It was sweltering. My jeans clung to my thighs, making the
skin feel raw and itchy. My tank top was dark with sweat and stained with oil
and flour. The sun hung high, blasting the street with its oppressive summer
heat. Taking a long final drag from my cigarette, I flicked it towards the
murder of crows beside the dumpsters. The alley was deserted as usual, except
for Nathan. He sat on the other milk crate, rolling a blunt, his hazel eyes
narrowed in concentration. His bright red hair framed his ivory face, only
controlled by the dark blue tweed fedora.
Smooth pointed eyes curled out from
under the hair, resting on either side of the hat, each sporting a jeweled ear
cuff. I stretched, letting out a deep satisfied groan. My stomach was still
revolting from my breakfast of coffee and half a banana. I always forgot how
much my insides hated coffee until I decided to have half a cup. The sun was
barely peeking into the alley where I sat, hinting that the morning was soon to
be underway.
“Nathan, we're late.
Finish that later.”
He looked up, “The dough
can wait, Patty”, glaring as he spat out my name.
His sharp eyes darkened
for a second then went back to hard orbs of tawny and taupe. He put away the
bag and placed the resulting homemade cigarette into his shirt pocket, also
stained with oil and flour. I pocketed the half-empty pack of cigarettes and
stood, stretching again. Nathan’s eyes jerked up with the movement, his gaze
following from toe to fingertip. We walked out into the full blast of the sun’s
rays, back onto the sidewalk and into The
Other Bakery. The name was a subtle
joke that only a few got. I was the only cafe in town but my clientele had
changed over the last three years away from the norm.
I could smell the
muffins baking in the kitchen, slowly filling the building with a myriad smells:
cinnamon, blueberry, chocolate, and lemon. I unlocked the front door to let the
band in. Drew and the NightHawks was a local band that had taken to playing
shows at the cafe on the weekend, sometimes driving away business with their
new-age squawking and low tenor crooning. Nathan walked to the back, to sit and
wait while the pastries cooked. He wasn’t a fan of most people and was the only
person who seemed to be able to stand sitting between four industrial ovens without
sweating. It was probably the elf blood at work.
I watched him flit about
the kitchen periodically, always returning to the stool in the center. Drew
donned an apron and moved to the window where rows of scones popped into
existence followed by a heated haze. He filled the display case as his bright
blue tail deftly wiped the counters. I was busy sweeping up the remaining dust,
startling a few sprites in the process. They chattered a few choice words
before hiding in the large grandfather clock in the back corner. I checked my
watch again, barely past six, glancing at the line of patrons waiting outside
the door. A few of the regulars were in the front of the line, distinguishable
only by their different colored scales and horns. I nodded at Josephine, our
only other female server, who scurried from the upstairs apartment that I let
her rent. Her dark brown hair was tied up in a loose bun, exposing the stitches
at her neck. She made a snide remark to Nathan, who blew a puff of steam at
her, the sound being muffled by the sharp clicking of her tongue, still wildly
rebelling against its new home in her mouth. She pulled out a threaded needle
as she plopped down at the counter, pulling her detached hand from her pocket.
I sat with my back to
the band which had started pounding out their normal mix of jazz and 80’s synth
rock. The shrill of nervous laughter bounced against the tight ping of a piano
solo. Josephine was muttering to herself. The day was approaching slowly,
melting passersby who dreamed of cooler weather. People were coming in now.
Josephine held the door open, her hand firmly attached again, and the needle
safely stowed in her ear. I convinced her to start keeping a spare one with her
at all times, especially after she lost her foot during the rush last summer. I
was less pleased with her decision to use it as an earring between mendings.
Then again, I tried not to judge. It was louder now. The chatter helped me not
to think, not to worry. I felt like a pariah in my own business.
The mood in the room was
of a calm excitement. I faded in, like a smooth brush stroke on a blue canvas.
I tried to remember life before the Bakery, before the strange influx of
impossible characters that now acted as my staff and friends. I grasped at the
memories but their slipped out of my hand like sifted flour. Nathan was almost
completely red now, absorbing more of the heat swirling around the kitchen.
Drew was sitting on a stool in front of the band, slowly crooning into the
microphone. A few women had moved their seats closer, clutching their scones,
staring up at him in awe. He made pretty good tips for a half-Siren.
I glanced at the clock,
itching to be done with the first part of the day. Nathan was almost done with
the muffins. He pulled the last of the racks out and set them to cool on the
shelf. Drew had placed a tip jar on the counter by the register and it didn’t
escape my attention when the three women from earlier had left large bills and
scraps of paper in it. Nathan disappeared into the alley again, steam trailing
behind him. Seven o’clock came and I was out the door before Josephine could
limply wave a goodbye. I’d be back in a few hours to help with the breads and
lunch menu, but sleep was calling to me and not even Drew could convince me to
stave it off.
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