Logan Romano took the NHL like a hurricane- dark and brooding.
With his natural talent, brute force and sheer determination, he goes completely unchallenged both on and off the ice.
He's notorious. Both for his success and his stormy personality...
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The bell rings as yet another group of overly-loud, and overly-obnoxious, college boys walk in.
My eyes squint as the men swoop in and steal the corner booth right from under a poor old man's nose. They snicker away like being selfish is the funniest thing in the world.
The frown set on my face only deepens as two teenage girls walk past their table and get whistled and called at.
Oh God. Those poor girls.
I scribble down on my little notepad to give them both cupcakes on the house. It's the least I can do.
"Good afternoon, November!" Mrs Heller's voice shocks me as she smiles and approaches the counter.
No matter how many times I tell her, and how adamant I am that she doesn't has to full-name me, Mrs Heller simply refuses.
She's very proper like that.
"Hi, Jane. How are you?"
Jane Heller has been a regular at the cafe since the year 2000.
I'm 99% sure that she's the main benefactor for this place. Her money is probably one of the only things that keeps this hole in the wall running.
I also think that she visits to make sure my boss is putting her money to good use.
Spoiler alert: he isn't.
"I'm fine, thank you, darling." She reaches into her pocket and pulls out a five dollar bill. "You know how it is when you're an old woman, sweetie. Hips popping and knees giving out left, right and centre."
I nod sympathetically. "Of course. As long as you're taking care of yourself, Jane."
Mrs Heller smiles at me and pulls a five dollar bill out of her pocket.
"Just a little something to keep you pretty." She attempts to iron out the curled up corners of the note and then not-so-subtly slides it across the counter to me.
I fold my arms across my chest and shake my head adamantly.
I'll do a lot of things for money but I will not charge a sweet old lady more than the service I provide.
She could tip me one or one hundred dollars and I would still refuse. It's a matter of principle.
"You know one of these days I'm going to stuff this darned bill into your mouth!" She scolds and shoves the money into the tip jar with a huff.
"I don't doubt that." I chuckle. "What can I get for you today, Jane?"
She looks at the chalkboard behind me as though she hasn't ordered the exact same thing for the last twenty-or-so years.
Old ladies are so cute.
"I'll have a large earl grey tea, please, angel. Maybe a small sliver of cake or two to go with it? It is Friday after all."
