The Prince's Temporary Wife

Latte Please?

The door chime sings. The only noise heard in the entire room that was not the sound of typing and flipping of magazine pages. The only sound that startled me.

I turned to see an elderly man carrying a heavy laptop bag. I rushed over, stepping down from the counter to help him. I gently took it from him, the item almost slipping from my grasp.

"There, there," I said, "I'll help you out."

He mutters a 'thank you' and offers me a wide smile plastered on his face. I nodded in return.

I lead him to the senior's area at the far end of the room. Where the air condition wasn't that cold, wasn't that warm. I settled his bag at the seat across him.

Seeing he was comfortably seated, I took out the menu and I fished my pocket for the order slips.

"Latte please?" He says without looking at the menu.

I nodded again and got behind the counter to get his order.

After five, I brought over his order to his table. I saw him fumbling with the bag's zipper. I cleared my throat and offered a hand, almost tipping over the cup of latte as I settled the tray down.

"Let me help," I beckoned. He smiles, handing the bag over to me.

I opened it with ease.

That's weird.

Guess old people have unstable hands, I thought.

Discarding the thought, I handed it back to him, carefully laying the laptop out and down on the coffee table.

After another 'thank you' from him, I turned to rush back at the waiting customer.

****

It was seven in the evening when a very attractive girl entered the shop. Her hair the color of strawberry and her eyes the deepest of blues. She wears the latest fashion.

But I wouldn't know that. I don't check magazines recently.

Doing things that had a sign of life was meaningless.

She looks at me and flashes a smile. I still nodded.

Sick, isn't it?

Instead of approaching me, she proceeds to the senior's area. Curious, I look.

She sits in front of the old man who had his third cup of latte.

Oh...she's that type of girl.

Uninterested, I stopped eavesdropping and worked the counter again. The coffee was hot in my hands, as I balanced one tray after another.

The shop was deserted except for the the old man and the bimbo. I nervously approached their table, thinking it was kind of disgusting to have an old man as your boyfriend.

I placed their order of two strawberry tarts, a latte for the old man and cappucino for the girl on their table. Putting it, I can't help catch a bit of their conversation.

"Mr. Ashfield, is he coming?" asked the girl, her red long nails wraps the cup, putting it between her lips. The old man just smiled to me, taking the cup from my shaking hands, he replied, "It's past two hours, I doubt he'll be coming."

"But I can't wait to meet him after he ditched me yesterday. It was kind of cool for him to just shake me off."

The old man, Mr. Ashfield doesn't say anything after that. He, instead, bites a large piece of the tart, turning to me.

"Did you make this?" He questioned. I nodded, excusing myself. I didn't want to be part of any of their conversation, the more make friends with some pedophile.

But before I got too far away, he laughs, "It's delicious, I want a box of it to take home."

****

The bimbo leaves first than the old man, which creeps me out. It was just him and me.

Suddenly, my phone rings.

I picked it up with my free hand, while the other grinds another cup of beans. My brother was on the other rnd.

"Hey, sis," he greets, his voice sounding mechanical, "The electricity bill is due. They just called a minute ago."

My eardrums broke at the sound. I accidentally hit the loudspeaker button.

Oops...

I turned it off, fumbling with both of my hands before he exposes any about our dire situation. I distinctly turned my head to the old man's direction, my hair standing.

Mr. Ashfield was concentrated on his laptop. A relief, I must say.

I diverted my attention to my brother.

"Yeah, Keith? Tell them to hold on for a week longer, I'll have my pay check by then."

I felt him nodding in the other end and dropped the call before the data charges increase.

After finishing the latte, I delivered it to the only person who's keeping me late than usual.

How could someone drink so much latte? Doesn't he vomit?

"Thanks," he politely accepted, his eyes glinting with amusement. I can't help feel evil in them.

"If its, okay, we're past closing time, you would have to leave, sir." I reminded, politely, giving him his cup. He heartily laughs.

"You're one warm girl with a cold form." He complimented, closing his laptop.

"I'm Louis Ashfield," he continued, "And you are?"

He's sticking me to him. And I hate it.

I sighed, reminding him again, "You would have to leave after five, sir."

"Would you still let me leave if I offered help?" He asked, grinning.

I dropped the empty tray. "I'm sorry sir," I denied, having the thought of something difficult.

"I'm sorry, I can't help overhearing your brother on the phone."

I shook my head, starting my way back to the counter.

But he calls after me, "How about a hundred dollars for a blind date?"