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I waved my scorched hand. “Let that be a lesson in what not to do. Always hold the pitcher by the handle when steaming anything.”

Despite the pain and embarrassment flushing my neck, I let out a laugh. Shanley laughed with me as she turned on the faucet and guided me towards it.

“Put your fingers under here. I got the next order.” I flinched as the water rushed against my tender skin, until the velvety stream eased the swelling and the heat no longer radiated to my wrist.

Tom Boiled Egg glowered in my periphery. I was surprised he hadn’t jumped at the chance to correct me, which in his mind was more useful than helping make drinks. He shoved a box of rolled gauze at me. “It’s better now. Quit slacking and get back to work.”

Fighting every impulse to roll my eyes, I wrapped my hand in the clingy fabric as he bellowed something about the deterioration of the community’s youth. I’d rather burn my other hand than listen to his griping, its shrillness reaching decibels the Voices hadn’t even mastered. By the time the Open sign finally flickered off he still hadn’t stopped nagging.

The closing checklist hung beneath the soft glow of a wall lamp, lit like a shrine, the laminated list of procedures about as long as my econ syllabus. A warm feeling of contentment curled up inside me at the thought of restocking chai.

It wasn’t every person’s fantasy to be saddled with the grunt work while their boss left them high and dry, but if it meant we no longer had to share the vicinity with him, then bring on the inventory.

Like clockwork, Tom Boiled Egg resigned for the evening.

“Unfortunately, I have to leave,” he announced, not even trying to suppress his victorious smile. “Shanley, River will show you how to close. Training can be overwhelming, so if she’s too slow or not explaining things, refer to the handbook. You seem to pick things up easily.”

Nice burn, Tom. My forehead scrunched at the flagrant dig. It wasn’t new, this failure to believe I possessed the capacity to teach anyone anything. He’d held on to this mantra since the day I started when I had an episode twenty minutes into my shift.

Do you have a disease? he’d asked, wrinkling his nose in disgust. He’d probably wanted to fire me on the spot, but I’m sure some sort of legal implication stopped him. It was bullshit. I tossed the metal frother I was shining in the sink, hoping its resounding clink made it very clear I had heard him.

“I’m sure she can handle it.” Shanley’s retort was the epitome of untroubled coolness, just like how I’d wanted to sound earlier.

I downplayed the excitement that upturned my lips and stole a glance at The Egg. A vein popped above his eyebrow. His shell flushed red.

“Uh—I—are you sure?” His programming must not include a reaction for this failed attempt at alpha bonding.

“For sure. River’s a rock star.” In egregious defiance, Shanley gave me a wink.

My cheeks lifted in response thanks to my knightess in shining flannel, taking a stand against this workplace monster.

With his anger smoldering from the inside out, Tom’s human characteristics melted away until he resembled nothing more than a mass of cringing bones. He was so tightly wound his fists lost their color, the tendons in his neck protruded, and his pupils flared with devoted hatred.

Not at Shanley; it was all directed at me: the subordinate forever ruining his mood.

“Okay then,” he managed to choke out. Tom Boiled Egg paused at the exit, his final grimace an omen of what to expect at my next shift.

“Piss off,” Shanley said under her breath as he slipped into the night. The second he disappeared from view, she threw off her apron and hopped onto the counter, the ripped knees of her jeans baring more skin as her legs dangled over the edge. A growl thrummed in her throat as she rolled her head, relieving the tension from taking hours of drink orders.

I flicked my eyes between my coworker’s colorfully muraled arms and the store’s entry, wanting to kick off my shoes and join her—but the last thing I needed was another reason for Tom to yell at me, and we had way too much side work to do.

“Is he that out of touch?” Shanley asked, no longer cracking the joints in her neck.

“Yep.” I grabbed a rag and idly wiped at the water marks, waiting for him to barge back in.

“How do you do it? How do you deal with him?” Her arched brows rose higher.

I shrugged. “It’s part of the job.”

“You can stop monitoring the door. He’s not coming back.” The finality of her tone had me believing her, whether it was true or not. My shoulders started to unroll when a jingle from the entrance had me standing straight up again.

Tom—or worse, one of those people that demanded service after we’d closed.

My head whipped in their direction. As I took in their ebony hair, the way it curled over their forehead, the bounce to it matching their steps, and the sparkle in their brown eyes—which seemed to burn brighter as they locked with mine—my horror dissolved completely.

Javi slowed his pace as he reached the grab-n-go display. “Don’t kill me.”

The air I’d been holding in left me in one long, relieved sigh, deflating my upper body. “I was literally just thinking, the audacity.”