The Owner

Thursdays are especially hot in Arizona. That’s why my iced vanilla latte is extra large on Thursdays. I left my apartment 10 minutes later than I normally would hoping the courthouse employees would be sitting in their cold metal chairs by 9:05 am and I’d be able to swiftly grab my latte and a table with a view. 

The Drip was just downstairs, so I learned the patterns of the coffee drinkers in my neighborhood within my first week here. I knew when there’d be a line out the door and when you’d have to leave disappointed because the freelancers were hogging all the tables with their empty coffee cups and incessant typing.

9:05 was the sweet spot. Nine to fivers were already at their desks and the freelancers were still snoozing—those lazy bastards. 

I grabbed my coffee, chose a table outside where the sun shone the brightest and opened my laptop ready to apply to another 15 jobs—my daily goal in this season of, let’s just call it, “funemployment.” 

Another day with an empty inbox… ugh. Will someone at least just tell me they don’t want me? It’s better than this radio silence! 

SH**! 

Before I could even blink, my lap was completely covered in sticky vanilla. 

What the hell just happened… 

And then I saw the culprit: you damn dog, where’s your leash?! 

His owner came running toward me. “I’m so sorry, ma’am! He must have seen a squirrel or something… he totally slipped out of his collar! Let me get you some napkins.” 

He ran into The Drip leaving his dog outside to continue licking the vanilla off my white converse. 

“Disgusting,” I whispered as I sat still watching the dog. At least my shoe was getting clean. 

I could see the owner hurrying back. As frustrated as I was, I couldn’t help but notice those large green eyes. His hair was ridiculously messy-cute, too. Like c’mon, you can’t style that kind of messy. 

“I’m so sorry again. Please let me buy you another coffee. What did you have?” he said. 

I didn’t want him to leave. I wanted to look at him just a little bit longer. 

“Uh, um, okay, sure thank you. It was an extra large vanilla latte,” was all I could muster. And then I berated myself. That order sounds totally basic. 

I peered over my shoulder to see him at the empty counter ordering the coffee. What could I say to make him sit? To make him stay a little longer? Maybe he was looking to hire a 20-something unemployed girl with a degree in public policy. I was here to look for a job, but I’d never considered that a job might find me… Anything was possible. Right?