The Bee's Knees

“Excuse me?” Huffed a petite woman who looked to be in her late 50s. Her face was stony, and her lips were in a tight line, “I ordered a cortado, not a cappuccino. Honestly …” She slammed her drink on the counter, spilling it slightly, and folded her arms in annoyance.

Wonderful, I thought, as I tried my best to smile politely, “I’m so sorry, ma’am, I must have misheard you. You’re welcome to keep that as a free beverage, and I’ll make you a cortado ASAP.” She turned away from me and stormed off, the cappuccino left bleeding on the coffee bar.

“I don’t understand how people can be so pissed off about such stupid things. She must be miserable.” Scoffed my favorite coworker, Peter, as he wiped out a milk frother.

I laughed halfheartedly, “Yeah, that’s probably true.” I made my way to the espresso machine and began working on the woman’s drink.

“Seriously though, are you okay man?” Peter asked. “You’ve been quiet, and that’s the second drink order you’ve messed up this morning.”

I kept my head lowered while I pressed the espresso and shrugged, “Yeah, I guess.”

“DUDE.” Peter threw his head back and rolled his eyes, “You can’t still be upset about not seeing that girl come in here. It has nothing to do with you! She probably just moved or went to one of the other thousand coffee shops in Atlanta.” He grabbed a pastry from the case and stuffed it into one of our “Daily Grind Coffee Co.” bags.

“Yeah? But what if it does have something to do with me?” I said quietly, hoping no one else could hear, “She probably saw me staring at her or something … or could just tell I liked her. I don’t know.” I sighed, “All I know is, she hasn’t come in for at least a month, and she used to be a regular. I saw her during all of my shifts – Monday, Wednesday, and Friday mornings. It’s like she disappeared off the face of the earth.”

I poured the rest of the cortado in a fresh cup and yelled, “CORTADO!” to the cafe before Peter was beside me again.

“Look, Ben, she probably doesn’t even remember your name. You made her great coffee, but now you’ve gotta come to terms with the fact that another barista is in her life, and he’s probably in love with her too.” Peter joked as he bumped my shoulder, “Besides, don’t you have a concert you’re playing this weekend? You need to focus on that.”

I nodded in agreement and said, “You’re right.” I glanced at the antique clock hanging above the back wall, 10:37 a.m. About halfway done with my shift, and then I had band practice later tonight.

Peter was right … I was being stupid. The rest of the band would go absolutely ballistic if their lead singer and guitarist screwed up the biggest gig we’ve had to date. We’d been looking forward to playing Eddie’s Attic for months, and it was basically the soft launch for our first album. Coincidentally, it was named Emma June.

***

The Monday she came into the Daily Grind, there was an absolute downpour covering the entire city. Our only customers were those who came in before the heavy rain started and decided to camp out until the storm passed, except for Emma June.

I was below the counter grabbing more receipt paper when the bell hanging on the front door chimed. Shocked that we had a customer, I jerked upwards and slammed the back of my head against the stone counter. Cursing under my breath, I stood up and rubbed the back of my head, hoping whoever just came in hadn’t noticed. 

When I saw her, I froze in place. She was the most beautiful woman I had ever seen. Even though she was completely drenched, her auburn hair was striking – the kind of color that stands out in any room. She had soft, delicate features, a classic beauty that would never fade. I towered over her with my 6’3” frame, and her ice-blue eyes widened as she saw me stand up quickly after adding a knot to the back of my skull.

She bit her lip, trying not to laugh at my embarrassment. “Gosh, are you alright? I’m sorry if I scared you! I know it’s crazy for anyone to walk around in this, but I’m in desperate need of caffeine.” 

Her clothes and boots left a puddle on the floor. “I’m also sorry for flooding the cafe,” she laughed nervously, “I didn’t check the radar this morning and got caught in the mess. I’m a little scatterbrained today.”

I shook my head a little too excitedly, “Um, no! No, it’s, um, totally fine. We haven’t had anyone come in for a while so no biggie at all. Flood away …” I said stupidly. 

She smiled politely and asked, “So, what do you recommend here? Do y’all have anything seasonal?”

“Er, yeah!” I pointed to the board behind me, “These are what we have for Spring. I personally recommend the Bee’s Knees latte. It’s got Georgia honeysuckle and homemade lavender syrup, but it’s not too sweet.”

“Great,” she said, “I’ll go with a large of that.” She smiled at me again, flashing a row of perfect white teeth, and I had to turn away from her to remember how to make a latte again.

As I made her drink, I snuck a few glances while she perused our branded stickers, mugs, and display case of baked goods. How is she real? I thought as I stared at her. I’d never seen her come in here before … I wondered if she was an Emory student. Maybe she was just here for work, or probably to see her boyfriend. There’s no way a girl like her doesn’t have a boyfriend.

I finished pouring the latte and was about to pick it up when I saw what she was holding. My breath caught in my throat as she asked, “Who’s The Peach Pits? Are they local?” She flipped my band’s CD over and glanced at our group photo. She did a double-take at me and her mouth dropped open, “NO WAY?! Is this you?”

My cheeks flushed as I set her latte down in front of her, “Yeah, but we’re just starting out. Our music might not be your thing … it’s an Indie Pop kind of vibe. Sort of like Tame Impala if you’ve heard of him.”

“Well, I didn’t know I’d be meeting a celebrity today.” She smiled widely at me, “And I love Tame Impala. I’ll take it!” She set the CD down and reached for her wallet.

“Oh, really? That’s super nice of you, but they’re free. We’re not exactly big enough to charge anything yet. This is more so to get our name out there.”

But she didn’t respond until she plopped a $20 bill down on the counter. “Well, then, consider it an extra tip.”

I smiled at her, my face getting redder by the second. “Well, thank you … um … I’m so sorry. I forgot to ask for your name when you ordered?”

“Emma June.” She reached out a hand, and I shook it, praying silently that it wasn’t sweaty.

“Ben. I hope you enjoy your latte and, admittedly, I hope you enjoy the music more.”

Her eyes met mine again, and my heart skipped. “I’m sure I will.” 

From then on, I saw her every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday shift I worked. Some days, I wasn’t the one who took her order, but I would still make a point to smile and wave. I was sure she would forget who I was otherwise. By the third week, I decided to strike up another conversation with her.

“So, Emma June, can I assume you’re a regular now? Are you still a connoisseur of the Bee’s Knees, or would you like to try a new creation from Daily Grind’s best barista?” I smirked as I heard Peter fake gag behind me.

Emma June raised her eyebrows playfully, “Wow, I am very impressed you got my name and order right, Ben!”

I put my hand on my chest, “Well, it’s hard to forget an avid Peach Pits fan.”

She laughed, “I’ll take the Bee’s Knees to-go … and another album as soon as you can make one.”

“Coming right up.” I smiled at her again, and Peter shook his head.

The next few months went largely the same way. She would come in every morning, order the same drink, maybe share some banter with me, and then be on her way, leaving me to dissect every word … every motion she made that might tell me she felt something for me the way I felt for her.

By the end of June, Peter pulled me to the side after Emma June left the cafe. He looked at me half quizzically, and half annoyed.

“Ben, first of all, how long are you going to make her this drink? We stopped making the mixtures, like, a month ago. Second of all, can you please ask her on a freaking date already? I can’t handle the sexual tension anymore. I could cut it with a butter knife.”

I laughed, “I don’t want to lose a customer!”

“You’re just scared, dude.” Peter scoffed.

“Yeah, maybe a little of that too. I don’t know … I just don’t wanna screw this up. I’m trying to be a friend first and then maybe something more will happen?” I shrugged. “As for the drink, don’t worry about it.”

Peter cocked an eyebrow at me and held a Mason jar full of liquid and a label that said, Emma June. “Yeah, I know you’ve been coming in early to make this for her every day. You’ve gotta ask her out, for all our sakes.”

I rubbed the back of my neck and looked out the window. “You’re right.” I said, “I’ll ask her on Friday.”

Friday came, and my shift was almost over. Emma June hadn’t come in. I glanced at the antique clock hanging above the back wall, 1:42 p.m. 18 minutes until my time was up. I tried to hide my disappointment as I started the cafe closing tasks. I’d almost finished wiping the back counter when I heard a shaky voice behind me.

“Am I too late?” She said.

I turned around to face Emma June, and my stomach twisted. Her ice-blue eyes were puffy and rimmed with red – she had been crying. Her gaze didn’t meet mine. Instead, she seemed distant, like her mind was someplace far away. I didn’t know whether I should acknowledge it or just pretend like I hadn’t noticed. Which decision was more gracious? I wasn’t sure.

I decided to go with the latter. “Hey,” I smiled uneasily at her, “You’re just in time. Do you want your usual?”

Emma June looked at me as if she was expecting me to say more. A beat. “Yeah, Ben. Always the same.” Unsure what she meant, I paused for a moment before quietly turning to the espresso machine. She paid with a $20 bill, not waiting for change, took her coffee, and left without a second glance.

That was the last day I saw her.

***

I turned my attention back to Peter and the cafe, making sure my band’s CDs were lined up perfectly on the front counter by the sign advertising our concert tomorrow. It was a lull period before the Friday lunch rush when businessmen and college students would swing by for their afternoon pick-me-up. 

After organizing the massive croissants, busting a few tables, and queuing up a new playlist for the cafe, the steady wave of customers started trickling in. Peter and I tag-teamed nonstop for about an hour. It was a blur of madness … coffee cups tumbled and espresso powder spilled. There wasn’t a moment of stillness until Peter grabbed my arm tightly.

“PETER, I’ve gotta get these Americanos out. What are you –”

“Can you take this one for me?” He gestured to the register. 

I opened my mouth to protest until I saw a flash of auburn hair. She stood there, staring right back at me with those eyes that had come to haunt me since I last saw them. Peter smiled as he nudged me forward.

Walking with trepidation, I approached her and tried to remain nonchalant as I said, “Long time no see, Emma June. I was worried I messed up. Uh, your favorite latte, I mean.” I said, inwardly cringing.

“Not at all.” She grinned. “What was the name of it again? Honey Bee latte or something like that?”

Okay, maybe she doesn’t hate me. “The Bee’s Knees.” I said as I smiled back, “I remember.” 

“Sounds great.” She said softly as she paid and waited off to the side.

I had to dig around our supplies to find the syrup I made for her, just in case she came in again, and took my time to make sure it was perfect. I slipped on a coffee sleeve and, suddenly, an idea came to me. Without a second thought, I grabbed a Sharpie and wrote on the sleeve, my heart pounding as I did so.

“Emma June?” I called out, “Here you go.” I slid her coffee to her as my mouth went dry. I tried to busy myself, not bearing to look at her as she read it. After a few minutes, she left the cafe, and I stared at the door, the bell ringing in my ears as my shoulders sank. 

Great, now you’ve really screwed this up. I scowled at myself as I braced for Peter to ask me how everything went.

“Ben?” I whirled around to find Emma June. She held out her coffee cup, my message facing me:

Emma June, I remember because you’re hard to forget.

I’d love to take you out – you know where to find me.

“I would love to give this a try, but there’s something you need to know. I’m sorry I kind of disappeared, especially after the, um, last time I was here. I’m sure it freaked you out, but I’ve had a lot going on with my family.” 

She started wringing her hands nervously, “My dad, he’s … not well. He’s been at Emory for several months now. Actually, the first day I came here was the day he was admitted. But he got moved home for hospice care about a month ago.” 

Tears started brimming in her eyes, “It’s a lot to deal with, and you barely know me. I would understand if it’s too much. I just want you to know that you’ve been a bright spot in a very dark time in my life, so thank you for that, Ben.”

I stared at her for what felt like an eternity, unsure of how I should respond.

“I am so sorry about your dad, Emma June. I’m glad that I was able to brighten your day even if it was something small. I want you to know that it doesn’t scare me, but I understand if you need time. Take all the time you need. I’ll be here.”

She looked at me, her eyes shining as she said, “Let’s go out! We can do something fun. I could use the distraction.”

I grinned at her and pointed to my band’s sign on the counter. “As a matter of fact, I’d love for you to come to our concert tomorrow night. You can be my VIP … and I think you’ll really like the album.”

“Sounds like a date to me!” She smirked playfully as she said, “What time do you get off on Fridays again? 2 p.m.?”

I stared at her incredulously, “How –?”

“Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays. I remember.” 

She flashed a smile at me again, and I swear, for a moment, we were the only two people in the world.