Romance In A Column

chapter eleven,

    Before Eryn steps forward, an earphone is plugged out of her ear, causing her to glance with furrowed brows to her side.

    "Hi," Wren says, standing to her side with a sheepish smile. The wire of her earphone's falls from his fingers once they advance to the counter.

    "Hey," Eryn greets, shifting her eyesight from Wren who is clothed, as per usual, in a navy suit—a sight she's quite the fan of. "Can I have, uh, three mocha lattes, two iced coffee, two matchas, a flat-white and an espresso, please?"

    The red-cheeked cashier notes Eryn's order down onto a pad, murmuring along the words spoken. "Got it, you want it to go?"

    Eryn nods, pausing briefly before leaning a bit closer to the register. "Can one of the mochas have whipped cream, please?"

    "Sure thing," the girl says, her forearm coming to swipe across her brows to remove droplets of sweat. Though the day isn't by any means a warm one, being one of four servers at a local shop functioning at its maximum capacity is probably, if not more, strenuous of a job that it might seem. "Your total is twenty five dollars and fifty cents."

    Eryn peers into her purse in the lookout for her wallet which holds the five dollar bills of each Let's Be Honest workers slid into her palm after indicating whatever they wanted from the menu.

    "It's on me," Wren speaks up, passing along a credit card towards the flustered cashier.

    "When I say thank you, I'm talking for the eight people whose coffee you just paid," Eryn says, giving him a toothy grin while she lets her purse fall into her lighter grip.

    "Is one of them yours?" Wren asks, putting away his credit card after thanking the employee. He looks back at her above his shoulder as they maneuver towards a vine covered wall to wait for their order to be called.

    "Yeah," Eryn admits, scratching her scalp with a little laugh.

    "Then I don't mind," Wren smoothly replies, dropping his hands into the depths of his pockets.

    "Mine's the mocha with whipped creamed," Eryn enlightens, "and now that I think about it, I should've asked for her to, like, add cinnamon to the top. That's how Sabine, my sister, made it when we were younger."

    "Yeah, Sabine the basketball fan, right?" Wren asks, leaning his shoulder onto the wall as his body faces her own.

    "That's the one," Eryn begins, "she was also the one that did most of the cooking and baking around the house and she was very particular about her hot chocolate on holidays and stuff. But never mocha though, she's wired enough as it is."

    "She's the one I owe a thank you to then," Wren says, cocking his head to the side. "For making you Buddy Valastro level good."

    A baritone voice repeats Eryn's order which, after pushing off from the wall, they go to retrieve. "On the subject of baking, I might or might not bring along a couple of sweets next week."

    Picking up a cardboard cup holder, Eryn tries to maneuver it onto her forearm so she's able to heave the second one. However, Wren, after brief eye contact, grabs it himself. "Not that I'm complaining but what's the occasion?"

    "My sister is coming into town for, uh, my birthday and all."

    After moving out to New York, either because Eryn was unable to scrape enough money or her sisters enough days off work, holidays alike important dates ceased to be spent in family. The eldest of the Sallow girls often made the effort, which Eryn is thankful for, but sometimes Melina's schedule isn't as permissive as she'd like it to be.