you stretch your arms as you lean against the counter. your shift was almost over, and your tiredness was getting to you quickly. you would've made some coffee to help. after all, you were a barista! but you didn't want to deal with staying up until midnight like last time.
you groan as the cafe's door rings open. it seems your rest must wait a little longer.
"bonjour. welcome to-"
"ah! tu parles francais?"
you stare at the man behind the counter dumbfounded. while the cafe was in the french-canadian section of ontario, you never actually learned how to speak french other than bonjour and baguette. plus, you had a coworker who spoke french so you never had to worry about encountering a customer with a language barrier.
your look of fear caused the customer to chuckle, "no worries. i speak english too!" he smiles reassuringly. you sigh in relief, your shoulders relaxing.
"sorry! i'm like... the only worker here that doesn't speak french!"
"aw really? are you not from here?"
"yeah actually, born and raised! i just... it was just too hard for me to learn!"
you both laugh. you eventually remember why you're both here and take his order.
"alright... and can i have your name?"
"robaire. do you want my number as well?" he leans against the counter.
you roll your eyes; he clutches his heart and groans in pain dramatically. you laugh at his terrible acting skills. as you give him his drink, he gives you a piece of paper in return.
"Robaire 555-XXXX
Tu es mignonne ♡"
you look up at him, but he's already gone. he definitely wrote in french on purpose. you sigh and fold the paper up, sticking it in your pocket as you clock out.
maybe working late isn't so bad after all.