ISABELLA
~
The line at the coffee shop was infuriatingly long, snaking through the small space and spilling out the door. I shifted my weight from one foot to the other, checking my watch for what felt like the hundredth time. Eight-thirty. I had exactly fifteen minutes to get to work, and judging by the pace of this line, I would be lucky if I got my coffee before lunchtime.
“Come on,” I muttered under my breath, barely above a whisper, as the person at the counter took their sweet time deciding between a latte and a cappuccino. "Damn it."
A middle-aged woman with short, meticulously styled blonde hair turned around and fixed me with a pointed glare. Her expression was so pinched, I thought her face might cave in on itself.
“I would appreciate it if you minded your language,” she
