•Word Count: 1,548
-Present Day-
Couldn't have thought of a better suited character to have owned this place, I muse, only now noticing the light, yet elegant feminine touch to both the interior and the exterior of the Café.
Even the name reflects a hint of pristine femininity.
"Royaume de la Caféine" or
"Caffeine Kingdom"
Only a classy woman would go for royalty.
Still mesmerised, I miss the very last words Joe throws over her shoulder as she walks away to retrieve some fresh pastries off the display case.
I was told to prepare an Iced Caramel Macchiato. In a mason jar.
Now that is a genuine coffee enthusiast.
Halfway into pouring the milk over the vanilla syrup, there's a sharp tap to my shoulder that not only startles me but also nearly has me splashing milk everywhere.
Irritated, I turn to meet the well-mannered subject, not quite surprised at the icy stare belonging to my high-toned colleague, Bijou.
"Take this to Julien" She instructs, acting rather superiorly for our co-working statures, shoving a platter of croissants in my direction.
I have to remind myself that I'm not to stoop low, barely curbing my anger at the apparent insolence.
Refusing to give her what she wants -an unlady-like quarrel- I accept the platter wordlessly, and go to leave the kitchen.
"Finish the Iced Caramel Macchiato I've started, will you?" I tell her in a somewhat courtly tone compared to her own, hoping to have her learn some manners, before walking out of the kitchen and into the Café's main site.
I'm not sure what I was expecting but what I've just walked into, is certainly nothing anticipated.
When I saw those men strolling in like they own the place, I presumed disrespectful personas, brought about by their wealth.
Yet, I'm looking at civilised businessmen, all sitting around a single huge table -must've been two tables assembled together- discussing apparently clandestine matters.
None of them acknowledges the women standing scattered across the room, awaiting orders, not a single head turns when the girls go to refill cups or pour some water.
How long I've stood there before the realisation dawns upon me that I have no idea who Julien is, I can't tell.
Panicked, I glance at each of the girls to ask for help, but they all seem to be preoccupied.
From the corner of my eyes, I catch a red streak.
When I turn in that direction, I'm met with the same shock of red hair belonging to none other than the very prosperous owner of this place.
As per usual, Juniper's face has a warm smile forever affixed to it, I notice, as she stares at me. If she finds my loitering bothersome, she doesn't show it; instead, she points with her nose in the direction of a man with dirty blonde hair, sitting directly across from her.
Comprehension only lags for a second before it hits my mind, and I realise she's in fact pointing at Julien.
With a grateful smile, I walk over and place the luscious croissants in front of the man, who murmurs a soft "Merci" distractedly.
Then, I make the imbecile mistake of stealing a look at the faces of every man sitting around the table, faltering when my eyes fall on the occupant of the head of the table.
Had I been myself and not some woman in a daze just by looking at a man, I would've shaken my head and been on my way. But no.
I remain glued to my spot, supposedly infatuated, I'm afraid.
What I notice first, is a tousled finesse of chocolate hair combed to the back, with a single rebellious strand swearing off the crowd and deciding to dangle neatly over his forehead.
Graciously, he lifts his head and turns it right, offering his attention to someone speaking -I guess-, I'm so unfocused I hear nothing, but his occasional nodding indicates someone is speaking. I stand at his left, so he's unable to see me, but I'm granted the very fine sight of his profile, which I thoughtlessly commit to my memory.
A long, well-sloped aquiline nose is the first thing that draws attention, and the sharp jaw slightly peppered with stubble is next.
But the man, prompted by what, I'm not sure, turns his head and catches my eyes -my very unashamedly staring eyes!
I wasn't prepared for the sight that greets me. Staring at me, are a pair of the darkest brown eyes I've ever seen, enthralling just as much as they're perplexing, making it a challenge to distinguish the pupils from the irises.
To my absolute horror, the man acknowledges my blatant staring with a subtle nod of his head, a ghost of a smile begins to appear before I drop my gaze, finally shook out of my haze.
In a matter of seconds, my feet carry me all the way back to the kitchen, and I'm busy regaining my composure.
I can almost feel both my parents standing by my sides, my mother shaking her head at me in disappointment, and my father laughing at me, saying "Andrew isn't enough so you go out looking for more"
I go from admiring rare masculine beauty to mourning my gentle yet disciplinarian mother and my good-natured father, who was more of a jokester than anything.
"Mira!" I'm jolted back to reality.
"Could you please finish the Caramel Macchiato and take it to Adam?" Joe asks kindly, with a gentleness only she can muster.
I knew I was gonna come back to finish it, wasn't expecting any better from Bijou.
"Of course; which one is Adam ?" With a hand on my upper back, Joe uses her other hand to point at a man with a military haircut, as we both lean onto the doorframe.
I steal a glance at the clock mounted on the wall, reading 10:00 A.M, indicating I only have 40 minutes before my appointment with Principal Raymond, the head of a local high school here in the neighbourhood.
I've finally decided to finish my last year of high school, knowing well that my parents would've wanted nothing more.
When the drink is ready, I steadily bring it over, placing it before Adam, whose engaged in a frenzied conversation with his whole body twisted to the other side.
I turn to leave but what I come across next has me getting cold feet, and I'm compelled to freeze to the spot.
Back and forth, the men -including Juniper- are speaking fluid German, discussing matters of a Russian friend of theirs, who was admitted into a mental institution.
Against my better judgement, my intrusive ears catch more; these men are planning to break him out!
By the looks of it, no one here seems to understand what's being discussed.
No one other than me of course.
But that's not what nearly brings me to my knees and has me almost swaying with lightheadedness, it's the mention of the casualties from the house fire in Colorado a few months ago.
Denver to be precise.
And when someone mentions "the Alpha and the Omega", my head begins to pound furiously.
The statement is followed by a round of grunts and head shakes.
Someone motions for Adam's drink, and he swivels, rather eagerly, to claim the jar, knocking an elegant ornament, originally placed in the centre of the table but misplaced to allow for the maximum space for paperwork that's scattered across the table's flatness.
Reaching down before the crystal object even makes it to the edge of the table, I intercept the sure collision it would've made with the ground.
Ignoring the gasps, I calmly return it to its spot and retreat into the kitchen, missing the opportunity to respond to Adam's deferential "Pardon"
Hands working urgently to attend the meeting with the principal on time, I rinse my hands, gather my things, and aim to take my leave.
Still disoriented, I realise I have to cross the main site to get to the door, which seems to be a difficult task for my unsteady legs.
The deep breaths I take are meant to calm me down, but all in vain.
Resolute, I gather my wits and stalk purposefully towards the door, promising myself some time to analyse everything when I'm finally outside the shop, then and only then will I address the oddities I've just encountered.
Wending my way across the stretch of the shop, I intentionally turn a blind eye to everyone around me.
My duplicitous eyes, with a mind of their own, cast a glance in the handsome man's direction, only to have them widen when met with the same warm stare from earlier, only this time, there's a hint of mystification behind the gentleness, if the brow furrow marring his face is any indication.
Once outside, I immediately become aware of the shift in the air, the suffocating undercurrent of cognisance as it hits in full force.
The Alpha and the Omega were my parents.
It was their code names, given to them under the BND's superintendence.
How these men managed to come across these restricted specifics remains a mystery to me -one I'm not quite certain how I could even begin to uncover.
••••
‼️ IMPORTANT AUTHOR'S NOTE ‼️
I've changed the Heroine's name from Heather to Mira.
A friend of mine from twitter mentioned the other day how this name -Heather- was her deceased mother's and reading it throughout the book makes it difficult to focus on anything.
Now I couldn't have asked her to stop reading so I decided I might change the name for her sake.
Hope you guys understand (=
I did this because I know she, a supportive friend, would never stop reading just because of that tiny flaw.
It was only fair I changed the name so she would at least enjoy reading.
Thank you so much for your time. ♥️
-Asia