Too Cold To Love, Too Dangerous To Leave

MAYA'S POV

"Maya! Maya, get up right now!"

I groaned and pulled my pillow over my head. Why was someone screaming at me? It was too early for this.

"Maya, I swear if you don't get up in the next five seconds, I'm pouring water on you!"

That voice belonged to my best friend and roommate, Jenna. We'd been friends since middle school, and she knew exactly how to get me out of bed. The problem was, I really didn't want to get out of bed.

"Go away," I mumbled into my pillow.

"It's already seven-thirty!" Jenna shouted.

My eyes flew open. Seven-thirty? No, no, no. That couldn't be right. I grabbed my phone from the nightstand and checked the time. Sure enough, it was 7:32 a.m.

"Oh no!" I jumped out of bed so fast I almost tripped over my own feet.

"Told you," Jenna said, crossing her arms. She was already dressed and ready for her classes. "You stayed up late again, didn't you?"

"I had to finish that stupid essay," I said, running around my room trying to find clean clothes. "Professor Martinez said if I turned it in late one more time, he was going to fail me."

"Well, if you don't hurry up, you're going to be late for work," Jenna reminded me. "And you know how Mr. Peterson gets when people are late."

She was right. Mr. Peterson, my boss at the coffee shop, was super strict about being on time. Last month, he fired someone for being late three times. I couldn't afford to lose this job. I needed the money to pay for my apartment and my tuition.

I grabbed a pair of jeans and a clean shirt before running to the bathroom. I turned on the shower and immediately regretted it. The water was freezing cold. I had forgotten to turn on the heater last night.

"Come on, come on," I said to myself as I jumped into the cold water. It felt like a thousand tiny needles were stabbing my skin, but I didn't have time to wait for warm water.

I washed as fast as I could, which probably took about three minutes. When I got out, I was shivering so badly my teeth were chattering.

"Here," Jenna said, handing me a towel through the bathroom door. "You're going to be okay. Just breathe."

"Thanks," I said, drying myself off quickly.

I got dressed in record time, pulled my wet hair into a messy bun, and grabbed my work apron from the hook by the door. I didn't even have time to put on makeup. Not that I wore much anyway, but still.

"What time is it now?" I asked Jenna as I rushed to the kitchen.

"Seven forty-five," she said, looking at her phone. "If you run, you might make it."

I grabbed a banana from the counter and shoved it in my bag. "I'll see you later!"

"Good luck!" Jenna called after me as I ran out the door.

I lived on the third floor, and the elevator in our building was broken. Again. So I had to run down three flights of stairs while trying not to trip and break my neck.

When I finally got outside, I saw the bus pulling up to the stop. Perfect timing! I ran as fast as I could and managed to jump on just before the doors closed.

"Thank you," I said to the bus driver, out of breath.

He just nodded and started driving.

I found a seat near the back and tried to catch my breath. My heart was racing, and I was pretty sure I was sweating even though I had just taken a shower. This was not how I wanted to start my day.

The bus ride to the coffee shop took about fifteen minutes. I spent the whole time watching the clock on my phone, hoping I wouldn't be too late. Mr. Peterson started work at eight o'clock sharp, and he expected everyone else to be there on time too.

When the bus finally stopped near the coffee shop, I jumped off and started running again. I could see the shop from where I was standing. It was only about two blocks away.

I ran as fast as I could, dodging people on the sidewalk and apologizing when I almost bumped into someone. When I finally reached the coffee shop, I looked at my phone. It was 8:07.

Seven minutes late. Not terrible, but not good either.

I took a deep breath and walked inside. The shop was already busy with the morning rush. I could see my coworkers, Sarah and Tom, running around trying to serve everyone.

"You're late, Maya," a voice said behind me.

I turned around to see Mr. Peterson standing there with his arms crossed. He was a tall man with grey hair and a serious face. He always wore the same thing: black pants, a white shirt, and a stern expression.

"I'm so sorry, Mr. Peterson," I said quickly. "I overslept and missed my alarm, but I promise it won't happen again."

"That's what you said last time," he said, his voice cold. "I don't pay you to come here whenever you feel like it."

"I know, I'm really sorry. It won't happen again, I swear."

He looked at me for a long moment, like he was trying to decide whether to believe me or not. Finally, he sighed.

"This is your last warning, Maya," he said. "One more time, and you're done. Do you understand?"

"Yes, Sir. I understand. Thank you."

"Now go put your apron on and help Sarah with table six," he said, pointing to a table near the window. "And don't mess this up. He's been waiting for five minutes already."

"Yes, Sir," I said, quickly tying my apron around my waist.

I grabbed my notepad and pen from the counter and walked over to table six. When I got closer, I stopped for a second. The guy sitting there was probably the most attractive person I had ever seen in real life.

He had dark hair that looked perfectly messy, like he had just run his hands through it. His eyes were a deep brown color, and he was wearing an expensive-looking suit. He was staring at his laptop, completely focused on whatever he was doing.

Okay, Maya, I thought to myself. Just be professional. Take his order and move on.

"Good morning, Sir," I said with my best customer service smile. "I'm sorry for the wait. What can I get for you today?"

He didn't even look up from his laptop. He just kept typing like I wasn't even there.

I waited for a few seconds, but he still didn't say anything.

"Um, excuse me, Sir?" I said, a little louder this time. "Can I take your order?"

"I heard you the first time," he said, still not looking at me. His voice was cold and annoyed. "Can't you see I'm working? I was clearly ignoring you."

I felt my face get hot. Was he serious right now?

"I'm sorry, Sir, but I need to take your order," I said, trying to keep my voice calm and polite.

He finally looked up at me, and I could see the irritation in his eyes. "Black coffee. No sugar. No milk. And make it fast."

"Okay, one black coffee coming right up," I said, writing it down even though it was a pretty simple order.

I walked back to the counter where Sarah was making a latte.

"Who's the guy at table six?" I asked her quietly.

"No idea," Sarah said, shrugging. "But he looks rich. Probably some business guy."

"He's also super rude," I muttered as I started making his coffee.

"Rich people usually are," Sarah said with a laugh. "Just smile and take their money."

I made the black coffee exactly how he ordered it. No sugar, no milk. I made sure it was fresh and hot, just the way most people liked their coffee in the morning.

When it was ready, I carefully carried it over to his table.

"Here you go, Sir," I said, placing the cup in front of him. "One black coffee, no sugar, no milk."

He looked at the coffee, then at me, then back at the coffee. He picked up the cup and took a sip.

Then he spit it out all over the table.

"What is this?" he demanded, his voice loud enough that people at other tables turned to look.

I felt my heart sink. Oh no.

"It's your black coffee, Sir," I said, confused. "Just like you ordered."

"This is disgusting," he said, pushing the cup away from him. "It's too hot and too bitter. Are you trying to burn my mouth?"

I stared at him in disbelief. He had ordered a black coffee with no sugar. Of course it was going to be bitter! That's what black coffee tastes like!

But I couldn't say that. Mr. Peterson was watching from behind the counter, and I couldn't afford to lose this job.

"I'm so sorry, Sir," I said, trying to keep my voice steady. "Let me get you a new one."

"Make sure it's drinkable this time," he said, going back to his laptop.

I grabbed the cup and walked back to the counter. Sarah was standing there with wide eyes.

"Did he just spit out his coffee?" she whispered.

"Yep," I said, feeling frustrated. "He ordered black coffee with no sugar, and now he's mad that it's bitter."

"What did he expect?" Sarah said, shaking her head. "That's literally what black coffee tastes like."

"I know," I said, starting to make him a new coffee. "But the customer is always right, I guess."

This time, I made the coffee a little less strong and let it cool down for a minute before taking it back to him. I didn't want to give him any more reasons to complain.

"Here you go, Sir," I said, placing the new cup in front of him. "I made sure it's not too hot this time."

He looked at me like I was wasting his time, then picked up the cup and took a small sip. He didn't spit it out this time, so I guess that was an improvement.

"It's acceptable," he said, not even looking at me.

I wanted to say something back. I wanted to tell him that he was being rude and unreasonable. But I just smiled and said, "I'm glad you like it. Let me know if you need anything else."

I started to walk away when I heard him say, "People like you should learn to do your job properly the first time."

I stopped walking. Did he really just say that?

I turned around slowly and looked at him. He was staring at his laptop again, like he hadn't just insulted me.

I wanted to tell him that people like him shouldn't be so rude to people who were just trying to do their job. I wanted to tell him that he was the problem, not me. But I knew I couldn't.

Instead, I just walked away and went back to the counter.

"You okay?" Sarah asked, putting her hand on my shoulder.

"Yeah, I'm fine," I said, even though I wasn't. "I just need to get through this day."

The rest of my shift went by slowly. The rude guy at table six stayed for another hour, working on his laptop and occasionally snapping his fingers when he wanted a refill. Every time I brought him more coffee, he found something to complain about.

When he finally left, I felt like I could breathe again.

"Good riddance," Sarah said as we watched him walk out the door.

"Seriously," I agreed. "I hope he never comes back."

But something told me that I wasn't that lucky.