No Strings Attached (The Pink Bean Series Book 1) (2 page)

Micky had not been able to provide Olivia with a coherent answer to her question. Not even
she
knew why she wanted to work at The Pink Bean—she didn’t even know
if
she wanted to work there. It was just a leap, like Amber had said. Trying something new.

Christopher, who was a sweet boy at heart, but suffered deeply from the mood swings that come with puberty, hadn’t been very talkative and had just grumbled something Micky didn’t understand.

Micky knocked on the bathroom door. “Hurry up, Liv,” she shouted, while nerves coursed through her body.

The bathroom door flew open, and Olivia stormed out. “Is it going to be like this every morning now?”

Tonight at dinner, Micky would suggest a proper morning bathroom schedule. She shouldn’t have tried to wing it like this. “We’ll work it out, sweetie.” She resisted the urge to kiss her daughter on the top of the head—Olivia had grown out of accepting spontaneous motherly affection a while ago.

Olivia headed off to her room and banged the door shut behind her.

Happy times at the Steele-Ferros
.

✶ ✶ ✶

Micky never visited The Pink Bean before lunch, and the morning rush took her by surprise. She watched as Kristin and Josephine, the only other morning-shift employee, moved behind the counter with astounding efficiency. As a mother who had just fought with her daughter over bathroom time, Micky greatly doubted her ability to ever do what the two women were accomplishing. They had a rhythm about them, Kristin taking the orders and Josephine executing them seamlessly.

Micky felt foolish just standing around like that. The only thing she’d done so far was take cups of coffee to customers who were sitting at a table, but at this time of the day, most beverages were sold for on-the-go.

Another conclusion she drew was that by opening The Pink Bean, Kristin had built a goldmine. Australians were serious about their coffee, and they were equally willing to pay good money—albeit way too much—for a cup of it from their favorite vendor. Micky imagined all the people who had walked out of there with a scalding hot paper cup on their way to the office, enjoying Kristin’s work. And it was hard work, she could see now.

“Hi, Micky,” Sheryl, Kristin’s partner, said. “First day, huh?” She stood in the middle of the line, clearly not expecting special treatment.

Micky walked over to her, feeling exceedingly self-conscious. She pecked Sheryl quickly on the cheek. “It’s a bit daunting.”

“I bet.” Sheryl always dressed casually for work, and today was no different. She wore jeans and a loose-hanging blouse. Micky actually looked forward to getting to know her and Kristin better. They were acquaintances now who said hello and good-bye to each other and had never gotten further than making small talk. They were an impressive couple to whom, Micky had to admit, she looked up.

“Why don’t you sit down and I’ll bring over your coffee?” Micky said.

Sheryl gave a deep belly laugh. “You obviously don’t yet know the rules of The Pink Bean.” She shuffled forward in the queue. “General Park over there doesn’t do nepotism.” She eyed her partner from a distance. “Not even for me, her wife who owns half this place.” She winked at Micky. “I’ll wait my turn, otherwise I’ll get in trouble tonight.”

Micky gave a nervous giggle. She’d know all about Kristin’s rules soon enough.

She looked at the ever-growing queue and wondered what was so much better about being there than her usual routine of meandering around the aisles of the organic supermarket in Potts Point and picking out the best-looking produce for dinner—at least her children always had a huge appetite after school.

“Micky, can you fetch us some more cocoa powder from the back, please,” Kristin asked, and Micky snapped to attention, though she had no idea where the cocoa powder, or anything else for that matter, was to be found.

CHAPTER THREE

It was Micky’s third day on the job. She’d successfully made it through the morning rush, working the register, smiling at people, giving them back their correct change if they paid cash, and even having a brief chat with a few regulars she recognized.

She was wiping down a table when Amber walked in.

“Green tea?” Micky asked automatically. Amber didn’t drink coffee, only gallons of tea.

“Yes, and a side of my best friend, please. Where were you yesterday afternoon? I thought you only worked the morning shift?”

Micky shook her head while she put a tea bag into a mug. “I was too exhausted for yoga. I’m not used to this. I’ve only been here two and a half hours today, and my feet are already killing me.”

“You can use that as an excuse once, but not twice. You know I’m all for you having this job, but I don’t want you jeopardizing your practice.” Amber always referred to yoga as a
practice
.

“And suddenly I have two bosses, whereas a couple of days ago, I had none.” Micky handed Amber her tea.

“Is Kristin leaving you alone in here already?”

“This is the quiet hour. Everyone’s at work. Kristin has gone upstairs for a bit, and Josephine is on the phone with a supplier in the back.”

“How’s your new adventure going?” Amber asked in between blowing on her tea.

“It’s definitely still in the challenging phase.” They both looked at the door as it opened. A woman walked in. Micky’s pulse picked up speed slightly. She’d made plenty of practice-cups of coffee by now, but this would be her first time without supervision, unless the woman ordered tea like Amber—Micky hoped that she would.

“I’ll leave you to it,” Amber said and headed to a table by the window.

“A tall wet capp, please,” the woman said.

“Excuse me?” Did this woman know she was in a coffee shop?

“My regular. A wet cappuccino.” Her blue eyes seemed to look straight through Micky. If she was a regular, couldn’t she see that Micky was new? Or perhaps she was one of those people who never took notice of who served them.

“I’m very sorry. I’m new here, and thus far, no one has explained to me what a wet cappuccino might be.” Wasn’t all coffee wet by definition?

The woman sighed audibly.
She’ll roll her eyes at me next
. “Wet means a bigger ratio of milk to foam.” She stood there with a massive air of superiority about her.

“So a latte?” Micky asked.

The woman did roll her eyes then. “If I wanted a latte, I would have ordered a latte.” Her tone of voice was nothing like the friendly customers Micky had served throughout the morning. This woman was loud and brash and certainly didn’t have an Australian accent. She sounded American, and acted like it—like she owned the bloody world.

But Micky knew she couldn’t mock the customer. This was a business, and customer satisfaction was key. “That’ll be three dollars ninety-nine, ma’am,” she said. “Coming right up.” Micky couldn’t help giving the woman a defiant stare, in case she thought she didn’t sound utterly ridiculous.

The woman paid cash without saying another word, then walked to the side of the counter, her heels clicking loudly, to wait for her latte—Micky refused to call it a wet cappuccino, even in her head.

Why must people be so unpleasant and have their head stuck so far up their ass
, she wondered as she prepared the beverage. But this was one of the challenges that came with her brand new job: dealing with difficult customers. Micky was sure it wouldn’t be her last. And if the woman was indeed a regular, Micky would be making her many more
wet cappuccinos
to come.

“Hi, Robin.” Josephine sauntered out of the back door.

So she was called Robin. Without looking up from her phone, she mumbled something, reminding Micky of her son’s favorite way of having a conversation with his mother—unwilling to tear his gaze away from his precious iPhone and showing her that he was actually listening to what she was saying. Micky cataloged Robin as an overly pampered expat.

“Here you go.” She handed Robin her drink, their gazes crossing briefly when she did. Robin had an awfully intense stare.

“Thanks,” she said, and immediately flipped the lid off her paper cup—probably to inspect the foam to milk ratio. “Please teach your new colleague how to make my wet capp properly by tomorrow, Josephine,” she said, turned on her heel, and walked out the door.

“Jesus.” Micky looked at Josephine. “A
wet capp
? Really?”

“It’s just a latte,” Josephine said matter-of-factly.

“If only I had known that before I got my head bitten off.” Micky looked over at Amber, to gauge if she’d followed the conversation between her and the annoying customer.

“Why don’t you take your break,” Josephine said. “Rest your feet for a bit.” She was at least twenty years younger than Micky, and twenty times better at her job.

✶ ✶ ✶

“Tsk. Americans,” Micky hissed as she sat down opposite Amber.

Amber shot her a friendly smile. “Don’t sweat it. We’re all different.”

“Indeed, some of us are pompous asses.” Micky rotated her ankles and relished the feeling of relief it brought.

Amber looked at her intently. “Why are you getting so upset? She was just another person ordering another cup of coffee.”

Micky shrugged. “I don’t like the way she spoke to me. Did you hear what she said about me to Josephine before leaving? So rude.”

“Just brush it off. It comes with the job. Not everyone can be lovely and full of positive energy like me.” Amber batted her lashes ostentatiously.

Micky had to smile. “She could surely benefit from one of your classes, but she probably doesn’t have time. She probably has to make some other people feel bad about themselves around seven tonight.”

Amber looked at her silently.

“What?” Micky asked.

“Granted, she was being a jerk, but why can’t you let it go?” She narrowed her eyes, as though inspecting Micky’s face in detail.

“Because I didn’t start this job to be treated like dirt, while clearly she was—”

“She was hot,” Amber interrupted her. “Might that have something to do with your level of upset?”

Micky arched up her eyebrows. “Excuse me?”

Amber painted a smile on her face. “Not only that, but I’m guessing that she may have reminded you of someone with the way she waltzed in here and spoke to you.”

Micky couldn’t follow Amber’s train of thought at all.

“Demanding, busy, overly confident?” Amber continued. “Your ex-husband comes to mind.”

“Nuh-uh.” Micky shook her head. “Our marriage may have run its course and ended badly, but Darren is also considerate, a great father, and only half as full of himself as that woman was.”

“You like the type, that’s all I’m saying,” Amber teased.

“Come on, Amber. She’s a, er, woman.”

“I do have eyes in my head. I noticed her female features.”

“You keep pushing me on that, just because of one thing I said once, after too many bottles of wine.” Micky knew she was making a poor attempt at embellishing things. On top of that, Amber knew her too well to let her get away with such a statement.

“This is your workplace now, so not the place to discuss this further, but we do need to have a serious conversation about this, sooner rather than later.”

“Dear Amber, you’re my best friend, and an excellent yoga teacher, but that doesn’t make you my life coach.”

“When are the kids going to their dad’s?” Amber asked, undeterred.

“Day after tomorrow.” Micky simultaneously dreaded and looked forward to that day of the week. She could do with a few days of peace and quiet after starting this job, but she also—always—missed them terribly. Having to shuttle her kids around between her home and her ex’s was something she would always feel guilty about. None of this was their fault, yet they had to suffer because of it.

“So, Friday evening, you’re coming to yoga, then to dinner at mine. We’re going to have an intimate chat. It’s time.”

“Are you propositioning me, Amber? I didn’t know you felt that way about me.” Now Micky batted her lashes in an exaggerated fashion.

“Don’t be silly. You’re like my sister, which is why I’m the right person to confide in.”

“All because of that woman and her ridiculous coffee order?” Micky used playing dumb as a defense mechanism.

“You know why,” Amber said. “I have to go now.”

“Back to work I go as well.” They both stood, and Amber gave Micky an extra long hug before she left.

CHAPTER FOUR

All throughout Friday evening’s yoga class—the first Micky had attended all week—Micky felt ill at ease and unable to center herself. Amber had been on her case more than usual lately, what with first pushing her to get a job, then inviting her over for an
intimate
chat. Micky had no trouble talking about herself, but there were certain topics she was loath to address.

Now they were walking toward Amber’s flat, past a French restaurant, then an Indian. Micky’s stomach was growling because she was used to having dinner much earlier with her kids, and if they were at their dad’s, she usually had dinner at the same time as well. She sure hoped Amber had already prepared the kale and quinoa salad Micky was almost certain she was going to serve, probably with a green juice on the side, instead of a much-needed glass of wine.

The Pink Bean was located about halfway between the yoga studio where Amber taught and her flat, and whereas before the place had solely inspired extreme comfort in Micky, when she walked past it now, a slew of other emotions rose to the surface. The past week, after her first day of observing and learning, she had arrived at the coffee shop at six thirty sharp every morning—preempting the need for a shower schedule at home, because she ended up leaving the house well before her children did—and worked until Alyssa came in to cover the midday shift.

After her first full week of having a job, Micky wasn’t sure yet she was cut out for it. The days suddenly seemed so much shorter, and this week, when she took an afternoon nap, she actually needed it to be able to stay up until past her kids’ bedtime—and make sure they turned off the light on time.

Once they’d reached Amber’s apartment and Amber, as always, offered her a large glass of water without asking, Micky said, “Please tell me you have cold wine.” Micky had brought a bottle, but after sitting in her bag throughout yoga, it wouldn’t be chilled enough anymore to drink.