His bare arms are pale, having lost the tan they had in the summer, and although muscular, there isn’t an ounce of fat on them and I’m certain there used to be. His hair is short at the nape of his neck but straggly, like it needs a trim, and the curls on top are light brown with a few natural highlights left from the late autumn sun. He reminds me of a cross between Patrick Swayze in Dirty Dancing and the Hollywood stars of years gone by, a lovechild of Steve McQueen and Paul Newman, with his sharp jawline and bright blue eyes that are always smiling.
He carefully writes my name on the first cup, complete with fancy scrolls underneath and a star above the ‘i’, and it makes me smile like it does every morning. Even though the shop has been gradually getting emptier in the last few months, even when I’m the only customer, he still writes my name on the cup, and I don’t know why it feels as special as it does, or why I try to imagine what he’s like outside the coffee shop as I walk to work sipping my latte. I think about what his life might be like, if he might be single, and how much I wish I had the courage to ask him like my best friend, Casey, would. She’d just march in and say ‘Are you single? Do you want to sleep with me?’ I’m not that brave. I just chat to him while he makes me a latte and think about how much I’d like to run my fingers through his curly hair.
‘Seven quid, please, lovely.’ He puts the second peppermint latte down as the coffee machine gurgles itself to completion with a puff of steam behind the counter.
Why is my hand shaking as I go to hand him the money? I fish a note and two coins out of my purse and try to brace my elbow against my stomach to hide the trembling as I put them into his hand. I might have a teeny tiny crush on the man but I’ve never trembled when talking to him before. It’s because of how much I want to grab his hand, I tell myself. I want to take his hand between both of mine and squeeze it and tell him he’s appreciated, that he’s lovely, and funny, and the world would be a much darker place without him in it.
‘Thanks, beautiful.’ At least he’s enough of a gentleman not to mention the shaking hand if he notices it. ‘Here, let me get the door for you, you’ll have your hands full.’
‘Wait, actually …’ I push one of the peppermint lattes back across the counter towards him. ‘This one’s for you.’
‘What?’
‘It’s for you.’
‘Why?’
I shrug. ‘I don’t know. I just thought you might like one.’
He looks at me like I’ve asked him if he’d like to exfoliate with someone else’s toenail clippings. ‘You do realize I work in a coffee shop, right?’
‘Yeah. And I bet no one’s ever bought you a coffee before.’
‘Well, no, but …’
‘There you go, then.’
‘Yeah, but … why?’
‘I don’t know. Because it’s December. Because it’s nearly Christmas. Who doesn’t deserve a peppermint latte to kick off the best month of the year?’
He grunts.
‘Oh, come on. You’re not a Grinch, are you? Because I distinctly remember seeing you in here last year in your tinsel reindeer antlers and your red apron with Santa’s belt on it. Tinsel reindeer antlers are very un-Grinch-like, Leo.’
I know that Leo loves Christmas usually. He always goes all out in December. He gets in purple cups with sparkly silver swirls on them, he’s always got loads of festive coffee flavours, more than the big coffee chains get, and the shop is always decorated beautifully.
‘You have a good memory.’ He looks down at the coffee and shakes his head. ‘This is really sweet of you, but I can get a coffee literally twenty-four hours a day, I don’t deserve … at least let me give you the money back.’
The vintage till rings as he goes to open it, making me think of angels getting their wings, and I slap my hand on the counter. ‘Don’t you dare. I asked you what you’d go for, end of story.’ I pick up my own cup and tap it against his. ‘Cheers. Have a good day.’
‘At least stay and drink it with me,’ he says as I go to walk away. ‘Unless you’re rushing to get to work or something?’
I make a show of checking my watch even though I’ve got bags of time. It’s not even half past eight, I’ve got twenty minutes before I need to open the staff entrance. ‘I’ve got plenty of time, I’m really early this morning.’ I go back over to the counter, trying not to think about the unfinished window displays. I’m going to have to get the volunteers doing the take-offs this morning while I finish them in opening hours.
I lean against the counter and let my bag slip off my shoulder to the floor as I look around. I had no idea It’s A Wonderful Latte was in trouble. I mean, I know Leo doesn’t have as many customers as he used to, but I still thought he was doing okay. He always seems like he’s doing okay. If it wasn’t for what he said about his business going under last night, I would never have known.
‘Thank you,’ he says quietly. He leans his elbows on the counter and lets his head drop, and for just one second, his mask slips. In that moment, the lighting shows up the grey bags under his eyes, the taut lines around them, the stubble darkening the jaw of his usually clean-shaven face. I wish I’d looked at him more closely before. I’ve been so caught up in his infectious smile that I’ve never tried to see what it hides.
He covers it quickly, too quickly, and looks up at me with the same pasted-on smile. ‘Now I know why I call you my favourite Georgia.’
‘I’m sure you say that to all your Georgias.’
His laugh makes me smile. ‘Nope, you’re definitely my favourite. Gotta say, being bought a coffee is kind of a novelty. That’s never happened before.’
‘Well, you do make wonderful lattes.’
‘Hence the name,’ he says with a tight grin.
‘And I bet that’s the first time you’ve ever heard that joke, right?’
This time his smile reaches his clear eyes, making his eyelids crinkle. ‘It’s the first time this week, I’ll give you that.’
‘I always thought it was a play on It’s a Wonderful Life?’
‘It is. It’s named for my dad, it was his favourite film of all time, and he loved a good pun. It took me ages to come up with a clever name when I bought the place.’
‘It was my mum’s favourite Christmas film. I’m named after it too.’
‘Georgia. After George Bailey?’
I nod. ‘It helps that my surname is actually Bailey. My mum thought she’d hit the jackpot when she married my father and took his name. She knew what their first child would be called before the end of the first date.’
His jaw drops in surprise but he’s smiling too. ‘Wow. You should be, like, my mascot or something. What are the chances of a Georgia Bailey and a coffee shop called It’s A Wonderful Latte living in the same town? That’s like fate or something, right?’
Fate. Like Leo finding the leaflet I put on the bridge. Like him
