• Chapter Two •

Ariel

The night is colder than most. I wrap my coat tighter around me as I walk toward the coffee shop. My dear brothers took my car to go to hockey practice, leaving me to walk to work this evening since we all have to share a vehicle. We share it because Matti wrecked their first car when he was seventeen, and it has just been easier for us to only have two cars for now. Sounds crazy, but considering we also don't have the parking space, it just works better. They're all older than me. Brody, Zach, Matti, and I have always been close.
Despite them being triplets, they're polar opposites of each other. Brody is interested in mechanical engineering, Zach is focused on his hockey career, and Matti is studying to be a history professor. Matti has a knack for reading, just like I do, and also dabbles a little in writing. Zach is the goofball of the family. If at any time we're laughing our guts out, Zach is usually the cause of it. Along with his goofy personality, he is also very serious when it comes to his hockey career and taking care of the family. Brody, who takes pride in the fact that he was born first, takes on a leadership role within the house. He's always there for us when needed, and he knows just what to do when things go wrong. He's the most similar to our dad, and we love him dearly for it.

As for looks, the four of us are fairly similar. I have long, black hair and auburn brown eyes to match my dad, and the boys all have black hair like mine, but blue-green eyes to match our mother's. The boys inherited our father's height, each reaching as tall as 6'0", while I stand at 5'6"—just like our mother.

I don't usually come to work on Wednesday nights, only a little in the morning, but Steve asked me to take the second shift so he could go to the hospital with his wife. She's currently eight months pregnant with their fifth child. How one can have five kids, I will never know. The little bit of snow on the ground crunches beneath my feet, collecting on the sides of my black ankle boots.

Today I had on my normal work attire, leggings with an oversized sweater and a pair of boots. Steve is pretty lenient with work attire. As long as we at least have our name tag visible on the side of our shirts, we can pretty much wear whatever we want. Some days I wear the black sweater he had specifically made for me. I know, I know. I'm special. Other days I just wear one of my regular sweaters with my name tag.

I see the bright Stevie's Coffee sign before I even see the building itself. I quicken my pace to get there faster. Nobody is there, and the lights are on, but thankfully the door is locked. I take out my keys and unlock the door, stepping into the warmth. Steve told me I only had to stay until at least twelve, eleven-thirty if nobody continued to show up.

Five minutes later, I'm finishing wiping the counter and all the other tables with fresh coffee brewing behind me. The door opens, and in steps a boy who looks between eighteen and twenty years old. His shoulders are slumped as he walks, his hands shoved deep in his pockets and his mouth curled down in a frown like he hates the world—or as if he believes the world hates him. A black hoodie is draped over
his head, with hair slightly sticking out at the top, and since he is staring at the floor I can't quite see his face.

My heart starts to race as I think about how sketchy this stranger looks right now. Not to judge, but dude, you look like you're about to rob someone.

He goes to a seat in the back, not even glancing over at me. Maybe I should check to see if he wants anything. I watch him for a few more minutes, contemplating if I should approach him or not, but end up starting towards him anyways.

He's huddled over his phone, tapping away but not appearing to talk to anyone. I get closer and slightly peek over his shoulder. Flappy Bird. Nice. For some reason the fact that he's simply playing a game on his phone makes me feel more relaxed. Although it doesn't say much about him, I can sense that he's just a normal guy. My shoulders relax, and I'm able to step forward with a little bit of confidence now that he seems a little less intimidating.

"Hello. Would you like to order anything?" I grab my pen and paper from my apron, something Steve got me because Lord knows I can't remember things, and smile down at him. His fingers stop tapping, and then he turns to face me. His brown eyes seem to pierce right through me, and my smile dies down a notch. The feeling of intimidation washes over me again. He notices and frowns, turning back to his phone.

"No."

Well alrighty then. I nervously fiddle with the sleeves of my sweater and take a step back, nodding softly, but then realize he probably didn't see it. I gather up all the courage I have left and speak,

"Okay, well if you need anything I'll be at the counter." I wait a few seconds for a response, even a slight nod or look in my direction, but nothing. Nothing at all. It's like he doesn't even know I'm still here. I shake my head and turn away, walking back to the front. I take a look around. The shop is empty except for Hoodie Boy over in the corner.

Smiling, I grab my book and plop down onto the stool by the register. I have been waiting all day to read this again. My smile turns into a grin as I slowly run my fingers across the pages, listening to the soft ruffle as they flip across my fingers. The smell of the book's old pages wafts up to my nose, making me close my eyes as I breathe it in.

Call me crazy—heck, call me whatever you want. But the smell of an old book's pages is nothing I've ever experienced before. It's something special. To think that so many words were written, all printed onto these pages and left behind as someone's life work, or maybe even a small hobby—either way, it's amazing. The same euphoria comes to me through new books as well.

"You going to get me something or are you going to sit there and sniff your book all night?" His voice is unexpected, causing me to jump in my seat and drop my book onto the counter. I blush, closing my book and placing it back on the shelf under the register. Hoodie Boy, whose name I still haven't asked for yet, is staring at me with eyebrows raised and a small amused smile on his lips, his hands resting on the counter and a couple dollar bills between his fingers.

"Oh, uh yeah, um right. What can I get you?" I stutter awkwardly and slide off the stool, my cheeks still slightly pink from getting caught. Although I'm not ashamed, it's still kind of embarrassing.

He points toward the coffee machine and says, "One coffee. Black." Nodding, I type in his order and tell him the amount. He mutters a low "Thanks," and tosses his money onto the counter before walking back over to his seat. I eye up the dollar bills and sigh, putting them into the register even though I feel like chucking them right back at him. Would it kill him to be a little nicer? I brew his coffee and pour it into one of the standard mugs, considering he didn't seem to want to elaborate on what size cup he wanted, or if he even wanted it for here or to go. He didn't even tell me his name so I could call him back up here!
He's hunched over the table again, looking lost in the world on his phone screen. His broad shoulders look intrusive compared to the small back side of the chair he's seated on.

Grumbling under my breath, I walk over to his table and place the cup down. Not even bothering to plaster the fake smile onto my face. To my surprise, he actually looks up at the cup when I set it down. He reaches forward and pulls it towards him, bringing the cup up to his lips to take a sip of the steamy liquid. I didn't realize I was staring until he stopped mid-way and turned his gaze up to me.
"You can go now." Despite his rude reply, I still saw the corner of his mouth twitch up into a short but small smile, as if he thought I was amusing.

I awkwardly pat my hands on my thighs and clear my throat. "Oh, right." I rush back over to the counter and busy myself with cleaning up, keeping my back turned toward Hoodie Boy until I hear his seat squeak from sliding across
the floor and the doorbell jingle when he leaves. I run my hand down my face, sighing in relief that he's gone.

I grab a dish towel and head over to his table, grumbling and mentally slapping myself for acting so stupid. His coffee cup was completely empty, not even a drop left behind. And under the cup saucer was a crumpled up ten dollar bill. Lifting the bill between my fingers, I can't help but feel intrigued by this interesting character. Shrugging off the odd encounter, I continue about my night. Another day, another dollar.

~•~

• Author's Note. •

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Written 10/7/2016