Changes?
It was Miranda’s turn at the counter, still a little in shock at the gesture of Ben, and she said, “A small, house roast with some cream.”
Bill interjected, “That guy gave me a twenty. You can get something else if you want. There’s, like, seventeen dollars left.”
Miranda wasn’t sure what to do, so she looked at the giant chalkboard. She always wanted to try the Bartholomew, a double espresso mixed with cinnamon and oat milk, so she said, “Oh, yea, I’ll have the Bartholomew, and can you add a croissant?”
“Sure. Name for the order?” Bill had to get her name this time since it wasn’t just a coffee.
“Miranda.”
“You’ll have to pick up your order at the other end since it’s a specialty drink,” Bill mentioned. He was a little perturbed because this woman, who had never ordered anything other than a small coffee, added a croissant, which dropped his tip. The perturbed look went away as he realized it still ended up being an easy, $5 tip after the other guy talked his ear off and stiffed him.
Miranda, with a small smile as if to signify her day just got better, made her way to the other end of the counter, patiently waiting for the drink she normally couldn’t afford, and the croissant she always wanted.
“A Bartholomew and a croissant for Miranda!”, yelled the college student filling the orders.
Miranda took her drink and croissant, made her way to one of the special benches, but didn’t sit down right away. First, she had to check if the table was wobbly.
Another characteristic of Roasted Aromas was that the tables usually wobbled. If you weren’t careful and put down your coffee first, took your seat, and then put something else on the table, it was usually a disaster in the making for a coffee spill. The table would rock back and forth launching waves of coffee out of the mug, landing all over the table. Whenever this would happen, it was a walk of shame. You had to get up, go back to the counter, and get a stack of napkins to soak up the coffee which hopefully stayed away from your work. Sometimes there wouldn’t be any napkins so you had to ask for a towel or rag from the barista to clean things up.
Miranda’s table surprisingly didn’t wobble when she gently pressed down on the edge. A sense of relief came and her smile got a little larger. Sitting down she was able to savor the first sip of the Bartholomew and felt a sense of excitement finally being able to see if it lived up to her expectations. Every sip that entered her mouth was all she had imagined, espresso ecstasy swept through her, something she had never felt before.
As she put down her Bartholomew and raised the croissant to her lips, she quickly noticed it was the perfect mix of flakiness and butteriness. The sensation and tastes stirred memories of baking with her Nana.
At that moment, Miranda knew that the rest of her life was going to be filled with a small, house roast with cream unless she made a change.
Today was going to be the day for change.