Page 2 of How (Not) to Conjure a Boyfriend
As soon as I finish the blessing I start again. My thoughts weave around the regulars I imagine will be here tomorrow as I speak the words. Mr. Franz in particular.
Seems he’s staying in my mind. I hope he has family to see. A whole big bunch of them. I dip my knife in the maple butter icing and slather it on a piece of warm bread from thick stacks while images of Mr. Franz pop behind my eyes like a photo reel from the ’80s. He’s sitting by an old rock-framed fireplace with a toddler bouncing atop his knee. A young woman laughs at his side while others gather around to listen to some story he’s telling. He talks to a brother, or maybe a cousin, by the oven with his wife, or it could be a sister, who shoos them from the kitchen. The thoughts warm me and simultaneously fill me with a tinge of envy. I don’t even know if he has that and I’m jealous.
I grumble and push the feeling away before it consumes me again.Breathe slowly, Kenzie.In and out. In and out.Please, Freyja, take this out of my mind.Still, the tendril of jealousy holds tight, refusing to let me forget. I want that type of holiday, that type of life. All I have is Mom, and sometimes that’s not even true.
“I will have a wonderful Thanksgiving. I will have a wonderful Thanksgiving,” I tell myself, and then switch to what really looms over my head. “Mom is going to feel great. Mom is going to feel great.”
She’s a good mom, I promise. It’s just that sometimes she gets depressed. I know she tries, but she’s been like this since Dad died—since I can remember. I was six when it happened, I think, so he’s this mostly blurry figure in my memory. It’s weirdmissing someone you never really knew, but it’s even harder missing your mom from across the dinner table. The meds help, but it’s just us. I faintly remember there being people around when I was younger. Family gatherings and holidays with people whose names I can’t remember, people who one by one vanished from our lives.
“Kenzie!” Kaitlynn yells around the corner in German, “Notfall.”
I snap out of it. It’s how we sayget the hell up here and help mewithout sayingget the hell up here and help mein front of customers. It’s German foremergency.
“Kommen,” I yell back and cover the cakes before I exit the kitchen.
When I round the corner, the line is four deep from the counter. Kaitlynn is taking cash from the customer at the register when she looks back and asks, “Could you make drinks? I’ll take orders?”
“Sure.”
She hands me an order slip and I go for the cups. It’s a large white chocolate latte with an extra shot of espresso for…I check the slip again.TOBY.I could probably make this in the dark, so by the time Kaity passes back the next order, I hand off the drink to an average-height ginger with full facial hair and a massive coat who happens to reply when I call outToby.
I steal a look past the counter. Hmm, no sign of him. Usually Hayden comes in around now. No, I’m not obsessed with him. He’s just handsome. I turn around and get back to making drinks, and twenty minutes later we’re down to one customer and still no Hayden.
“You look sour.” Kaitlynn bumps me with her thigh.
“Shut up,” I mutter and grab a miniature pumpkin pie to-go for Sheila. I take another glance at the glass entrance. Seriously? Where is he? I mean, he doesn’t have to come, but it’s just weird, and maybe I do want to see those gray eyes. I hand over the little pie and half notice Sheila leaving because I’m too focused on who’s not here yet.
“I’m going to go finish up those breads,” I tell Kaitlynn, since there’s no reason for me to be up front anymore, and I start for the back. He always comes for his iced caramel latte with cinnamon. “Always,” I huff under my breath.
“I’ll get…” she starts as the door chime rings. “Actually…”
I wheel around and run to stand next to her by the register. There is onlyonething that could mean. I freeze at the counter ashewalks in, and suddenly the inch I lack on Kaity feels massive. Are my hands clean? Do I still have that smudge on my apron? I glance down. Yep. Still there. It’s too late to clean it off, he’s already here, gorgeous smoky eyes switching between Kaitlynn and me. They settle on me for a little longer though, I swear it.
Hayden Marcus.Theman of my dreams. He’s tall, so tall. I’m talking over six foot even without the black-and-white-checked Kobe sneakers. His smile is intoxicating. His hair is a luscious mess of short, dark brown that I’ve dreamt of running my fingers through way more than once. It looks so soft. And well, the rest…gawd, just makes me melt. Hard jawline. Small upturned nose with a faint freckled bridge between gray eyes. He’s also captain of the Mitchell High varsity basketball team. They’re my school’s rivals, but I’ll root for them no matter what.
I just have to find out if he’s into the theys. That’s my current hurdle, besides how I can barely function around him. I swear it. I’mgoingto be his one day, no matter what Kaitlynn says.
“Hey.” Hayden’s voice envelops my senses in a savory gruffness.
“Hey there,” I say back, all grins and nervous energy.
This might be ridiculous, but there is this piece of me, like this tiny little sliver of my brain, that thinks he might be into me. It’s a long shot, but why else does he talk to me first when he comes in? And despite what Kaitlynn says, it’s not because I’ll talk to literally anyone. She isn’t exactly Miss Shy. There’s just no way he likes our drinks that much.
I’m about to lose my balance when something solid kicks into my ankle, and Kaitlynn forces a cough. Oh hell. Have I been staring?
“Uh, sorry…what, uh…” I start, but movement outside catches my eye. There’s someone lurking by the entrance.
“Sorry, that’s my little brother,” Hayden says dismissively.
“He doesn’t want to come in?” Kaitlynn asks. “It’s cold.”
“Yeah, it’s cold,” I echo.
“Nah, he’s weird. Says he hates the smell of coffee.” Hayden shrugs.
Hates the smell of coffee?
“Oh.” I grunt. “Sorry. What can I…uh…can I get for you, Hayden?” I stutter, and throw in his name. Should I have said his name? Is that too much? No. It can’t be. We call customers by their names all the time. We know all the regulars. It’s okay.
