Chapter 2: Threads

I still remember how we first met two months ago, at least, I think that's when it was. The memory is sharp around the edges, like the smell of fresh espresso that still clings to my clothes after every shift.

"There he is. He's really good-looking, isn't he?" I heard Ella say quietly. Her voice was almost lost in the soft talking and the sound of the milk machine in the cafe. 

A tall man came in with a blonde woman. Her shoes made loud clicks on the old wooden floor. I rolled my eyes, then looked at them. I'd seen this happen so many times before that I knew what to expect. 

"Only, it looks like he has a new girl with him again," Sierra added, leaning against the counter where pastries were displayed under a glass case. 

He was a regular, alright, one who showed up almost every time with a different woman on his arm, each one dressed in something sleek and expensive that made our simple server uniforms feel even plainer.

"Go approach them, Ella, and take their order," Sierra said to our new hire, who was fidgeting with the pen in her hand.

"I don't want to. I'm nervous," Ella replied, her voice soft. She was gentle, shy, and hopelessly romantic, always crushing on the cafe's well-dressed, wealthy regulars and dreaming of a rich boyfriend who'd sweep her away from late-night shifts and spilled drinks.

"What are you saying? This is your chance, come on!" Sierra, our cashier, pressed, tapping her fingers against the register.

"Besides, he's with his girlfriend. She might not notice me," Ella hesitated, her eyes fixed on the couple as they sat at a corner table near the window.

I glanced over to see the blonde woman gesturing impatiently for service, but no one had gone over yet.

"So, are you going, or should I?" I asked Ella.

"Okay, you go ahead, Elyssa. I'm too shy," she mumbled, her cheeks flushing.

I nodded and made my way to their table.

"What would you like to order, ma'am?" I asked, forcing a smile.

"What took you so long? I've been calling for someone for so long," she said sharply. Her eyes got small with anger as she waved her well-kept hand. Then I smelled her strong perfume that made me wince, it was sweet and too strong.

"I'm sorry," I said quietly.

"Does your boss know you're gossiping instead of working? You lowly employees, you should be fired," she added. 

Rage flared in my chest, hot and sharp. A classic Karen, entitled and cruel. I'd dealt with plenty like her before, but I always bit my tongue, remembering the stack of bills on my desk at home.

"I'm really sorry. Can I take your order now?"

"I want an iced latte and vanilla bean cake," she said sharply, her eyes never leaving my face.

"And you, sir?" I turned to the man, only to find him staring at me from head to toe, his gaze slow and deliberate. A mischievous smile tugged at his lips as his eyes lingered on my chest, rude and unapologetic, before meeting mine with a teasing glint that made my skin crawl.

I drew a slow, patient breath to tamp down the flush of irritation at his obvious disrespect. It wasn't the first time a customer had ogled me at the cafe. At seventeen, my body already made boys turn their heads. I guess I'd inherited this from my Mom, though I'd never asked for it. Curves that felt too big for my age, a waist that cinched too small and long legs that looked longer in our black server skirts. People noticed, whether I wanted them to. I knew how guys like him acted like their eyes had a right to roam. The brute even had the nerve to check me out while he was with his girlfriend. The nerve of it made my jaw tight.

"Can I take your order, sir?" I repeated, my voice tight with irritation.

"The usual," he said, his voice low.

"I'm sorry, Sir. What's your usual? With so many regulars, I can't keep track of everyone's order," I politely explained. 

How was I supposed to know? I'd served dozens of people that week alone.

"You took my order just the other day and asked the same thing. Is an iced Americano that hard to remember?" he snapped, his jaw tightening.

My fists clenched at my sides, my nails digging into my palms. Some customers really were unbearable, acting like the world revolved around their coffee order.

"See how incompetent some staff is? They should be fired, you know," the woman chimed in, stoking my anger further until it felt like I was about to boil over.

Damn it. If I didn't need this job, if I didn't need the money to help with rent and my school, I would have let them have it right then and there. 

I wrote down their order with hands that were shaking then I practically fled back to the counter and blurted out what they'd asked for to Sierra. 

"Did they give you a hard time?" Sierra asked, her eyes softening as she noticed the tightness in my shoulders.

"They have such terrible attitudes," I complained, my voice cracking slightly. "Like they walk in and suddenly the whole place is theirs to command." I complained.

I noticed Ella looking over at me, and she seemed just as curious about what had happened. It was like she'd never imagined the guy she had a crush on could have such a terrible attitude. Just because someone's handsome and rich doesn't mean they're ideal, that's what I wished I could have told her right then.

"Want me to have Nate serve them instead?" She reached out and squeezed my arm, a small gesture of comfort that I appreciated. 

"Yes, please, if you can," I begged. "I almost lost it with them. One more sharp word and I would have said something I'd regret."

Nathan moved quickly. His hands steady as he pulled the iced latte and sliced the vanilla bean cake. He carried the tray out with a smile, and for a moment, I let myself breathe. But only a few minutes later, I heard his footsteps in the kitchen doorway, and my heart sank. He stood there holding the tray, his brow furrowed, talking quietly to Sierra.

"What happened? Why are you bringing this back?" I asked.

"They want you to serve it," he said, scratching the back of his neck like he couldn't believe it either.

But I knew I had to avoid more trouble, my job was on the line, even if it didn't feel like much. I took the tray from him, my fingers wrapping around the edge so tightly and walked back to their table.

"Here's your order, ma'am, sir," I said, forcing every ounce of politeness into my voice as I set the plates down gently, like they might shatter if I moved too fast.

"You know, I hate the service here. So unprofessional," the woman snapped at the man, not even looking at me. Her voice was loud enough for other customers to glance over. "Isn't the cafe owner friends with your dad? Why don't you complain so they get disciplined?" 

Something inside me snapped. All the frustration, all the humiliation, all the times I'd bitten my tongue, it overflowed. "With all due respect, may I ask what behavior we displayed that made you say we're unprofessional?" My voice was steady, but underneath, my anger was boiling over like water in a pot left on the stove too long.

"What you did earlier! You clearly didn't want to serve us, so you made your coworker do it," she shot back, her eyes narrowing into slits. "For all we know, you put something in our food. Who knows what people like you are capable of?"

She wasn't wrong. I had asked Nathan to take over to keep from snapping at her. But the accusation "people like you" made my blood boil so hot I thought I might burn up from the inside.

"I was helping in the kitchen, so my coworker stepped in," I lied. "And we don't put things in food when we're angry. That's not who we are. If you're suspicious, I can have new ones made right away."

"No, that's fine. Leave now," the man said, waving his hand like I was a fly he wanted to swat away. I turned to leave, my shoulders hanging down, ready to get back to the kitchen.

Then I felt a sharp hit on my ankle. She had on purpose stuck her foot out. I fell, and my body hit the cold, hard tile floor. The tray fell with a loud noise next to me. For a second, everything was quiet. Then they both laughed. Their laughter was loud, mean, and echoed through the cafe. Everyone in the room was looking at me. The anger I'd been keeping in finally came out, raw and strong.

"You! Why did you do that?" I screamed, pushing myself up from the floor. 

"I don't know what you're talking about. And don't you dare yell at me!" she shouted back, her face twisted with fury. "You're just a low-class staff member in this cafe! You have no right to speak to me like that!"

"You bitch!" The words came out as a growl. I'd had enough, enough of being looked down on, enough of being mocked and being treated like garbage.

I took a step toward her, my hands curled into fists, but the man stepped in and immediately pushed me hard in the chest. I stumbled back, my back hitting another table with a loud thud that sent glasses rattling. Pain shot up my spine, but it was nothing compared to the rage in my chest.

"What the hell? Are you trying to attack her?" he shouted, his face red with anger.

"Babe, help me. She's going to hurt me!" she cried, pretending to cower behind him, her eyes wide with fake fear.

"You bastard!" I screamed, my voice breaking. Before I could think, I reached for the iced coffee on their table and splashed it all over him. Cold, dark liquid soaked through his white shirt, dripping down his chest and onto the floor.

"You bitch!" he roared, lunging at me with his fist raised. But Nathan was there in an instant, throwing himself between us and catching his arm.

"I'm so sorry, sir. Please, let's just calm down," Nathan begged, holding the man back as he struggled to break free.

But they didn't back down. The woman shouted louder, her voice shrill and angry, and they ganged up on me, spitting out insults, threatening to have me fired. 

"I'll get you fired for this!" the man yelled, his eyes wild with fury. 

And he did. That same day, the owner called me into his office and told me I was gone. I walked out of the cafe with my bag in my hand, tears streaming down my face, and had to start looking for a new job the next morning. I told my mom that night. She held me as I cried and she was furious about what happened.

Never in a million years did I think that same jerk would be sitting across from me now, in this fancy restaurant with white tablecloths and candlelight, dining with our parents. Never in a million years did I think I'd have to look at his face again, let alone hear that he's the son of the man my mom is going to marry.

I glare at him as he eats quietly next to his dad, his fork moving slowly through his steak like nothing ever happened. Like he didn't ruin my day, cost me my job, make me feel like I was worth nothing. 

He's going to be my stepbrother. Will I really be able to live with someone whose behavior is still this disgusting? Will I ever be able to look at him without feeling that same hot rage rise up inside me?