A Latte Like Love

One

The first time he came to the coffee shop was on a Tuesday at exactly 8:17 a.m.

Audrey knew the precise time he walked through the door because their resident Karen (whose name was actually Patricia) had just gotten done berating her for the fifth time in as many shifts, and she always came in at 8:10 a.m. on her way to work-and because after dealing with Patricia, Audrey always had exactly thirteen minutes before she could go on break.

It was the same thing, the same routine, with the same regulars nearly every day she'd worked at Déjà Brew. She'd gotten a job at the little industrial-chic coffeehouse about five years ago, when she first set foot in New York City for college, and she learned pretty quickly that the clientele was definitely local. And they were definitely set in their ways.

But this guy was new. They didn't often get new customers, being so far off the beaten tourist path, and besides, she knew she'd never seen him before because she definitely would have remembered him if he'd ever come in during one of her shifts.

Audrey never forgot a face, after all.

But this man's face was almost completely hidden from her.

He was both enormously tall and wide, which would have made him plenty distinctive already, but he also wore a black KN95 mask over his mouth and nose. Not that it was terribly uncommon in New York, especially with the approaching fall and winter flu season, but still.

He stood out.

The new guy stepped up to the register, the hood of his black sweatshirt pulled over an equally black baseball cap tucked low over his eyes. A curtain of thick, dark hair covered the right one, hiding it from view, and the other peered down at Audrey, dark and wide and seemingly nervous-inasmuch as she could tell, anyway. So much of his face was covered, but she'd gotten fairly good at reading the nuances of eye crinkles over the last few years.

"Hi! Welcome to Déjà Brew. What can I get started for you?" she asked brightly, plastering on what she hoped was a dazzling smile.

Tips. She needed tips this month if she wanted to spread her loans further than they usually went.

Why were groceries so expensive?

The pile of debt she had to contend with didn't help either.

"Um . . ." His eye darted up to the menu and back down to her face before dodging away again. "One . . . l-large Americano." His voice was deep, but he said it so quietly, Audrey almost didn't catch it. She leaned over the counter slightly, a brow raised and her head tilted to hear him better.

"A large Americano?" He nodded. "For here or to go?"

"To go." He said it a little more loudly this time, though only barely.

Audrey grabbed a paper cup and scribbled the order on the side. "Room for cream?" He shook his head. "Name?"

"Theo."

She wrote that on the cup too and was just about to pass it off to Josh to make when Theo held up a hand to stop her, his single visible eye wide and worried. His hand trembled slightly.

"Wait! Uh . . . c-can I get that extra hot, please?"

"Of course you can." Audrey noted it and smiled softly at him, a real one this time. She'd never seen someone so obviously terrified to order a plain black coffee before, but how hard he was trying was endearing. When she rang him up, he silently passed her a twenty-dollar bill-and then promptly dropped all of his nearly sixteen dollars of change into their tip jar, immediately shoving his hand back into his pocket as soon as the coins clinked on the glass bottom.

"Whoa." It was Audrey's turn for her eyes to widen. "Wow. Thank you, sir! That's-"

But before she could finish, he turned his back and retreated to an empty table in the corner. Josh called out his name, and Theo practically sprinted over to grab his coffee before hiding again, drawing his cap lower over his face as he sat and hunching his shoulders as though he were trying to make himself smaller. A futile attempt, to be sure, but she commended him for the effort.

Audrey took her break. When she came back, he was still sitting there, his mask still concealing his mouth, writing diligently in a little black leather notebook and not making eye contact with anyone.

He left at exactly 9:00 a.m.

He never took a single sip of coffee.


The new guy didn’t come back until the following Tuesday.

'

Audrey didn't know why, but for the rest of that week, every time someone walked in wearing a black hoodie, she searched their face to see if it was him. But she was disappointed every time-not a mask in sight. Perhaps he hadn't liked their café or their coffee after all. Perhaps he was just visiting.

Was it because of how nervous he'd seemed? He'd barely been able to order from her. And then he'd left such a large tip.

Why?

Well, she supposed it didn't matter in the end. So many people came through their doors.

Easy come, easy go.

But on Tuesday at 8:17 a.m. on the dot, the door opened and he lumbered inside, his right leg hitching slightly as he squeezed his large frame through the gathered crowd lined up in front of the register, clearly trying to make himself as inconspicuous as possible while he waited his turn.

"I just don't understand why it's so hard to make me a mocha Frappuccino with extra caramel drizzle." Angry fingers tipped in long, fire-engine-red acrylics snapped in Audrey's face. "Hey, are you listening to me?"

She hid a scowl behind an expertly crafted customer service mask. "Patricia, I'm really sorry, but like I tell you every week, we're not a Starbucks. We don't have Frappuccinos."

"You could. I know you have blenders, I can see them in the back."

"Those are for our smoothie selection. I can make you a smoothie, or if you still want coffee, I can get you an iced mocha with some cold foam and a caramel drizzle. Does that work?"

Patricia rolled her eyes and tossed her frizzy bleach-blond hair over her shoulder. Her brow would have been furrowed if she were capable of it, but it looked like she'd just gotten a fresh round of Botox injections. "Fine. I'll take a grande iced mocha. Extra caramel. And I want that on the house."

Audrey's eye twitched, but she rang her up for a large, just like she did every time. She did not put the drink or the caramel on the house, and she ignored Patricia's irritated huff when she handed her the receipt.

A few more customers, and then it was the new guy's turn to step up to the register.

"Hey, Large Extra-Hot Americano! Welcome back." Audrey gave him another brilliant smile, this time every bit as genuine as the first one she'd given him was not. He was dressed more or less the same as he had been the week before-black hoodie, black KN95, dark jeans, Air Jordans, well-worn black leather satchel slung over his shoulder-and still only one eye peeked out from beneath the pulled-low brim of his cap. But Audrey liked the way it crinkled around the edge when he looked at her, if only the slightest bit. "I was wondering if I'd see you again."

His gaze rested on her slightly longer than it did last week, and she could have sworn she heard a soft, bemused snort from beneath the mask. "You remembered me?"

"'Course. I never forget a face. Especially not one like yours."

The crinkles faded.

Audrey's stomach dipped. There was something about him that made her want to make him smile, but now she had the sense she'd done something terribly wrong. He shifted awkwardly on his feet and glanced up at their menu without responding.

"Did you like the coffee you got last time, or would you like to try something new?" she prompted. Déjà Brew prided themselves on their small-batch craft coffee roasting and careful brewing, and it bothered her that he didn't drink what Josh made him last week, even if he had taken it with him to go. It had to have been ice-cold by the time he'd left. She'd already resolved to step away from the register and do it herself this time, even though Josh was a fabulous barista and he knew his way around the Marzocco almost as well as she did. "I could make you a latte if you'd like." She leaned forward and cupped her hand over her mouth. "I'll even draw you something nice in the foam," she whispered conspiratorially.

"N-no, no, that's . . . that's all right." He waved her suggestion away. "You don't have to go through the trouble."

Oh.

Oh . . . wow.

Audrey stared. She hadn't noticed last week, but his hands were huge, with thick, strong fingers. They were covered in calluses and dotted with what looked like burn scars, little starbursts of long-healed white sparks and splashes and dots. An expensive-looking watch wrapped around his left wrist and flashed silver in the daylight streaming from the windows.

Theo raised a hand as if he was going to run it through his dark hair, but he stopped when he touched the fabric of his hood, almost like he'd forgotten he was still wearing it. His hand began to tremble, and he quickly clenched his fingers and swept them into a hoodie pocket as soon as her eyes landed on them.

"I'll get you another large black Americano, no room for cream and extra hot, then, if that's okay?" He nodded and she scribbled the order on the cup, just like she'd done last week. "For Theo, right?"

"Yeah. Th-Theo."

"Hi, Theo." Her smile widened. "I'm Audrey."

"Audrey? Like . . . Audrey Hepburn?" The way he said it with such hopeful interest made her tilt her head at him curiously. "You . . . look a little like her." Red emerged from beneath his mask, creeping into the tops of his cheeks, and he rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly with his unhidden hand.

"Oh, I don't know about that. Maybe." She shrugged. Why were her cheeks so warm all of a sudden? "She was lovely, though, wasn't she?"

"Yeah." What little she could see of his face softened. "Lovely."

She smiled at him again and stepped behind the machine, nodding at Josh to switch places with her. Luckily, they weren't as busy today as they normally were, and her hands swept with expert ease across the machine as she pulled a few fresh shots of espresso and poured them into extra-hot water. Technically, this was a long black and not an Americano, but she wanted to give him a nicer, richer crema without breaking the espresso.

All right, fine. She was an excellent barista. Maybe she wanted to show off a bit.

Maybe she could tempt him to drink it this time.

"Here you go, Theo. Just for you."

"Thank you," he mumbled, his fingers just barely grazing hers as he took the coffee in his hand. At her touch, he nearly dropped the drink and yanked his arm away as if he'd been electrocuted.

"Oh, s-sorry," he stammered, reaching forward again. "So sorry."

She pushed the coffee across the counter to him and drew her hand back, stifling a look of concern and replacing it with a soft smile. "It's fine. Don't worry about it."

"Thank you, Audrey," he muttered, retreating to the same corner as last time.

She postponed her break in favor of keeping an eye on him. Once again, he took a small black leather notebook out from his pocket and scribbled into it with a gold-tipped fountain pen. Once again, he pulled the brim of his baseball cap low over his face. And once again, he never removed his mask and never took a single sip of coffee.

At precisely 9:00 a.m., he gathered up his things, took his coffee cup, and left in a rush, without giving her so much as a backward glance.

Audrey checked the tip jar.

Just like last week, he'd left all of his change inside.


She started looking for Theo every day that summer.

'

The third week, he came in on Tuesday at exactly 8:17 a.m., just like the previous two weeks.

But then he also came in on Thursday.

And Friday.

Always at 8:17 a.m.

He always paid in cash.

And he always left the remainder of his broken twenty-dollar bills in their tip jar.

Theo began coming in three times a week, but little else changed. He barely spoke, struggled to order the same coffee every time, and never once removed his mask to drink it in the café. Instead, he claimed the same table for exactly forty minutes, clutched the warm cup in one hand, and wrote in his little notebook with the other, his leather satchel resting faithfully against his long legs. He always wore black, and Audrey could only ever see the upper left corner of his face.

No matter how hard she tried, no matter what she said at the register, she never got him to laugh.

It was hard not to fixate on such a goal.

He looked like he could use a laugh.

He was so sweet, Audrey ached to give him one.

He'd been coming in regularly three times a week for a month when the fall semester started at the tail end of August and time went strange. It was always like that when she shifted mindsets from just work to work and school, but she only had to do this one more time.

The Tuesday of her second week of classes was already an odd day. Monday had been so crazy, she was almost late for her capstone course after her shift, but this morning was practically dead.

"We haven't seen Pattycakes yet, have we?" Josh tamped freshly ground beans into the group head and clicked it into place. "Think she died?"

Audrey snorted at the nickname and shook her head. "Fat chance."

The lack of Patricia meant one of three things: she was running late (unusual, but most likely), she'd taken a vacation (god, Audrey hoped so), or she'd finally chosen to go get her goddamn Frappuccino at an actual Starbucks for once (wholly wishful thinking, but a girl could dream). A few of the usual suspects sat with their ceramic cups over in the lounge area, typing quietly away to the inoffensive lo-fi playing over the café's sound system, and Audrey drummed her fingers against the counter while Josh experimented with perfecting a ristretto.