Page 17 of Cream & Sugar

Freddie nods, his teeth chattering. He’s wearing the same leather jacket as yesterday and it’s far too light for this kind of weather. Its black surface is slick like tar.

“Well, get that jacket off for a start, it’s drenched!”

He wastes no time peeling off the sodden jacket. I gasp when I see that, underneath, he’s only wearing one more layer—a thin knitted shirt. “No wonder you’re cold! The heating’s on but sit down and I’ll make you something hot to drink.”

Freddie objects, but I ignore him and set to work making him a latte.

“I’m f-fine, honestly.” Freddie takes a couple of napkins from the counter and uses them to sponge his hair dry.

“You should wear different clothes!” I say, pouring milk into a jug.

“Why? Does this not look good?” Freddie looks alarmed and assesses his outfit. The top he’s wearing looks fantastic on him. It shows off his arms. They’re good arms. Long and lean.

I catch myself looking and turn my attention back to the coffee machine.

“No no, you look great! I mean, it looks great, ‘it’ being your clothes…” I trail off when I see Freddie’s grinning at me.

“Only kidding, boss,” he says.

I feel my cheeks redden. Why amIthe stammering wreck here? He’s the one who nearly gave himself hypothermia.

“I meant you should wearwarmerclothes,” I explain as I pour his coffee, doing my signature latte art on top: a dragon. It looks awesome, if I do say so myself. Took memonthsof serving customers wobbly lizards in my student barista days before I got them right.

With a final flourish on the dragon’s fire breath, I hand Freddie the latte, proudly.

“Oh,” he says, cocking his head. “What is it?”

My chest deflates a little. “A dragon. You’re holding it upside down.”

Freddie rotates the cup and raises an eyebrow. “Oh yeah, totally. I see it now. I mean what kind of drink is this?”

Yikes, he doesn’t even know the basics. I try not to let the disappointment show; I knew he was a novice when I decided to hire him.

“It’s a latte,” I explain, patiently. “Espresso and steamed milk.”

Freddie sniffs the latte. “Expresso…” a fuse blows in my brain as he mispronounces the word, “that’s like a coffee, right?”

Oh dear.

“Yup,” I say through a tight smile. “Sure is.”

“Cool.”

Freddie wraps his hands around the mug, absorbing its warmth, but doesn’t take a sip.

“Sorry, do you take sugar?” I offer him a caddy of brown sugar cubes, but he shakes his head.

“Just waiting for it to cool down a bit.”

“It should be at drinking temperature,” I reassure him.

Freddie smiles. “Okay. Thanks, Shaun.”

He brings the mug to his lips, takes a deep breath and drinks deeply, so deeply that he downs the whole thing in one. His Adam's Apple bobs up and down as he gulps. Once, twice…

“Wow,” I say as he places the cup down. “Good?”

“Mmm,” he wipes his mouth and shivers. “Delicious. Thanks!” He covers his mouth and coughs.