ARIA
The morning light creeps through the thin curtains, stabbing straight into my eyes like it has a personal grudge. I groan and roll over, my body reminding me that sleep and I have been on bad terms for a while.
6:00 A.M.
I stare at the ceiling for a second, mentally running through the day. New job. New start. Please, God, don't let me screw this one up.
"Aria?"
My dad's voice drifts from the next room, weak but steady.
"I'm up, Dad!" I call back, forcing some enthusiasm into my voice even though my head feels foggy. I drag myself out of bed, check my glucose monitor out of habit, and head for the kitchen.
I prepared dad's medicine and his breakfast we eat in a comfortable silence. By 7.00 I'm all prepared and ready to start....but I was so nervous.
Yesterday was on Tuesday so I didn't have a night shift at the motel I only go three days a week Mon Tue and Wed which means I had enough time to rest and prepared for the new job.
God I was so nervous what if I get fired on the first day or the employee are not good people.
I really need this job so i will be nice.
I prepared everything so when Mr's Evans comes to check on dad she won't have a hard time.
As if summoned by my thoughts the door opens and she enters.
"Morning, sweetheart," she says with her usual smile. "You're up early ."
"New job. Gotta make a good impression," I say, reaching for my mug. It has a crack down one side, like everything else in this house that's been through too much.
She eyes me. "That coffee shop in the city, right? The one with the fancy name?"
"The Grind," I nod, sipping the bitter coffee. "Apparently, they take their caffeine as seriously as the Queen takes her tea."
"Well, just smile and don't let anyone boss you around," she advises, flipping eggs like she's hosting a cooking show. "And keep some snacks in your bag. You don't need your sugar dropping while you're trying to impress people."
"I'll watch him dont worry about him."
"Yes, ma'am," I say, though my stomach's already a knot of nerves.
Dad appears, leaning on his cane but smiling that soft, tired smile that always makes my chest ache. "My girl's first day," he says, voice low but proud. "You look just like your mother did on hers."
"Then I'm doomed," I joke, pretending to smooth my frizzy ponytail. "You said Mom once spilled coffee on her boss's lap."
He chuckles. "And still got promoted."
"Well," I grin, "I'll aim for that level of chaos."
By 7:30, I'm behind the wheel of my car and calling it a car is generous. It's more of a wheezing tin can that occasionally remembers it's supposed to move. The steering wheel shakes like it's going through an existential crisis, and the radio only plays one station: static.
I park three blocks away from The Grind because, well, the neighborhood is the kind of place where even the trash cans look rich. Walking saves embarrassment and probably towing fees.
By 8:00 sharp, I'm inside the café. The air smells like espresso and ambition.
A woman in her thirties greets me with a clipboard and a friendly-but-tired smile. "You must be Aria! I'm Mel. Let's get you oriented before the morning rush eats us alive."
Perfect seems like they don't waste time.
She walks me through everything the machines, the menu, the cleaning routine, even where the 'special customers' sit. Translation: rich people with attitudes.
"We pay every Friday," she explains, handing me an apron that's definitely seen better days. "You clock in here, don't mix up the milk types, and if anyone orders a triple-shot soy caramel macchiato with extra foam, pray for them quietly, not out loud."
"Got it," I nod seriously. "No public prayers. Only silent judgment."
She laughs. "I think you'll fit in just fine."
By 9:00, I'm in uniform a fitted black shirt, khaki apron, hair tied up pretending I know what I'm doing. The team is surprisingly nice.
Lena, the redhead on pastry duty, tells me, "Rule number one: never touch the fancy croissants unless you want the manager to summon demons."
Ben, the barista who looks like he's still recovering from a caffeine overdose, adds, "Rule number two: if a guy named Dalton Gray walks in, just… don't breathe too loud."
"Dalton who?" I ask, wiping down the counter.
"You'll see," he says ominously, like he's warning me about Voldemort.
By 10:30, I've got the hang of things how to work the machine, take orders, not spill milk on myself (a miracle). Everything's going smoothly. Until the door opens.
The shift in the room is immediate.
Laughter dies. Conversations stop mid-sentence. Even the espresso machine seems to sigh nervously.
Every employee suddenly finds an urgent reason to not be at the counter. Ben practically sprints to the back. "He's here," he whispers like it's the arrival of the apocalypse.
I frown. "Who's here..?"
Then I see him.
Tall. Impossibly elegant. Sharp suit that probably costs more than my rent and my neighbour's. His cologne hits me first clean, dark, expensive and then his face.
And sweet mother of caffeine, his face.
Ocean-blue eyes,Sharp perfect jawline, hair so perfect it looks illegal. My brain short-circuits for half a second. I forget how to breathe.
Oh. That's the Dalton Gray.
Why is everyone afraid of this ridiculously good looking man.
He cant be that bad.
He stops at the counter, eyes sweeping the room like a king inspecting peasants. Then they land on me.
And for some reason, everyone else… disappears.
I blink, trying to look functional. "Good morning! What can I get you?"
He studies me for a long, unnerving moment. Then, finally, in a deep, clipped voice:
"Are you planning to keep staring, or are you going to make my coffee?"
Wow. Okay. Rude much?
Why did he have to open his mouth.
"I.. sorry, I'm new," I say, forcing a polite smile.
"Clearly." He checks his watch. "You're also wasting my time."
Oh, so he's that kind of customer.
Oh this jerk! Just because he is hot doesn't mean I'll take his nastiness.
I smile wider, sugar-sweet. "My apologies, Your Highness. What does royalty drink these days?"
A few gasps erupt behind me. I can feel the staff eavesdropping with horror. But I'm too done with nerves, with arrogant men, with life.
His eyes narrow, studying me like he's not sure whether to be insulted or impressed. "The usual."
"I'm new," I remind him, still smiling. "You'll have to be specific so we can stop wasting both our times."
He opens his mouth, but before he can answer, Ben bless his terrified heart rushes forward. "He means double espresso, no sugar"
I shoot Ben a grateful look, then turn back to Mr. Perfectly Irritating. "See? That wasn't so hard."
His expression doesn't change, but I swear his jaw tightens. I make his espresso, double-check it, and hand it over with my most professional fake smile. "Here you go."
He takes it, sips, and looks at me like I'm a puzzle he can't solve. Then, dead serious: "Bring me the manager."
My stomach drops. Oh God. Fired. I'm so fired.First day and I have already offended a VIP
I should apologise he is not worth losing my job for.Just when i was about to say how sorry i am, he raises an eyebrow and.... "Are you deaf, or just slow?"
And just like that, my panic morphs into irritation. "Neither," I say tightly. "I'll get her."
Whats wrong with him. Is he always like this?
I find Mel in her office, trying not to hyperventilate. "He wants to talk to you," I say carefully.
"Oh no what happened now," she mutters, straightening her shirt like she's preparing for execution.
We walk back together. The café is silent again. Everyone watches like it's a movie scene.
Dalton stands by the counter, expression unreadable. He looks at Mel, then at me. "From now on,whatever her name is,will be making my coffee."
Both Mel and I blink. "I...what?" I manage.
He turns to leave, his voice cool as ice. "She's the only one who got it right."
And just like that, he's gone out the door, back to whatever planet breeds people that intimidating.
The moment he leaves, the café collectively exhales.
Ben leans against the counter. "Congratulations. You just survived Dalton Gray."
Lena grins. "More than that. You're officially his coffee girl."
I blink. "Is that… a good thing?"
They all speak at once.
"He's powerful."
"He's terrifying."
"He hates everything."
"Except, apparently, your coffee."
I sigh. "Perfect. My first day, and I've already been claimed by Satan with a platinum card."
They laugh, and I can't help but join in.
Because honestly? Between his perfectly handsome face and his perfectly awful attitude…
This job just got a whole lot more interesting.
Why cant he be both hot and polite.