Chapter 0 | Nighthawks

A compilation of stories, inspired by true events

 

During the 2 o'clock stall, Chef Jon likes to lean on the bench, peeping through the kitchen window.
"I've got a cousin, Ryan," he said one afternoon.
Another one of his many, I thought, already smirking.
"She's blonde, you like blondes?"
I rolled my eyes as I cleaned the coffee filter. "As long as she's not underage like the last one."
"Lisa is 21! She just looks younger because of our Cuban genes!"
"I felt like I was a thirty year old dating a fifteen year old. I don't even know how she ordered that drink."
"Well soon you'll be thirty and you'll be regretting not meeting my cousin."
I shook my head at him and gave him a look as a customer came in and made a coffee order.
"Where's your usual barista?" The man in the blue collared shirt asked.
"Tom's on his lunch break," I told him as I frothed the milk.
"Hope you make the coffee as good as he does."
"Can't promise you that sir but I try my best," I smiled reassuringly, not sure if he was joking or not.
"Wait," Chef Jon popped his head through the kitchen window, "Lisa was drinking alcohol??" He disappeared again muttering in Spanish.

Tom's coffees fuels lazy minds, flavors conversations and fixes broken hearts like surgery.
The Nighthawk cafe has seen tinder dates, the stay-at-home-mums' club, job interviews, breakups, reunions, breastfeeding mother (always welcomed) within its four walls and courtyard.
Our coffee is the medium to make social interactions possible bearable.

I started waiting tables during my freshman year of uni. Part time English student, waiter by evening.
To be honest I think I got the job because I could correctly pronounce croque monsieur.
Now I work shifts in between writing my novel. Sometimes I serve the early risers, other times the late night lovers.



next chapter Chapter 1 | Waiting for Someone