Bad Romance

The morning air outside La Petite Bean was brisk, but the warmth inside wrapped around anyone who stepped in like an old friend’s embrace. From the outside, the café looked simple—a small, worn sign, chipped at the edges, swayed in the breeze.

Inside, the rich aroma of freshly brewed coffee blended with hints of vanilla and cinnamon. Sunlight streamed through foggy windows, casting a soft glow on the worn wooden floors and mismatched furniture. Bookshelves filled with old novels and local art lined the walls, making it feel like a cosy living room that welcomed everyone.

“Mary, table four needs an extra shot in their Americano,” called Gale from the back.

“Got it,” she replied. Gale Bryan, the owner, worked quietly behind the counter. His gray hair peeked out from under a faded baseball cap as he moved with the ease of someone who’d been doing this for over fifty years. He wasn’t much for talking, but his kindness showed in the way he brewed coffee.

Mary Jane Carter stood behind the counter, apron tied neatly around her waist and her hair pulled into a messy bun. She had a quiet beauty, the kind you noticed slowly—in the curve of her smile or the warmth in her hazel eyes. At five-foot-four, she didn’t stand out, but she had a quiet determination. She knew what she wanted and wouldn’t stop until she got it.

Life hadn’t been easy for Mary Jane. She worked multiple jobs, saving every penny she could. Her parents had always supported her dreams, but there was never enough money to back them up. So, Mary Jane worked. Hard.

Today was no different. The morning rush had started early, and she moved through it with practised ease—taking orders, pulling espresso shots and chatting with regulars. But her mind was elsewhere. She loved La Petite Bean, but it was just a stepping stone. She had bigger dreams that were never far from her thoughts.

As she handed a regular his usual, she caught a glimpse of herself in the reflection of the counter. She looked tired—dark circles under her eyes, her hands aching from the long hours. But she didn’t mind. She loved the work.

Gale had owned the shop for as long as anyone could remember. People came for the coffee, but they stayed for the atmosphere. As Mary Jane poured another espresso, she found herself thinking about what her own café would look like. Small, homey, but with her own personal touch.

“MJ, you have to cover for me tonight,” called Betty, her best friend. Betty was rushing in as usual, her latest plan involving whatever guy she was seeing this week.

“Please? I swear this one’s different,” Betty pleaded, flashing a playful grin.

Mary Jane sighed, raising an eyebrow. “You say that every time, Bet.”

“This time I mean it!” Betty winked. “Come on, I’ll owe you big time.”

“Fine, but you better not bail on me next week.”

“You’re the best!” Betty called, already halfway out the door.

With Betty gone, Mary Jane returned to her tasks. The lunch rush hadn’t started yet, so she took a moment to lean against the counter and let her mind wander. She’d been saving every penny she could, but it never felt like enough. Rent was high, and though Gale paid her fairly, getting ahead seemed impossible.

Sometimes, when she saw the well-dressed businessmen and women glide in, phones glued to their ears as they ordered lattes without even looking up, she wondered how it felt to live their life. It seemed like they had it easy, like their casual wealth allowed them to breeze through the world while she worked twice as hard just to keep up.

As if on cue, a group of young professionals walked in, their conversation full of business jargon. Mary Jane took their order, forcing a smile.

“Did you hear? Cogsworth Enterprises is expanding again,” one of the women said, her tone filled with awe. “Ethan Cogsworth is a genius. He’s revolutionizing the industry!”

Mary Jane barely registered the name, but it was enough to catch her attention. Ethan Cogsworth. Of course, she’d heard of him. The Cogsworth family was practically royalty in the city, their name attached to every major development. Ethan, the youngest, was constantly in the news—whether for his latest business move or being spotted at glamorous events with a different woman each time.

She didn’t know much about him, but she didn’t need to. People like Ethan lived in a different world, one she had no interest in entering. The rich were always out of touch with reality. She’d worked too hard to get caught up in their lives.

Still, their conversation lingered as she made their drinks. “Ethan this, Ethan that”. To Mary Jane, he was just another spoilt rich guy.

As the afternoon wore on and the sun dipped lower, casting long shadows across the café floor, Mary Jane’s feet and back ached but she pushed through. There was always more work to be done, and she never left things unfinished.

With the lunch rush slowing, only a few regulars remained, tucked into corners with books or laptops. Mary Jane leaned against the counter, wiping her hands on her apron as she took in the quiet room. She loved this time of day, when the café was peaceful and she could hear herself think.

One day, she’d have her own café. A place that felt like home to everyone who walked through the door. And it would be hers, built with her own two hands.

But for now, she had another shift to work.