ll hear it in your voice. You’ll have a story for me—and it will change you. That’s what I’m looking for. You’ll know when it happens, too. Until then, I don’t want to hear another complaint. Have fun, Sebastian. This is good for you.”
Giovanni hung up, and Sebastian dialed again—four more times.
Giovanni didn’t pick up.
Sebastian cursed under his breath. There was no television to watch, so he finished eating a few more crackers, washed them down with water, and then took a quick shower. He dressed in a tee shirt and boxers, and walked over to the firm twin bed positioned under the apartment’s window.
He laid down and stared vacantly off into the distance, through the window. My dad wants a story, he thought. I’ll give him a story. I’m smart. I can figure this out. I’ll fake the change he wants to see. I’ll help some little old lady to her seat tomorrow, and then get all choked up when I tell dad about it. I’m smarter than he thinks.
The moon came up, and Sebastian found himself contemplating the silvery white surface of it. He hadn’t just laid still and looked at the moon since he was a very young child. There was always something else to put his attention on—something much more exciting and stimulating. But in its own boring way, the moon was sort of beautiful.
As he looked at the shapes on its pale, luminescent surface, his mind drifted toward Bridget. He felt a soft smile grace his lips as he recalled the way it had felt to stand side by side with her and work on the food orders. Her laugh was bubbly and warm; her eyes sparkled with an aliveness that Sebastian didn’t often see in the other adults in his life. He’d even laughed with her a few times. It had felt so good. He sensed that it had felt good to her, too.
Then he recalled her damp lashes, and the puffy red rings around her eyes. She was so upset about something... what was it? Sebastian thought. Oh yes, her father. His missing folder, and the blackmail attempt. Was one of the staff members really behind it, like Bridget suspected? If so, who?
As he wondered about this, he realized that he’d forgotten to pay attention to the chitchat from the three baristas, like Bridget had asked him to.
I’ll do a better job of it tomorrow, he promised himself. Maybe I’ll overhear something that will help her. I hope I do.
I’m also going to do a better job with the food if I get stuck with Adrienne again. She’s not so bad – actually, she’s kind of nice. It wasn’t terrible working with her.
Croissants go in the microwave... bagels go in the toaster...
With that, he drifted off to sleep.
8
Beauty
On Thursday morning, Bridget arrived at work shortly after seven. Jeremiah was just unlocking the doors.
“You’re here early!” he said. His tone was cheerful, but Bridget detected some nervousness in it. Soon she knew why. “Hey, about what happened between me and Adrienne...” he said, while slipping his key back into this pocket. “She told me that you two talked about it. That was just a one-time thing.... Nothing to go to HR about.”
He held the door open for her, and Bridget stepped inside. Entering Glitter Cup used to be one of her favorite feelings in the world. She loved the smell—new books and fresh coffee. She loved the colors, the warm decor, the familiar sensation of being in her cozy home away from home. But now, as she flipped the sign on the door to Open, she noticed a buzzing apprehension in her body. Someone that she worked closely with had betrayed her trust. It made her feel suspicious and unsettled.