Chapter Text
Shopping for shoes is usually up there with orgasms and kittens, but Freya has about two minutes to find something she can wear for nine hours straight and not lose sleep over if she spills coffee on.
She reins herself in from where her gaze has strayed to the other glittery shelves and looks at the two pairs of shoes propped up on the store's velvet pouf. She can't decide.
What she needs is something practical, something neutral, something level …
Oh, but the platform heels.
They're monochrome, at least. Shiny, lacquered straps and easily five inches tall and absolutely darling paired with flares or a skirt, exactly what she’s been looking for.
The trainers, slightly to her left, are black with matching strings and terribly plain despite their velvet finish, but they're also practical, and she's almost certain she won’t be allowed to wear heels to work. She drums her fingers on her hips. She might even have a pair of trainers already, somewhere at the very back of her closet. Black definitely, possibly with sequins. Did she change the laces?
Freya knows she’s not there to be seen exactly, but the thought of having to wear plain footwear, and more distressingly still, plain clothes―possibly even a uniform, God help her―makes her slightly queasy. She should've gone for that job in Sephora instead, but then the café was something different, and really, isn't that exactly what she's trying to do?
She pulls out her phone and swears at the time.
With a resigned sigh, she puts the platforms back on the shelf and pulls on her go-go boots, then picks up the trainers and makes her way to the front of the store. It's not convenient to bring new shoes to her new workplace, however informal the meeting, but she won't have time to get home, and she has already lost the five minutes he intended to be early.
The sun is high in the sky outside, and as she hurries as much as she can without breaking into a sweat, the bag keeps hitting her shin, and she is momentarily distracted by the thought of the ugly bruise it might leave before her mind flits back to her impending meeting. She knows it will be okay, of course it will, but the actual interview had been through Teams, and she hadn't heard of the place before she applied, so she's curious to see for herself what the space is like, what kind of people work there. Her stomach does a squirmy thing when she thinks of meeting her new co-workers, and she digs her nails into her palms, trying to suppress the hope that threatens to spill over. It can't be about that, she has to come in with an open mind. But if nothing else, the café is only a bus ride from her new flat—perfectly convenient.
She fishes her phone from her pocket and is almost run down by a cyclist, then pockets it again and crosses the street as she catches sight of the café.
Her heart picks up speed as she steps inside.
It's a clean, open space, the walls painted attractively in colours of coffee and cream, the windows floor-to-ceiling. Pastries and cakes are attractively lined up behind the glass display, and the the back wall displays rows and stacks of bread on shelves. In the cold counter near the till, huge sandwiches fight for attention beneath the colourful breakfast platter.
It's the kind of place Freya might have visited with her old friends for iced matchas to go—not quite trendy enough for Instagram, but organic and high quality, the feeling of something quasi-local.
Freya joins the queue, shifting from one foot to the other as she waits for the person in front of her to finish her order. It's a middle-aged, moustached man on till, and as the woman in front of Freya touches her card to the payment terminal, he steps over to the coffee machine and starts up her order. Freya recognises him as Peter, the man she spoke with on Teams, and she watches with interest the practised movements of his hands as he works, the fluid motion of pulling out the bin to throw out an empty carton and pushing it back with his foot while he retrieves a new carton from the fridge, the gurgling sound of the milk and the tilt of the pitcher as the steam wand hisses. A toothy smile of recognition appears on his face when he notices her looking, and Freya feels instantly at ease.
Once the customer has received her coffee, Peter steps back to the till. "Freya,” he says, smile warm, “you managed to find it? I'm happy you agreed to come in for a chat, it's always good to get a feel for the place, I think. Why don't you take a seat and I'll get my things. Would you like anything to drink?"
"A glass of water would be lovely," Freya says, watching as Peter fills a glass with ice cubes, "it's so cosy in here."
Peter looks pleased. "We're very proud of our little café," he says, handing her the glass. The cold stings her sweaty palm. "You just go ahead and choose a table, I’ll be with you in a minute."
"Thank you," Freya says, and walks to the far end of the café where the sun streams in on a bar table near the window. Behind her, she can hear Peter call for someone.
He joins her a moment after. “Alright,” he says, putting down a steaming cup of coffee and a pad of paper on the table between them. “I’ve got your contract." He hands her a few printed pages, "and I thought we might discuss a tentative schedule as well as put you down for your training shifts.”
Freya nods and quickly skims the contract.
"As you can see, I've put you down for 18 hours a week," Peter says, indicating the number with his pen, "you'll get more than that, of course, 25 hours at least once I get the schedule ready, but this is as much as I can give you at the moment."
"That sounds good," Freya says, "as many hours as you can spare me."
Peter nods. "One of our employees needed surgery sooner than anticipated and is not allowed to work for the next three months. It's been a bit tight with only three full time employees, especially now that one of them is going part time for school."
"I can imagine," Freya says, attention momentarily caught by the sound of the bell above the door. "Surgery, though, that doesn't sound good."
"Fortunately it's nothing bad," Peter says with a smile, "it's been scheduled for a long time, but I managed to forget. I'm only here on occasion, I'm afraid. The assistant manager, Jo, will be in charge of your training." He reaches for a Biro and his pad of paper. "That's them," he says, indicating the counter, and Freya twists in her seat to get a glimpse of her new co-worker, curious to spot both a buzz-cut and a septum ring on a gorgeous face.
"They've been here for four years and can answer any questions you might have," Peter continues, and Freya reluctantly tears her gaze away. "I've put them on two of your training shifts so you should be alright. You were free the next four days?"
"Yes," Freya says, making a mental note to reschedule one of her classes.
“Good. Two opening shifts and two closing shifts should be sufficient." Peter jots down a time table on his pad of paper and rips off the page, sliding it across the table. "We start a bit early," he says, which is something of an understatement, Freya thinks as she looks at her meeting time for her first training shift, 6-11. "On the other hand, that generally means you'll finish early as well. As for your uniform, we should have it ready for you in a few days, but I’ll ask Regina to bring you a spare t-shirt tomorrow. She's one of our full time employees and has been here almost as long as Jo."
“That sounds good,” Freya says, committing to learn the names of her co-workers as fast as possible. “How many people work here at the moment did you say?”
“We have Jo, Regina and Brianna as our full-time employees, plus Dominique who's getting surgery, Christine as our oldest part time, and then our weekend girls, Veronica, Chrissie and Joan. Most of them are studying or have other jobs, so they are only here to cover once in a while, but we're glad to have them and they're glad to stay. I had one employee who worked here for seven years, and none of our employees have ever stayed for less than a year.”
He says this with obvious pride, and Freya can't help but smile. “I’ll take that as a good sign."
A freezer beeps loudly in the background. Peter looks unconcerned. A moment later, it is closed with a soft thud.
Peter mirrors her smile. "I have a good feeling about you, Freya," he says, and Freya's mouth feels suddenly dry. She forces it into another smile. Peter picks up the Biro again. "Now, are there any days you cannot work?"
"I volunteer at a yoga studio every Monday morning and Thursday evening," Freya says, "if we could possibly work around that I'd be grateful."
"No problem," Peter says and jots it down on his notepad. "Volunteer work, that sounds fun."
"It is," Freya tells him, "the senior classes are my favourites. Oldies but goldies, we call them."
Peter laughs. "Must be a joyful bunch."
Freya smiles, pleased by the easy conversation. "Indeed."
"Well, I've noted down Monday morning," Peter says, "and I'll make sure your schedule gets in order as quickly as possible. Any questions about it Jo can answer. And if you'll look through the contract and then bring it to work before Friday, Jo will send it along to management. Do you have any more questions?”
Freya shakes her head. She gets up from her seat and pockets her training schedule, then drains her glass of water and smiles when Peter offers to take it. The assistant manager, Jo, is busy at the till but looks up briefly to smile at her as she passes, and Freya throws a smile back, lets it linger with a pleasant buzz.
When she steps out onto the bustling London streets, Freya feels happy and lightheaded and like her world is finally shifting into place.
♡ ♡ ♡
The sun is pinking the sky and spreading like a bruise when Freya walks to the bus stop at 20 to six the next morning. Unsure of the dress code, she has dressed in long black trousers and her new trainers which bite into the back of her feet every time she takes a step. She feels out of place without her rings and silk and platform heels; looked so plain in the mirror when she was brushing her teeth that she felt a rare pang of insecurity.
The bus is empty save for the driver and a little old lady, and Freya spends the seven minute ride looking out the window on the near-empty London streets, yawning and thinking that maybe she should've at least attempted to get more than three hours of sleep before her first day of work. She checks the time on her phone as she steps off the bus and finds that she's a little early. The café is dark and empty when she gets there, and she waits outside, clicking her nails against the strap of her shoulder bag, something anxious twisting in her stomach. 10 minutes past six, a blonde girl parks her bike a few metres away, smiling when she notices Freya.
"Hi," the girl says, locking her bike, "are you here for a training shift?"
"I am," Freya says, taking in her dark jeans, cut off above the knee, worn trainers, and grey t-shirt, confirming her suspicions that the purpose of the uniform seems to be more about blending in than attracting people. “Hi, I’m Freya.”
The girl’s eyebrows shoot up, the easy smile returning, and Freya feels instantly at ease, “oh, like the goddess, right? I’m Reg.” She fishes a bunch of keys out of her pocket and unlocks the door. “Come in,” she says, reaching over to flick on the light switch while he holds the door open for Freya. “You were here yesterday, weren’t you?”
“Yes,” Freya says with slight surprise. “How do you know?”
“I make it my business to know everything around here,” Reg says with a laugh, pushing a huge stack of green plastic crates aside to round the counter and walk into an adjoining room behind it.
“Is that so?” Freya asks good-naturedly, looking around curiously. The room is small and cramped with two cabinet freezers squeezed into one corner and a huge refrigerator. A long metal counter with cold drawers underneath sits to the right along with a sink. A huge oven protrudes from the back wall.
“Absolutely,” Reg says, pulling out a stack of baking trays already lined with baking paper from underneath the oven that she places on the table. She reaches for a pack of disposable gloves that sits on one of the shelves above the table and pulls a pair on. “I'm afraid my sources didn't mention how hot you are, though! Quite an oversight, you can imagine.”
Freya lets out a snort of laughter, delighted at her ease and frankness. She takes a step back so Reg can pass with a baking tray. “You must be a true connoisseur if you can recognise hotness behind an outfit this plain.”
Reg grins at her and opens the freezer door, baking tray tucked against her hip. “That I am,” she says, pulling out a green plastic crate from one of the shelves with one hand to start lining the baking tray with frozen croissants. "But I think you'd be able to pull off even the uniform."
"I shudder to think of it," Freya says but can't help but smile at the flatter, "kept me up all night."
Reg grins and holds out the baking tray, now lined with croissants, for Freya to take. “Switch me? You get used to it after a while, I'm afraid.”
“That's the worst of it, isn't it?” Freya wonders, putting the baking tray back on the table and handing Reg a new one. She watches Reg line it with croissants. "How long have you worked here, then? Since you sound like you've made your peace with the uniform."
“Three years,” Reg says, her movements quick even as speaks, pushing the crate back with her elbow and switching Freya for another baking tray before she pulls out the next crate which she keeps in check with her hip. She starts lining the new tray with pain au chocolats. “No, longer than that. Too long, probably. Been here since I was in school.”
"Peter said most people stay here a long time."
Reg nods. "They tend to. Something about this place, eh? We haven't had anyone new for years."
"Gosh," Freya says, "that's some pressure."
"Hey, you didn't run away screaming when I called you hot, I'm sure you'll fit right in," Reg says, a hint of embarrassment in her grin, "I'm a bit impulsive, I'm afraid."
"Who would mind such flatter?" Freya wonders.
"HR?" Reg says with a smile and Freya laughs, liking her so much already.
"So these," Reg shuts the freezer and puts the third pastry lined tray on the counter, "need to defrost for half an hour, then bake for 15 minutes. We get them frozen from the company's bakery, the same place that delivers the rest of our products, it's just so we can sell them completely fresh. The oven preheats while we set up," she pushes a couple of buttons on the oven, "see? Then you can take them out just before you open the doors. People go absolutely mad for warm pastries."
Freya snorts. "I can imagine."
"Let me just punch in," Reg says, pulling up a laptop, "I don't think we have a passcode for you, both for the time card and for the till, but you can use mine for the till and I know Jo will make sure to register your hours." She looks up. "Ready to get started?"
"Yes," Freya says, following her back into the store, curious to see how the shop gets transformed from dark and empty to the inviting space of yesterday.
"I'll just log in here, you'll be able to better keep track of the time," Reg says, tapping on a screen which Freya supposed will later be connected to the till. She punches in the code, and a menu opens, Regina Meddows Taylor appearing in the lower left corner.
"If you'll set up the bread and pastries I'll put the tables outside," Regina says, pointing to the flat metal trays that line the counter. "Pastries go there, then bread rolls, cakes and sweets over there, the bread on the shelves behind you."
"Are these sorted in any way?" Freya asks, moving to lift the top crate from the first towering stack, "like the pastries are all at the bottom, or?"
"Nope," Regina says with a grin, opening the front door and securing it with a yellow door stopper, "that's half the fun!"
"Right," Freya says, amused by Regina's slightly manic energy, "gloves?"
"In the top drawer to your left," Regina says, picking up a stack of chairs and disappearing out the door.
Freya puts on the disposable gloves, grimacing at the dirtying feeling, and starts lining up the cinnamon buns, trying to remember if they were in one of two rows the first time she was in here.
"Those you can make two rows for," Regina says, answering her unspoken question as she reappears to pick up two small tables, "just stack them if they don't fit. It doesn't have to look pretty."
Surprised, Freya does as she's told, stacking cinnamon buns and throwing away the grease paper that lines the plastic crate once she's done. She puts the crate on the floor and picks up the next, this one filled with seedy bread. "How do you want the bread stacked?" she asks when Regina returns, "one row?"
"Yes," Regina says, "on the shelves behind you, as many as you can fit. The bread of the month gets two rows. It's our muesli bread this month, you can recognise it by the seeds and dried fruit. Plus, there's a fuck-ton of it."
Freya picks up the bread and stacks it to the best of her abilities. She's halfway through the third crate when Regina closes the door and comes behind the counter to help. "See, you can fold the crates up like this," she says, pushing against the handles so the sides collapse.
“Oh,” Freya says, “thank you!”
“You’ll see in a minute when we’re done with this stack, we can place the empty ones back on the transport trolley. It’s easier when we don’t have to move them around,” Regina says, hoisting another crate of bread on the counter and beginning to stack them with quick movements.
“It’s terrifying how quickly you can do that,” Freya comments, trying to match her speed.
Regina laughs. “It all comes down to my supreme laziness. I learnt to do it quickly early on so I can laze around the last fifteen minutes before we open. Or sleep in.”
“Doesn’t that cut into your pay?” Freya asks curiously, balling up the sheet of grease proof paper of another empty crate and throwing it in the bin before she copies Regina and makes the sides collapse. She reaches for another, sees that this one is filled with rolls. "Rolls?"
Regina points to the two baskets next to the till. She crosses the floor of the store, speaking over her shoulder, “I never open so I don’t mind. It’s horrible having to get up this early.”
"I assume you get used to it after a while?" Freya says as she begins to fill one of the baskets.
"No, never," Regina says, returning with three transport trolleys, one in each hand and pushing the third in front of her with her foot, "at least I never did. It's just as horrible every time. But then again I'm not naturally inclined to being up and about this early. Ask Brianna though, she actually prefers these morning shifts. How that is is beyond me."
"I think I'm opening with her tomorrow," Freya says, then drops a roll to the floor. "Oh shoot."
"Don't worry about it," Regina says, "you can just throw it in the bin. I drop things all the time."
"Are you sure?" Freya asks, bending down to pick up the roll, "I can eat it later?"
Regina shrugs, moving over to the coffee machine. She empties the plastic container there in the sink and rinses the parts that have been soaking. "You're welcome to but you might as well take a fresh one. Really it doesn't matter. We throw out a ton of food."
"You do?" Freya asks uncertainly, looking at the beautiful little cakes in the next crate. At the sound of the coffee machine, she looks up to see water running through the two spouts.
"Jo is trying to make a deal with some homeless shelter to come pick it up and we have a partnership with Too Good to Go but there are still things that get thrown out. It sounds bad but you get used to it after a while. We try to limit waste as much as possible—or at least, that's what management tells us, but since we’re part of a chain it’s hard to know what goes on in other stores. At least don't feel bad about throwing out things you drop. We can't sell it and after a while you get tired of eating things off the floor. You can put it aside if you want but as I said, you can put fresh things aside as well. Also when you close, just take home a ton of shit. I have frozen croissants in my freezer."
Freya snorts. "Didn’t say anything about that in the staff handbook."
Regina grins at her and disappears into the backroom. Freya hears a soft thump, scrapes of metal, then the oven door closing with a clang. "Well, no. But what management says versus what actually happens in the store is another story. No one is gonna rat you out to Jo or Phoebe if you bring home a sandwich or two. No one cares and it's a waste anyway."
"Who's Phoebe?" Freya glances at the time, wonders how she's going to finish all this in 15 minutes.
"Peter, I mean. He's always been Phoebe here, I don't know why really. No one calls him by his real name,” Regina explains as she reaches for another crate, “and yet he insists on calling me Regina. And Crystal he calls Christine even though she doesn’t respond to that. The point is, even Jo will usually let you bring stuff home as long as you ask. But you'll have to feel it out. I took stuff home on my first shift and then there's someone like Brianna who will insist on buying her coffee if she's not on shift. You'll quickly figure out what you're comfortable with."
Freya doesn't think that statement warrants an answer so she merely nods and files the information away for later. Still, pocketing frozen croissants on her first day seems more risky than what Freya is ultimately comfortable with. She puts the roll aside.
"When you're done with these, you can put the signs in. Here," Regina says, reaching underneath the counter to pull out a cup full of paper signs on pins. She puts it on the counter and rounds the bar to start pulling chairs off the tables.
Freya blows out a breath, hot with the effort of keeping up. She didn't expect it to be so much work, and yet there's still another 10 crates left and no time to stand still.
"Brianna closed yesterday," Regina says conversationally as she pulls another chair down and shoves it into its assigned space underneath the table. "Everything looks great when you come in but this is just extra work for me."
"I assume it's easier to wash the floors if the chairs are up," Freya says, grabbing a fistful of grease paper to bin.
"That might very well be," Regina says, punctuating her sentence by letting another chair clatter to the floor. “But it's an extra 15 seconds per chair and you have all the time in the world when you close. In the mornings? Not so much. It's just to say that I at least would prefer to not have to do this if you ever close and you know I'm opening the next day. Crystal's the same. It's a huge waste of time. "
"I suppose I can see that."
Regina lets out a snort. "Not convinced yet, are you? I'm sure you'll see for yourself quickly enough." Regina opens the back door, the one leading out to what looks like a small terrace. "It gets so insanely hot in here, wish they would invest in a fan at some point."
Freya thinks Regina is rather fond of complaining.
"Doing okay?" Regina's saying over her shoulder as Freya smacks an empty crate on top of the others.
"I'm feeling a bit stressed," Freya admits.
"We're almost there," Regina says encouragingly, "I'll come do the signs when I'm done here. I know I speak a lot, I'll let you work in peace until we're done."
"It's okay," Freya says, but finds that she finishes all but two crates in the next ten minutes.
The oven door beeps loudly, and Regina abandons her signs to disappear into the backroom. A moment later, a mouthwatering scent fills the air, effectively reminding Freya of her lack of breakfast.
"Almost done," Regina says, appearing with a cash drawer in her arms. "You can wheel those out," she nods at the two towers of empty crates as she slots the cash drawer into its assigned space, "they go out back, next to the loo and behind the door. I'll finish these."
Freya sets off across the sales floor, pushing the first unwieldy crate tower in front of her. She opens the door Regina used earlier and finds herself in a small room with a white closet on one side and another door leading to a small toilet on the other. A transport trolley sits in the space between the cupboard and the door, and so Freya wheels the crates in there as well, noting that there seems to be space for at least two more. She returns to the sales floor for the other stack just as Regina folds the last two crates and hands them to her over the display.
"You're quick!" Freya says and earns a laugh from Regina.
"The last two were rolls, just threw them in the basket. You did all the hard work."
Freya is not so sure about that, but she appreciates it all the same. She is quick to put away the second stack of crates, and when she returns, Regina is putting in the signs.
"One minute to go," she says, a encouraging smile on her face. "I'll show you the till and the coffee machine as soon as I can, but for now maybe you can get the croissants and pain au chocolats out? And afterwards help with packing up orders. It won't be too busy in the beginning. There's thongs here," Regina disappears into the backroom and returns a second later with three metal thongs that she places in front of the displayed pastries and rolls along the counter, "more disposable gloves are here," she points to the shelves beneath the counter, "small paper bags, large paper bags. I think that's all. Oh, and I brought a t-shirt for you, it's on the table in backroom."
Freya grimaces but is quick to change. When she returns, she watches as Regina rounds the counter to unlock the front door. A middle-aged woman is already waiting outside.
Freya takes a fortifying breath and pastes on her most charming smile. Showtime.
♡ ♡ ♡
"I'm gonna kill myself."
That rather forceful statement makes Freya look up from where she's attempting to slowly pour her steamed milk into a double espresso shot like Regina has shown her. A dark-haired girl is rounding the counter and grabbing Regina's iced latte.
Freya blinks. In the span of the last two hours, she's learnt most names of the various breads, rolls and pastries, has learnt how to make sandwiches for the cold counter and the exact number of frozen croissants that fit on a baking tray and go in the big industrial oven, has learnt how to start a drip coffee and how to make espresso shots, has even become fairly acquainted with the till.
She has not yet had somebody come behind the counter to drink from her new co-worker's ice coffee.
Regina makes a sympathetic noise. "Guy trouble again?"
"I wish!" the girl says, "I'm done with guys." She seems to consider this for a moment. "Well. At least until the antibiotics have done their work. Have a week left of treatment."
Regina lets out a snort. "What then?”
"I have two exam essays due tonight and I'm not even halfway on the first. I swear I'm gonna quit if Jo doesn't let me go early."
"Jo's not coming in today," Regina says, and Freya watches the woman blanch. "Bri's closing."
The dark-haired girl—her new co-worker, Freya concludes—groans. "No."
"You can have my break, love," Regina says, patting her arm, "Freya's here until 11, you can stay in the backroom. Have you brought your laptop?"
"Who the hell is Freya?"
Freya thinks this might be a good time to introduce herself and steps forward, into the girl's line of vision. "Pleasure," she says, "I'm Freya."
"Crystal," the girl mumbles, more than a little blind-sided.
"You'll want to take probiotics after," Freya tells her, "antibiotics will fuck up your gut health."
Regina lets out a snort. Crystal looks like she's not sure what to do with that information.
"Crystal's our only part time at the moment," Regina says, "well, and Bri soon. Bri's gonna go part-time after next week."
"What do you study?" Freya asks, because she figures that's what you're supposed to ask students.
"History," Crystal tells her, having apparently recovered. "The bane of my existence. Plenty of fuckable dudes, though."
Freya nods like she understands.
"Crystal's also our only straight employee, but we're trying to win her over," Regina says.
Crystal finishes Regina's coffee with an obnoxious sucking sound. "Another STI and I might join you."
Freya lets out a snort. "I'm afraid you're not exempt from that just because you ditch guys."
"It's not like I've had a lot, you know," Crystal says, "just for the record."
"Guys or STIs?"
"Well," Crystal says, "STIs."
"You already knew about the probiotics, then," Freya concludes.
"Very funny," Crystal says, dumping her tote bag to the floor with a clonk. Regina pushes it aside with her foot. "Okay," Crystal says, pushing a shot glass under the spout and pushing the button for a double espresso. “When’s Brianna coming in?”
“At noon,” Regina says. “You’re the one who have to deal with her if we haven’t managed to prep so I suggest you come back before Freya leaves.”
Crystal groans again and fills a tall glass with ice cubes. “Why Brianna?” she whispers, barely audible over the grinding of the coffee machine. “Why today?”
“Switched with Jo so they could have a day off before their two 12 hours.”
“Selfish cunt,” Crystal says, sloshing milk into her glass. She turns to Freya. “I’m warning you,” she says darkly, “watch your arse around Brianna or she’ll bug you like a massive fucking hemorrhoid.”
“Colourful,” Freya says. She looks to Regina in askance. “Is she really that bad?”
“Don’t ask her that,” Crystal says, “they’re fucking. Plus, Reg is a sickening optimist.”
“How you wound me, Chris,” Regina says, hand to her chest, “to think I cannot remain objective in the face of our fervent, amorous fucking!” She accepts the grounds drawer from Crystal and empties it in the bin underneath the coffee machine. “No but really. She likes it when things are done a certain way, and it’s best just to suck it up in the beginning. Don’t do what I did.”
Freya wonders why someone is allowed to run the store like that. “I thought this Jo person was the assistant manager?”
Crystal snorts. “That doesn’t stop her,” she says. “Well, a bit. When Jo is around, she doesn't have a mean bone in her body. When Jo’s not around, that’s when her true self shows.”
“You don’t sell her very well,” Freya says.
“Oh, she’s fine,” Regina says, “she can be quite funny and she’s not a bad person, just a little uptight.”
“You can say that again,” Crystal mutters. A customer approaches the till, and Regina moves to type in her passcode on the screen. “When are you on with her?”
“I open with her tomorrow,” Freya says, picking up a washcloth to wipe down the counter as Crystal pours the espresso shots over her drink.
Crystal lets out a sigh. “Then you’ll need all the luck you can get.”
♡ ♡ ♡
“Hot chocolate, please.”
The soft-spoken customer has barely finished his sentence before Crystal appears from the backroom, a wide, slightly manic grin on her face. Freya straightens from where she's been unloading the dishwasher and looks around in askance.
Regina’s face remains impassively polite, but Freya notices her shoulders drop just a fraction. “Would you like whipped cream on that, ma’am?”
Crystal nods vigorously. Regina sends her a look.
Crystal opens the fridge and pulls out a whipped cream canister. She hands it to Freya, barely contained excitement written all over her face. “Go on, then.”
Before Freya can question it, Regina has finished with the customer and has taken it from Freya’s hands and put it on the bar with a soft clonk. “Didn’t you have a paper due?” she asks Crystal as she pulls up a tub of ground chocolate and measures one and a half spoonfuls which she dumps into a pitcher.
Crystal is grinning like the Chesire cat. “I think you should tell her,” she says, “Freya deserves to know.”
Regina sends her a long-suffering look. “It’s been cleaned since,” she says, lowering her voice so it’s barely audible over the sound of the steam wand. “Anyway, can we do this when there are no customers around?”
“Absolutely not,” Crystal says, turning to Freya, “see, back when Reg and Brianna went from hate-fucking to merely fucking―”
“Please,” Freya interrupts, “you’ve got to give me the whole story one day.”
“All in good time,” Crystal tells her with a pleased smile. “I’ve got enough stories to last a life-time. Anyway―” She cackles delightedly when Regina picks up the canister and quickly and effortlessly tops the cup of hot chocolate off with a perfect mountain of whipped cream. Freya doesn’t think she imagines the twitch of her lips.
Regina hands off the order with a smile. When she turns back to Freya and Crystal, her smile is decidedly more strained. She crosses her arms. “Go on, then. Better you tell it now than when Bri’s around.”
Crystal pauses as if contemplating that possibility, a dreamy sort of smile on her face. Freya wonders what happened to her essays. “Right, so, as I was saying. I don’t know who came up with the brilliant idea, but Brianna and Reg are fucking in the store, and maybe Reg is feeling a bit peckish or maybe Brianna’s feeling curious, but that perfect swirl of whipped cream you just saw went on Brianna’s cunt, and then Reg ate her out. What happened then, Reg? I don’t think I remember,” Crystal says, with the face of someone who definitely remembers.
“Hold on,” Freya says, “you put whipped cream on her? Didn’t that―”
“It did,” Crystal sing-songs, “Brianna got a massive yeast infection.”
Regina looks vaguely embarrassed, but Freya thinks she deals with it remarkably well all things considered. “We got lost in the moment, is all.”
“Was it worth it?” Freya asks, “was it good?”
Regina grins. “Well, she certainly wasn’t complaining in the moment,” she says, “and I found it very enjoyable as well.”
"I'm not sure how I'm gonna face her tomorrow knowing what went down here," Freya says.
"Like a soldier," Crystal says, clapping her on the back. "And I'd avoid the whipped cream if I were you. And watch out when those two are on shift together, don't let them sneak off!"
"We're almost never allowed to," Regina says, reaching for the iced coffee she keeps next to the coffee machine.
"Wonder why," Crystal says.
"The actual reason for it," Regina says, "just so you don't get the wrong impression, is that we are only three full-timers and Brianna happens to like the morning shifts and I the evening shifts. Jo almost always has the mid-day shift since they have the most hours out of all of us."
"I see," Freya says.
"I'd of course appreciate it if you could be a bit discreet with what Crystal just told you," Regina says, lowering her voice, "not that I mind, just that Brianna would actually have my head if she found out."
"How socially inept do you think I am?" Freya says, slightly offended, "for all you've told me about her, she'll have my head as well."
Regina laughs, posture back to a relaxed slouch against the countertop. "I appreciate it."
"See," Crystal says, "you fit in perfectly already."
Freya smiles. She thinks she will, too.
When she walks towards the bus stop on the sunny streets some hours later, Freya reflects that she might be onto something good.