"WHAT ACTUALLY constitutes evening time?"

After roaming the house for a good while and taking note of where everything was located— including four bathrooms, two life-sized paintings of Cleopatra, and a shaggy, silky rug that looked like its sole purpose in life was for someone to slip and trip on it— I had officially been ordered to get some fresh air outside and tour the town.

"Evening, hmm? Well, I would say five thirty to seven thirty," Aunt Cheryl had mused as she wiped down the barely there and microscopic dust on that pretty black and white striped vase by the entrance. She had then paused and exaggeratedly looked at a non-existent watch on her left wrist. "But more importantly, what evening is not is right now."

She'd slapped some money into my hands even though I protested, and then told me that I shouldn't be back home before five o'clock. When I whined about getting lost in this foreign and exotic town, she'd deadpanned that even two year olds armed with just a toy compass could make their way around here.

Ouch. Talk about direct attacks and comparing my sightseeing skills to two year olds'.

And then she'd casually given me the offer of helping with her garden instead, and when I desperately said okay to that, she'd looked at me like I had two heads (Her exact words were: "That was supposed to be reverse psychology or whatever, Cora, and it always works! You're so suspicious!"). I guessed she didn't take my daffodil and periwinkle skills seriously. Her petunias would also have to wait in line for my tender loving care.

And so, that is why I stumbled outside with more than three hours to spare in this unfamiliar town. I'd put away my tourist-y travel capris and t-shirt and instead changed into the most casual thing I could find: worn grey jeans and a thin, pale-blue knit cowl-neck sweater that had holes for the thumbs. My thirteen year old self would have been pleased with that addition, so I tucked them in and set towards the main road.

It took just a few minutes until I saw the first shop, looking small and modest but the name sign was nice and big and shone colourfully, inviting. It read Delight Pops in fancy curlicue writing with round lights alternating red, blue, and green in the letters. Finding it quite auspicious that my first stop was a food shop of some sort, I jogged towards it and pulled the door open.

The windchimes on the door jangled slightly, making a sound that made me think of magical fairies creating perfect glass from pixie dust. I walked inside in awe, confirming in my head that spending money in a place like this was worth it. The ceiling was a sparkling red, with a huge upside down dome that slightly dipped in the middle of it, reminding me of a Christmas ornament hanging on a tree and stealing the spotlight. The walls had forest green wallpaper and were lined with smooth wooden panels spread far apart. The coffee bar was lit with a cozy, yellowish light and was right beside the cashier area and food display, while the rest of the shop was lit more dimly and had cute little tables in groups. At the very back were some lounging chairs, next to a teeming revolving bookcase, and there were vintage photographs placed on the wall there. As I walked in further, I was hit with the welcoming air that smelled of fresh coffee, mixing with the aroma of chocolate and cakes.

I pulled out some money and crushed the bills in my hands, a nervous excitement taking over as I looked at the menu TV overhead. Irish Coffee Macarons; Strawberry Shortcake topped with Spice Cookie Slabs; Blueberry Cream Puffs; Strawberry Buttermilk Skillet Shortcake; Chocolate Cream Cheese Bars, I read. Wow. I hadn't even heard of half of these before.

Since I'd eaten plenty at Aunt Cheryl's anyway, I decided to go with a warm drink. Sure enough, they had hot chocolate with whipped cream, and I just about danced in delight when I realized the price was lower because it was one of their original menu items, along with cake pops, when they first started this shop.

And so I waited there patiently until someone came up to take my order. And sure enough, someone did come up.

I tried not to stare as a dark haired guy around my age, wearing a crumpled red apron-uniform and a baseball cap sitting backwards on his head, zoomed up behind the cash register. Yes, he zoomed- it seemed like he was wearing roller skates or wheelies or something, because he'd swiftly rolled to stand in front of me behind the counter and there was no other way to describe his movement. His dark eyes met mine then, slightly crinkling at the corners as he shot me a grin.

"Uh, how can I help you today, Miss?"

I slightly raised my eyebrows at the 'Miss' - so formal - but didn't comment on it. My eyes strayed down to the name tag, where it read Neel, and I was about to use his name to address him but decided against it. Some cashiers found it strange, even bewilderingly asking "How'd you know my name?" while looking at me like I was a psychic. Pointing out their name tag made them go "Ohhh" as if I'd just explained in essay-form why the Earth wasn't flat.

"Can I get a medium hot chocolate—"

"Of course!"

"—with whipped cream, please?"

"Coming right up!" This Neel dude was so enthusiastic it was unsettlingly contagious. I wondered both why he was getting excited for a hot chocolate with whipped cream and how he had managed to spread that excitement to me. He tapped away at the cash register before asking if I was paying by cash or card. "Cash," I replied, pulling my money out. I paid it, and then Neel frowned as he counted. "Alright, I'm going to have to get change from inside" — he pointed at the kitchen door that he'd come zooming out of — "Sorry about that. We just get so many customers with their credit cards and debit cards that I haven't even seen dollar bills in forever!" He winked at me and I realized he was joking. Sort of.

He tucked the money into the apron's small pocket on the chest part and then grabbed a small notepad and pen from the counter. He uncapped the pen as he subconsciously leaned slightly closer, like he was about to reveal a secret, and then his eyes met mine again. "Your name please, Miss?"

Perhaps this would be the part where I give my name like a normal person and conversation happens and I could find my first new friend in this town. But for some unforeseen reason I suddenly wondered if I should just give a random name, and then my brain short-circuited, and I blurted, "Almond Baba."

Neel's eyebrows shot up so fast and so high that they almost touched his hairline. He then cleared his throat and fixed his backwards cap, setting it facing forward this time. "Almond Baba, is it?" he asked, dark eyes slightly wide as he hesitated before scribbling it carefully onto the small pad of paper.

I desperately wanted to take it back but, of course, I couldn't do that without seeming like a delusional maniac that entered coffee shops intent on identifying as a nut. Sorry, but there's a distinction needed to be cleared here: Neel would think that I was a role-playing lunatic with multiple personalities that also orders hot chocolate in the summer; in reality, I was just a normal, sane, kind, compassionate person that also happened to order hot chocolate in the summer. There's a significant differentiation.

"Yeah, Almond Baba."

"Almond like the thing in trail mixes—"

"Yes, almond like the edible kernel of the almond tree that grows in a woody shell."

"Wow, that's so specific." Neel regarded me with both confusion and fascination.

"Reading the dictionary is the secret of my success."

"Wiser words were never said, ma'am." His expression didn't change but his eyes screamed both Why me? and What have I just encountered? as if he had a sign on his forehead written in all caps and bright red font.

"My parents were inspired by the story of Ali Baba," my mouth continued. "Everyone mostly just calls me Allie, you know. Or Almond-Sweetie-Pie when they're really affectionate."

"Uh— wow! Look, I'll go get you that hot chocolate, yeah?" Neel suggested, dropping the pen onto the counter before ripping the paper off the pad.

"Yeah," I whispered in mortification after he'd already turned and jogged away quickly towards the back kitchen.

What was wrong with me? Almond Baba, really? Seriously, I thought furiously at myself, turning away from the counter and shutting my eyes closed, Not any other name, like Charlotte or Natasha or Bob, or even your own name, but the holy Almond, huh? There are more non-existent brain cells in that nut than you currently have, fool. Your brain cells stock is running in the negative numbers, you loon. And Almond-Sweetie-Pie? What is that, the name of your imaginary pet unicorn from Jupiter? Like, you think you're a bold, confident, debate-show level conversationalist now? Have you been sniffing glue—

"Er, Miss Almond Baba?" Someone cleared their throat and I turned around to see Neel behind the counter again. He set a cup of presumably my hot chocolate on the counter before pulling out my change and handing it to me.

I slipped the coins into my pocket before taking the cup of hot chocolate with—

Wait.

I stared into the cup like a cat contemplating its reflection. The dark liquid sat there, looking plain like a spreadsheet on a Monday morning, and even the steam curled up lazily like it too was disappointed. I felt a small pang of betrayal.

Where was the whipped cream?

I slowly looked up, smiling at Neel politely, and he beamed back. I cleared my throat. "Sorry, I, um, I also asked for whipped cream. I think. I mean, yes, I did."

Confusion crept onto Neel's face, eyebrows knitting together as his smile slowly fell. And then realization seemed to strike, as if I had been speaking in Swahili the entire time and he suddenly realized what I was saying. But that expression quickly disappeared and what seemed like defensiveness took over, lips pressed together in a firm line, chin slightly jutted out, like he was about to defend his stance in a debate about pineapple on pizza.

"Miss Almond Baba," he started, looking at me like the answer was obvious, "It seems to have sunk to the bottom." The duh was unsaid, and his perceived legitimacy in his false justification made me do a double take internally. How could he be so confident when he was in the wrong? Especially up against a science student?

And so I crossed my arms, raised a knowledgeable eyebrow, and stared him down. "Oh yes, because cream is oh-so heavy, and then when you whisk it, alias add more air to it, it'll sink like a gorilla in water, hmm?"

Neel blinked at me, and I realized that he might have wanted a better explanation.

"Sorry," I hurried, dropping my Regina George stance into a more casual (read: hunchbacked) Cora Turwal one. "I know that might not have made sense. It's just, you told me whipped cream must have sunk, Neel, but the thing is, whipped cream is less dense than liquid cream or coffee because it has a lot of tiny air bubbles, and according to Archimedes' principle, an object less dense than the fluid it is in will float—"

I saw Neel's eyebrows arch up like he couldn't believe what he was hearing.

"—and, um, also," I said more quickly, "the whipped cream has a higher viscosity compared to the liquid it is floating on, right, so this higher viscosity helps it maintain its shape and stops it from mixing quickly with whatever liquid there is underneath—"

His eyebrows quirked even more, like the highest note in a symphony, and my tune was more frenzied in response.

"—but you can't also forget the surface tension, because it helps maintain the whipped cream's, like, structure, um, on top of the liquid—"

"Take. A. Damɳ. Breath. Miss Almond Baba," Neel interrupted me, and I shut my mouth.

"No, I mean, seriously, take a breath," he continued. "You didn't take a single breath between that speech, Miss A.B."

Realizing he was right, I sucked in a breath, breathing normally, and then I waited for what he had to say.

To my surprise, he pointed at something behind me, near the entrance and windows, so I turned around, expecting someone with a board that said 'The laws of physics don't apply here' or something similar.

But there was nothing there that stood out specifically that related to the issue of non-existent whipped cream on my hot chocolate. Sure, there was a small ceramic cat figure on the counter by the entrance, right beside a small statue of a purple leprechaun, both of which I hadn't noticed before. And outside, through the window, I could see there was a colourful 'have a good day' poster flapping in the wind, just barely plastered on a pretty lamp post.

"I don't see anything, Neel," I said, keeping my eyes locked in front of me in case I missed some microscopic detail.

"Don't you see it?" he asked, voice strained. I started looking back at him in concern when he quickly pointed outside again and said, "Do you not see that loggerhead sea turtle jumping over the fence?"

"What? Where?" I swirled back to look out the window, before I realized that I might have been caught in a dishonest scheme.

"Turtles can't jump," I said out loud abruptly as I saw nothing outside but a little old lady dressed in pink looking at me in suspicion as I swiveled my head left and right like a deranged owl.

I slowly turned around, not even feeling the least bit of shock as I saw Neel making his getaway in the other direction, on the other side of the shop. Right then, someone, the boss, I guessed, stepped out of the kitchen at the same time. He almost ran into her but side stepped at the last second. His apron was off in a second, which the boss caught with a laugh, much to my surprise, while Neel hightailed it out of here, speeding out from behind the counter. "I've done it, Carrie! Taken one order, like you said, and I can't do it anymore. I'm expecting the bet money on my table soon," he called as he dashed towards the back door.

"You did a horrible job," Carrie responded. "Expect nothing, Dopey."

"Gambling is illegal," was all I could whisper in my shocked state.

"I'd agree but then we'd both be wrong," Not-Neel called to Carrie, and then he was out the back door, gone in a flash.

Carrie then hurried up to me, apologetic. "Hey hon, I'm so sorry about whatever might have happened. He...okay, nevermind." She rolled her eyes dramatically in fake-exasperation, and I let out a surprised laugh. "I'm sorry for that," she continued, dark skin slightly flushed in embarrassment, "whatever it was, but let's see what we have here...hot chocolate with whipped cream, is it? I'll get that for you, on the house."

"Oh no it's fine, you don't have to—"

"No way, hon! This is on the house, and that's final. What did the rascal do?" She peered into the cup resting on the counter between us and then threw her hands up. "No whipped cream. Classic. Did he give you an excuse for it as well?"

"He said it had sunk to the bottom. And I started explaining the physics behind how that couldn't have happened and he kind of just...dipped."

Carrie shook her head. "That rascal. I thoroughly apologize, dear." She pulled open a drawer underneath the counter and took out a small colourful coupon. "And this is for you. Come on over anytime, 'kay? And wait here, hon, I'll be right back with your drink."

With that, she left back towards the kitchen before I could even protest. But it seemed I'd made a friend in the town already, which was nice.

Then, a thin guy with short blonde hair walked up, in a now-familiar apron...but with a now-familiar name as well.

"Neel?" I blurted out in confusion, blinking stupidly at the guy, and he gave me an apologetic smile.

"That would be me, and definitely not the other dude." He smiled sheepishly. "I heard what happened, and I'm so sorry to say I was part of that bet as well. I promise, we're usually not like this."

I laughed. "It's okay, Neel. Nice to know that I'd been scammed, but it's okay, I'm getting a free hot chocolate for all it's worth." I shrugged lightly, and Real Neel grinned.

The windchimes jangled as another customer came in and Real Neel excused himself before attending to her.

I stood off to the side as I waited for my hot chocolate with whipped cream, wondering who on Earth that Not-Neel guy was, and whether I really looked that deceivable. Seriously, jumping turtles?

Finally, Carrie showed up with my new drink, and then my moronic self started pulling out the money to pay for it. Thankfully, the kind woman reminded me that it was free, and instead of looking at me like I had two heads, she'd only regarded me fondly. We even exchanged phone numbers, and I left feeling motivated.

I set back on the road, wondering what else this strange town would bring about. Hopefully no more Not-Neels or turtles jumping over fences.

-----

P.S. That whole whipped cream sinking thing was inspired by a video I saw of Neil DeGrasse Tyson in which he explains it since the same thing happened to him 😋

Hope you enjoyed this chapter btw ❤️

P.P.S. Comment your favourite drink to get when you're out