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Lance rested his hand on his chin, elbow propped on the immaculately clean counter of his point-of-sale post and tried not to look as bored as he felt. For what felt like the 56th time, he let his gaze sweep around the library’s ground floor, only mildly hopeful that he might spy a potential customer for the in-house coffee shop that he was manning. He sighed.
Get a job at the campus library’s coffee shop , they’d said.
It’s a smaller location, so it’s a great place to meet people! They had assured him.
He should have been more suspicious when the coffee shop’s manager had shown him the schedule and he had seen there was only ever one employee on shift for most of the semester. He had just seen it as an opportunity to get the lion’s share of attention from his customers and potential new friends (and perhaps, girlfriend?). What’s a study session without a hot cup o’ joe? However will one make it through a research project without a cappuccino to keep them company? Writing papers goes so much better with a macchiato, doesn’t everyone know that?
He sighed. Apparently, everyone did not know that.
The sound of the automatic doors opening made his ears perk up. He straightened up and put on his most customer-service-friendly face, and turned to look. The few people who had entered the library passed right by the shop (Coffee cubicle? Caffeine kiosk? Really, the small counter and couple nearby tables hardly gave off true “coffee shop” vibes, Lance felt) and headed upstairs to the study room areas, without so much as a glance his way. As they rounded the curve in the staircase to the second floor, Lance wilted like a gangly sunflower deprived of attention. He did his best to stifle a groan.
“Why?” he wondered aloud, or as “aloud” as he thought proper in a library setting. “Why doesn’t anyone want coffee?” He plopped down on his stool behind the register, folded his arms atop the counter, and buried his face on them.
“Well… probably because it’s only 3:00 in the afternoon.”
What Lance had not been expecting was an answer to his question.
He jerked his head up like a prairie dog on espresso. There was still no one at his counter; where had the voice come from? He squinted as he did another all-too-familiar scan of the first floor bookstacks.
He caught a twitch of movement in his peripheral, coming from the library’s checkout desk. Not much; just the top of someone’s golden brown ponytail. Who…?
Lance wasn’t really supposed to leave his post, but his curiosity was piqued. He considered. The checkout desk was, after all, right across the library’s entryway from the coffee shop; he wasn’t really leaving, he was just stepping away about 20 feet. Still plenty of time to make it back to the register to help any customers that suddenly had a mocha craving they couldn’t deny… which really didn’t seem likely, since the library’s first floor had been a ghost town for the last hour.
Lance made up his mind. He stepped from behind his counter and strode over to the dated-looking checkout counter. As he got closer, he realized that the library aide on duty had been, much like Lance, sitting quietly behind the counter minding their own business. Unlike Lance, however, the aide appeared to be immersed in a book. He glanced at the cover.
“Starship Troopers?” he asked before he could stop himself.
The girl behind the counter raised her eyes from the book, seeming a bit surprised to see someone actually standing at her counter. Lance suddenly felt a sense of slow-job solidarity with her; at this point, he would also feel surprised if someone seemingly materialized at his counter.
“It’s a sci-fi classic,” she replied, rising from her chair. Lance noted her petite stature; it was starting to make more sense as to why he hadn’t noticed her behind the counter before.
“Yeah,” he said, “I think it might be the only Robert Heinlein book I’ve read.”
The girl smirked as warm brown eyes peered at him over her glasses. “Did you read it because of the movie?” she asked wryly, her opinion of the film evident in her tone.
“Well, yeah, at first,” Lance answered automatically. “My high school English teacher let us pick from a list of books for our final required reading of my junior year; that was the one I picked. It was a lot different from the movie…” he shrugged his shoulders. “I liked it.”
The girl nodded, and Lance couldn’t help but feel he had passed some kind of test. “I see you’ve escaped from your caffeine cubicle,” she said, gesturing at his apron with the coffee shop’s logo emblazoned on the front. He grinned his approval at her name for the shop. “Is there anything you were looking for?”
“Conversation, mainly,” he said. “I’m so bored.”
A glint of mischief lit the girl’s eyes. “Nice to meet you, ‘so bored’, I’m Katie.” She grinned at Lance’s expression.
He shook his head, the overt dad joke having caught him off guard. He pointed to her name badge. “If your name is Katie, then why does your name tag say ‘Pidge’?”
Her eyebrows knit together as she frowned. “My brother thought it would be funny to change my name tag. Pidge is just a nickname.”
“Pidge, huh?” He smiled. “I like it. It’s cute.” He decided not to share that the way her cheeks turned a shade darker at the compliment was also pretty cute. “Hi, Pidge. I’m Lance.”
Pidge nodded and stuck a bookmark in her book, then reached for a small stack of books in the reshelve bin. “Well, Lance, next time you’re looking for conversation, feel free to bring a hazelnut mocha with you.”
“I’ll see what I can brew,” he quipped, and appreciated Pidge’s quiet snort at his pun as she took her stack of books toward the stacks. “Nice to meet you, Pidge!”
“Nice to meet you, too, Lance,” she called back.
A disgruntled, disembodied “ SHH! ” came from somewhere on the first floor. Pidge and Lance whipped around and looked at each other in surprise, then both did their best to stifle a giggle. Lance smiled to himself as he watched Pidge turn and disappear into the stacks. The library suddenly seemed a little more interesting than it had just before.
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A few months of coffee breaks, conversations, and countless puns later…
Lance leaned his chair back on the front of the checkout desk and rested his head on the desk, peering at Pidge as she took an appreciative sip of her favorite mocha. “Hey, Pidge.”
She set her drink down and leaned over the countertop, meeting his eyes. “Yes, Lance?”
He felt his cheeks and the tips of his ears grow warm as he asked, “If I was a book… would you check me out?”
She grinned, her cheeks coloring as well. “Well, I do like you a latte!”