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Nadia emerged from the haze of final exams to find herself a little listless, like a dingy in an eddying steam without a rudder. She missed the heavy books on her back, unsure of where to go without the pressure of rushing to studies from lectures, and vice versa. She glanced at one of the many derelict buildings on the campus and saw a movement inside the poorly insulated conservatory. No one in their right mind would go there on cold days, or hot days for that matter. Yet, in the fading northern light of the early afternoon, warm sunshine seemed to pour out of the glass walls, skeletal trees doing nothing to dispel the illusion of warmth that lured her in. She came to a sudden stop in the middle of the pathway and whipped out her phone, nearly tripping the scowling student who had been marching on her heels.
“Wanna meet me when you’re done?” Nadia typed.
“Ya,” came the near instantaneous reply from Marie. “Crown Café?”
Nadia was about to ask ‘where?’ when she stepped off the path, nearly into a solid bank of snow, and looked up again at the newly repaired glass house. Above the door, in the stone archway of the house, a brand-new neon sign was fastened but unlit. It said, in an exotic latin cursive, ‘Café.’ That was it. But above the word hovered a little crown. She tilted her head at it, her thoughts stumbling over the familiar icon, but perhaps it was similar to the hundreds of emoji and illustrations she’d seen in her lifetime, so she brushed it off and reached for the handle.
The wooden door was old-fashioned, but as she stepped inside the unseasonable temperature washed over her and the dregs of sluggish exhaustion began to melt away. Weeks of late-nights and bad dreams ebbed from her, sweat prickling on her neck. She found a small table, it wasn’t terribly busy yet, and dumped her school bag and plush jacket onto a chair. Her knit tights and blue sweater felt scratchy, but she straightened her black skirt, pulling practiced ease and nonchalance into place before she strode up to the counter and placed her order.
At first Nadia thought the bar was empty, the only life coming from a display case of extravagant pastries with sugar frosting humming with electric cool, the fading smell of an espresso machine not-so-recently in use, and a samovar plugged in and happily gurgling.
Then, like a dancer unfolding from a seated pose, a tall, slender woman, pale as cream and utterly incredulous of everything, turned and landed a predatory gaze on Nadia, who immediately wilted, as just the sight of Zoya induced memories of inadequacy. She’d know her old adjunct anywhere. She’d been staring upward, her silky hair dark as a raven and plaited casually over one shoulder, but Nadia knew how smooth it flowed when unbound.
“Ah, you,” was all Zoya said.
“Yes, me,” Nadia tried to croak, but she wasn’t brave enough. Here, as in her choral program, she had trouble getting much volume out. No one believed her when they learned she was a voice major, but as long as the school didn’t kick her out...
“Hello, Ms. Nazyalenskaya.”
Zoya sighed. “How can I be of assistance?”
“I’d like some tea, please,” Nadia said.
Zoya didn’t ask if Nadia was staying or wanted it in a to-go cup, she merely presumed and flipped a tea glass from the shelf, placing it in a metal holder and then under the spout. “How strong do you want it?”
“Strong,” Nadia answered.
Zoya topped off the dark amber tea with a little hot water from another spout and placed it in front of Nadia. “Anything else?”
“No, that’s okay. I can’t afford—”
Zoya’s rising eyebrows silenced her.
“There’s a free treat for the grand opening— a specialty eclair— would you like one?”
Nadia’s mouth went dry. “Yes, please,” she whispered.
From the bottom of the display case, Zoya took an eclair frosted with chocolate, layered with sugar icing, and stenciled with a familiar insignia, that gold crown. Zoya placed it on a white doily on a small plate and then said, “100 rubles.”
From above them, there came a large thump! on the glass, and they both looked up. Up above, barely visible against the darkening grey of the sky, was another employee, hastily scrabbling to get back down off the roof.
Zoya looked impressively miffed. “Excuse me,” she said. Before she’d gotten far she decided to turn back and add, “Don’t make a mess. Put the empty dishes on the counter when you’re done with them.” And Zoya quickly glided to the door, taking the chill out of the air as she went.
Nadia, mostly unscathed, sat down at her little table gratefully, and gazed out the window. She saw the silhouette of two people in the dusky light, one supporting a ladder while Zoya stood with hands on hips. Another, the one from the roof, was quickly scrambling down. She didn’t hear any specific words, but a reprimand could generally be understood even without sound, and knowing Zoya, she felt very bad for them. She wondered what they’d been doing out there, and when she heard the door creak, she dropped her gaze and sipped her tea, not wanting to spy. Her curiosity got the better of her and when she looked up, she looked directly into unfamiliar golden eyes, catching her breath.
The other two employees were south-eurasian, most likely siblings, one taller, but both having tan skin, dark, shaggy hair, and brown eyes that glinted gold. The taller of them seemed to glance right over the café’s occupants, barely registering anything apart from obstacles in their path, but the other caught and held her gaze, the intensity of that look drawing her in rather than scaring her and when something tugged up a corner of a smile on that face, Nadia blushed, turning away.
When she dared look again, they’d all disappeared into the backroom.
Tamar had taken her time cleaning the mess on the roof, not really being honest with herself, but aggravatingly self-aware that she’d recognized the blonde girl in the blue and silver sweater with a single glimpse, and from a very unusual angle. The blush that followed burned Tamar up inside her thinning winter coat. Not that one glance was all it took to make her, well, irrational— she’d seen the girl around town and on campus, but she’d never had a proper chance to look at her uninterrupted. As soon as Tamar finished washing the glass, she’d be busy again, and had no excuse to scrutinize freckles and pale eyelashes again for who knew how long, never mind talking to her. That was almost inconceivable.
The girl, not really a girl — seeing as she went to university — ordered strong tea and was given a complimentary eclair by Zoya. Which surprised Tamar, as Zoya had been very stingy with the free treat, and had to be prompted to give them out almost every time. By comparison this had happened relatively quickly, so maybe Zoya knew the girl, maybe she could introduce her... Tamar rolled her eyes and shook her head, trying to snap herself out of it. As if Zoya would do more than tell Tamar to get over it. She bent to pry the dead animal or whatever it was from the glass, conflicted about finishing the task Zoya had given Tamar, freezing to death and needing to stop gazing at the college student like a creep. She snuck one glimpse at the counter, Zoya now taking payment, when her foot slipped on some of the soapy water— mostly frozen— and she wiped out, slamming into the glass with less force than a sparring partner might throw.
The only reason she didn’t move right away because she was deathly afraid she had cracked the glass and was going to crash onto a table in the cafe below if she even breathed too deeply. She almost thought it would make a good introduction to the mysterious blonde girl… if they survived.
“Tamar?” Tolya’s tentative voice called to her from the edge of the roof, almost as though he could undo the fall by speaking softly.
“I’m fine, Tolya.” Tamar breathed slowly and relaxed a little, rolling onto her side.
“TAMAR!” The bellow of fully-loaded lungs belonging to one valkyrie-cum-barista shook the glass panels and Tamar couldn’t tell if Zoya was standing inside the building or out it. “IF YOU BROKE THE GLASS—”
Tolya grew pale, but Tamar tried to laugh it off for him, smirking and tossing the lumpy mess— actually just a soaking wet, ice-cold fur hat— off the roof. She picked up the soap bucket and splashed it over the outline on the glass and inelegantly slid to the edge.
“If you even cracked a single pane of glass…” Zoya seethed and climbed the ladder as soon as Tamar got down. Tolya fidgeted beside Tamar for a moment, but held the ladder still as Zoya came down, much calmer, but still angry.
“Thank you for cleaning up that mess… I’m glad you’re alright.” She didn’t sound it.
Tamar didn’t say anything, merely exchanging a glance with her brother who shook his head, folding up the ladder to stow by the back door.
Inside, she couldn’t help it. As the warmth began to thaw her frozen limbs, she looked for the girl in the blue sweater and found her immediately, Tamar’s hungry gaze colliding directly with her grey eyes. The girl looked as surprised as Tamar felt, and she spent a stupid minute imagining how she would compliment such stormy eyes. Was stormy a compliment? She realized she was staring, maybe only for a split-second, but still far too long, and that the girl was looked a little pale. Was she frightened? Half-nervous, maybe 51% hopeful, Tamar hitched her mouth in a small smile, nerves frying the edges of all that was sane within her, and then tried to reassemble the pieces of herself that scattered in shock when the blonde-girl in the beautiful embroidered sweater, with clouds in her eyes, blushed, setting her freckles on fire.