Brynn Morgan-Clark fumbled with the keychain, its keys cold against her fingers. The keys weren't hers--they belonged to Cosimo's Cafe. Today was her first day opening by herself. Julia had called in sick and Allison quit last week. Julia's boyfriend had swung by Brynn's place at 4am to hand off the keys, with Brynn bleary-eyed and confused as to what was happening. It took her several moments to find the right key for the front door, but she eventually got there.
Luckily, opening was a lot easier than closing. That's why new people got stuck doing closing, most of the time. Brynn wasn't new, but she wasn't a veteran, either. A few months was nothing in this job, though that's as long as some people lasted. Slinging coffee wasn't for everyone.
Once inside, she kept the front door locked, flipped the lights on, stowed her purse in the staff room, put on the blue apron emblazoned with "Cosimo's" in a fancy script on the upper left, then went back out to start taking chairs down from the little circular tables. After she finished with that, it was time to set out the pastries. Boxes waited around back, delivered an hour or so ago from Shane's Bakery across town. The most tedious part of this activity wasn't moving the boxes around, it was shuffling the pastries inside the display case to ensure the day-old ones were in their proper place, discounted but also the first thing you'd see if you stood in front of the register, tempting you for that last-second impulse buy.
Anything older than a day was supposed to have been thrown out by the closing crew. That hadn't been done in this case, a situation she'd have to blame on Emilia, who was known to take shortcuts on closing, and Jake was too soft-hearted to chew her out about it. Brynn would talk to her, though. She didn't appreciate having her job made more difficult by people who wouldn't do theirs.
After tossing the expired doughnuts, crullers, bagels, and such into the large, wheeled trash can, she washed her hands and went to work putting the new arrivals in the case. Cookies, muffins, bagels, doughnuts--that was the order. She kept a mental picture in her head of what it was all supposed to look like, and double-checked when she was done. Everything looked OK. In a month, everything would change with the season. Halloween was coming up. They'd have cookies frosted to look like jack-o-lanterns for that, and little tart candies shaped like bats to put on the muffins.
Next came ensuring everything else needed for the day was set out behind the counter. Teas, syrups, cups, lids, and sleeves were all restocked from the back. The coffee machines had at least been emptied and cleaned last night, so Brynn didn't have to do that. She filled pitchers of water from the filtered tap and emptied them into the coffee makers. The cafe used six kinds of coffee beans and they all had to be ground up and put into the baskets of the coffee machines. Three machines with two hoppers each made short work of the grinding process. Carafes pulled from the dishwasher were put in place to receive the fresh brew.
The keg at one end of the counter was a bit of an eyesore--the cold brew dispenser. Since that always had to be made overnight, all Brynn had to do was check that it was ready to pour.
With all that done, she had about twenty minutes until opening. She sat down at one of the tables with a sandwich heated in the microwave, just a biscuit with sausage, egg, and cheese. Coming out of the freezer and microwaved in a hurry, they weren't exactly popular but they sold easily to people who hadn't gotten up early enough to make their own breakfast. Today, this certainly included Brynn.
She cleaned up after herself when she was done, then unlocked the front door and flipped around the hanging sign to indicate, "OPEN." She moved back behind the counter and waited. It was 5:30 in the morning and the sun wasn't up yet.
Her first customer was Darnell. She was used to seeing him later in the day when he was in need of a pick-me-up. He spent all day doing app deliveries--food, groceries, office supplies, whatever people needed. The basic fees per delivery weren't great, so his finances were made or broken by the tips he got. Those hadn't been particularly generous lately, a fact Brynn could discern because he bought a basic coffee with cream and sugar and a single doughnut. On a good day, he'd pay extra for whipped cream and a flavor shot, usually white chocolate, and then a second doughnut. This early in the morning, he didn't have much to say other than croaking out "coffee" and "doughnut." Brynn could relate. She almost forgot the "have a wonderful day" before he left.
She watched him hop on his bike outside and roll away. The rest of the morning crowd was fairly predictable: a mail carrier; a couple of the guys who worked at the Internet startup down the street--they seemed a lot more stressed out than usual, lately; a handful of people who worked at the Amazon warehouse; a teacher or two; the personal trainer who only wanted a plain cold brew and buttered toast.
Every day, she worried that the rush would overwhelm her, that she'd fuck up and embarrass herself and get fired. In truth, once she got into the groove, it was fine. She knew how to do the job more or less automatically by now. She knew how many flavor pumps to give, how many shakes of sugar were standard, how to grab the right pastries from the case without looking at them. Only rarely did she have to look at the price sheet taped to the counter anymore.
Still, she was grateful when Jake showed up. His father was the Cosimo, who'd passed away ten years or so ago. If Jake was known to be a soft touch, Cosimo was the opposite: a notorious hardass who worked his employees to the bone for meager pay and an occasional split from the tip jar. Brynn always heard Jake on the phone with some supplier or bill collector, promising things would pick up. It had been that way since she started, and the word from Julia was that this place barely survived the pandemic and continued to struggle to catch up. Jake never took any of that strain out on his employees, though. The pay was a little worse than the big chains, and benefits? Well, nobody got more than 25 hours in the first place, so it was a moot point. If they ever had a short week, which was every week, Jake would work the extra hours himself to ensure nobody accumulated enough for overtime. He did split the tip jar evenly with everyone at the end of the month, and allegedly took none of that for himself. Brynn wasn't foolish; she knew this place didn't have much of a future, and perhaps even Jake knew it, deep down. But if it was the last piece he had of his father, she understood his reluctance to let it go. Supposedly, Jake owned the building, and the cafe wasn't the only thing here, but it was certainly the part he was the most sentimental about.
The pressure alleviated considerably once Jake showed up to share the load with Brynn. After he got ready, putting on his own apron, he scurried around and put together a cup of coffee. She thought it was for himself until he thrust it into her face. "Here," he said. "Take this upstairs. Julia would normally do it."
Brynn blinked in confusion. "Who am I taking it to?"
"Maxwell. Upstairs. Door labeled 'Key Racks.'"
"Alright," she nodded, taking the cup from him.
"He'll try to talk your ear off, so consider this your break."
Brynn didn't think it was exactly legal to be sent on a work errand while on break, though she wasn't about to complain. She needed the money. Didn't everyone, these days?
She stepped out of the cafe and went into the stairwell next door, climbing up to the second story. It seemed like it should have been an apartment, just an unassuming door with a peep hole and a faded sign that read "KEY RACKS DOES KEYS." No indication whether, as a business, it was currently open or closed. She figured she was expected, though, so she knocked. No response. The knob was unlocked so she let herself in, then announced, "I'm here with your coffee."
Upon entering, she saw a room that wasn't quite a place of business but it wasn't exactly an apartment, either. Along one wall was a countertop with equipment she didn't recognize, then a display case underneath. The case was dusty enough she couldn't tell from a distance exactly what was in there. Up close, she saw door kobs, padlocks, and the like. An elderly man was fussing with what she thought was a key duplicator. He wore a red shirt under denim overalls. His wrinkled face was framed by a trimmed white beard, while the wisps of hair atop his head appeared to be in denial of his near-baldness.
"You can put it on the counter," he said, not making eye contact.
She nodded and put it down. "Sorry, this is my first time doing this. Do you pay me directly, or..?"
"I settle my tab with Jake every month." Still no eye contact.
"Alright. Well, I'll just be--"
"Nah, stay for a few minutes," he urged, tipping the machine from its side back to its upright position.
She moved her eyes around the room. A doorway led into another room that she identified as a kitchen, and she figured there must be a bathroom back there, too. On one wall of this room was a Murphy bed and a chest of drawers. They were on the opposite side from the work counter and maybe nobody tended to notice them if they were here for locksmithing services. There was also a leather recliner with an old TV in front of it. Brynn would've sworn it was a black-and-white model. She remembered her grandparents having something like that. She wondered if such a thing even still worked.
"Taking in the sights, eh?" the old man teased.
She blushed. "Sorry. I just haven't been in here before. To be honest, I didn't know this was here."
"You wouldn't know I was here unless you needed a locksmith, which is hopefully not often. Nobody wants to need a locksmith, am I right?"
She smirked. "I guess."
He came out from behind the counter and extended his hand. "Robert Maxwell."
"...Brynn Morgan-Clark."
"I don't think I've ever met a 'Brynn' before," he mused. "Is that one of those Zoomer names?"
"I don't know. I've never met another Brynn either, but I know they're out there."
"Maybe it's a Highlander thing." He made a knowing smile at that.
"A what?"
"Never mind. How long you been a barista?"
"Four months?" she guessed.
"I take it this wasn't the career you wanted for yourself."
"I'm hoping this isn't my career at all," she said honestly. "This is my 'between things' job."
"Between what and what?"
"College and... something else," she shrugged.
"What'd you major in?"
"Sociology."
"No PhD?"
"No master's," she admitted. "I couldn't make the money work. It must sound stupid to get a degree I can't use without a bunch more education I can't afford," she said defensively.
"I'd never discount the value of a good education," he said as if to placate her. "College shouldn't be job training in the first place. Learning for its own sake is a worthwhile goal."
Brynn snorted. "That's the kind of thing my dad says. I'd love to 'learn for its own sake' but I have bills to pay."
"Yeah, things are tough nowadays," Robert agreed. "I wouldn't exactly say my business is booming."
"Those 'minute key' things are taking a bite, huh?"
"They're everywhere. And here I am trying to fix this piece of shit," he said, smacking the mechanical duplicator on the counter.
"What's wrong with it?" she wondered, moving closer. It was tarnished and a little rusty, for sure.
"It's just old. What it really needs is a good rebuild. I could probably do that in a weekend, I'm just lazy, truth be told."
"What's with the name, anyway? 'Key Racks Does Keys'??"
"I didn't name it, believe me. I inherited it from the prior owner and didn't change the name. I could have, but I'm a little attached to it."
"You and Jake are kinda similar," she observed. "Both holding onto old things for no reason except you can't let go."
"Damn, do you carry a license for a knife that cuts that deep? One thing you might understand when you're older: you get more and more sentimental about the past. Until you have a past to get sentimental about, you don't really get it. So I don't hold it against you."
She rolled her eyes. "Gee, thanks. I do have old things I'm attached to, believe it or not, I just wouldn't cling to them at my own expense like you two seem to be doing."
"Where's the girl who normally comes up here? She's nicer."
"Julia's sick. Probably COVID again."
"Again?? That must be the third time this year."
"I wasn't around for the other bouts. But she should be back in a few days."
"So you'll be bringing my coffee until then?"
"If I'm working mornings. That's not my first choice."
"What if I made you a deal?"
She cocked an eyebrow. "What kind of deal? This better not be a sex thing, by the way."
Robert didn't hide his amusement. "I would never claim I'm not a dirty old man, but I'm never going to make that your problem, believe me. All I want you to do is come here in the mornings, bring me my coffee, and listen to me prattle for a while. Might ask you to help me with a couple things around here from time to time, too."
"That'll be tough with me working downstairs."
"I'll work it out with Jake, don't worry. I'll pay you, let's say, sixty bucks an hour?"
"Jesus Christ," she blurted. "Are you loaded or something?"
"Or something," he echoed. "You interested?"
"What's the catch? Nobody pays that much for some company. I mean, I know an actual sex worker would cost more than this, but what, you really want me to just come and listen to you?"
"That's the deal."
"OK. You better be telling the truth about working it out with Jake. And it better not fuck with my work schedule."
"I don't think you'll need that job after a while, but you got it."
She wagged a finger at him for effect. "And I mean it, if you mess with me, I'll get Code Enforcement on this place. This kind of mixed use is definitely against zoning. My dad is a city clerk, he knows this shit."
Robert chuckled. "This is exactly why I want you around. I promise I'll behave and make it worth your while."
They shook on it and Brynn excused herself. She didn't know what she was getting herself into, but sixty an hour? Not too bad for keeping an old man company, she figured, as long as he kept his hands to himself.