One for the Angels

The next day, when I walked into the coffee shop, the boy in the purple sleeping bag was back. He wasn’t awake, but I had a feeling that he would be around my lunch break.

“Your friend is back,” Hannah said, watching as I set up shop, placing the chairs under the tables and pushing them in, turning on the lights and the heating and all the electronic machines, and wiping the tabletops. This was really supposed to be her job, but somehow I always ended up doing it.

“We’re not friends,” I said calmly, “although he’s already turning out to be a better friend than you are.”

“Ooh, you wound me,” Hannah said dramatically. “Don’t forget to restock the chilled drinks.”

“It’s winter,” I pointed out sourly. “Nobody wants a chilled drink.”

“We can’t take that chance.” Sighing, I obeyed. As soon as I was finished, Tim came strolling in.

Hannah called as he tied his apron on, “I hope you realize that each minute you’re late is another dollar off your paycheck.”

“Because I was making so much money in the first place,” Tim said sarcastically. “Did you guys set up already?”

“If by ‘you guys’ you mean me, then yes,” I answered grouchily. “Just for that, the two of you can run the register today.”

I spent the morning making drinks, trying not to think about the boy outside. But it was hard not to, because this was the second day in a row he was here. And that was really throwing off my schedule, something that absolutely, positively could not happen. I had a routine, and in the months I’d been working at the shop, it had never gotten disturbed.

When my lunch break arrived, I toasted a cinnamon-raisin bagel, spread some cream cheese on it, fixed a caramel latte, and carefully made my way outside. The boy was still sitting there, and when he looked at me, he looked a little surprised, like he wasn’t expecting me to come back.

“Hello,” I said. “I’m here. As you can see. And I brought you some more food. As you can also see. I hope you like cinnamon raisin. I don’t particularly like raisins in my food, but maybe you do. And if you don’t, well, you can always pick them out. I just thought it’d be nice since the cinnamon makes it taste good. I also brought you a caramel latte. Is it caramel or carmel? Does it matter? I’m rambling, aren’t I? Here.” I handed him the bagel and the coffee, which he accepted without comment.

He took a bite of the bagel and didn’t say anything, so I asked, “I’m going to assume it’s good? Sorry. I feel like I’m bothering you. It’s just that you don’t speak, so I’m kind of flying blind here. I don’t know. I don’t even know your name.”

I stood out there for a little bit more, watching him eat, until I realized that I was probably being really creepy. “Okay, well, I’m gonna go. See you tomorrow. Maybe.”

I began to back away, turning around to go inside, when I heard him speak. His voice was husky and slow, like warm syrup. If voices had a color, his would probably be a rich burgundy. “Danny,” he said. “My name’s Danny.”

I turned back. He was staring fixedly at his cup, like he hadn’t said anything, but I’d heard it. “Juno,” I answered, a little louder, even though I’d told him my name yesterday. He didn’t say anything else, so I nodded.

“See you tomorrow, Danny,” I said softly as I went inside.