Warmth In Winter
The café exuded a cozy and inviting atmosphere. As customers stepped inside, a wave of warmth washed over them. That’s why I prefer to hire the most friendly staff in café De Normandie. The air of the café was usually filled with the comforting aroma of freshly brewed coffee mingling with hints of cinnamon and cocoa. A fireplace crackled in the corner, casting dancing shadows on brick walls which were adorned with vintage art and old photographs. Near the large, frost-covered windows, a few solitary souls sat, huddled over steaming cups of coffee, their fingers wrapped around the mugs, seeking warmth and solace. It was a misery that I had to leave this café after two weeks. I told this news to my barista and the rest of the team this morning, and they all gave me that gloomy look.
Steve, our helper, was mopping the floor when his most disliked customer walked in. My staff called him Mr. crabby because he was always in a bad mood, like his girlfriend had cheated on him, or he fell from bed in the morning, or he had tasted sour lemon. “Mia he is here again”, my barista whispered. Mr. Crabby was loud, bad-tempered and used colorful vocabulary for my staff and customers abhorred his ruthless behavior. He was definitely not French. I formed this hypothesis on the basis of two reasons. The first reason was his accent and second was his bad manners. I would handle him, I assured my staff with a wink of an eye. Our motto is, “we treat our customers politely, patiently and promptly”. I approached Mr. Crabby, he was in his late 40s with a rough mustache. A rugged look and a weird smell welcomed me. Que desirez-vous, monsieur? (How can I help you sir?). Espresso, he said in his rural accent. I was sure at that moment Laurent (our barista) wanted to have Flash speed or to have Dr. Strange’s powers to make his espresso within a microsecond, so that Mr. Crabby could leave this place as soon as possible. But, alas, we are all ordinary humans who don’t live in a fictional world.
It was almost midnight and the café was had to be closed. I always made sure that I should be the last person to leave the premises. Steve cleaned everything, Adeline (our waitress) washed all the dishes, and we all walked out. A taxi was waiting for them. I lived a few blocks away, so I didn’t need a taxi. January is the coldest month in Normandy. I wrapped myself in a classic beige trench coat, I turned up my collars to shield myself from the brisk winter breeze. The coat billows slightly with each step, a graceful dance of fabric. Why did I come to France in the first place? There were so many other tranquil places in the world, it was not like that I was one of those girls who came here to find love or handsome or cute men, for that Korea is a far better place. My breath formed tiny ephemeral clouds in the cold air and I came back from my thoughts. I don’t know why, but I have had this feeling for the past one week that someone was stalking me…
