The day dragged on mercilessly. Starbucks was crowded, people were angry, the espresso machine decided to have a mechanical aneurism, and Ben had reverted back to his four year old self.

“Meg!” he shouted. I turned to look, but my reactions were slow. A biscotti hit me between the eyes, splattering crumbs and chocolate all over my face and onto the floor.

“F%$#!” I shouted, a little too loudly on my part. The store momentarily became silent. Ben giggled and went back to ringing up customer orders. Luckily I only had an hour left on my shift. I wanted nothing more than to go home, take a shower, and pass out silently in my bed.

My apron pocket began to vibrate letting me know I had recieved a text. We weren’t allowed to have cell phones on us, but we all did nonetheless. I ducked down quickly by the fridge where nobody would see me and pretended to be looking for milk. It was Travis.

hey babe, it said.

God, I hate it when guys call me babe. I feel so cliche.