A Daddy for Alexi by Joe Satoria

3. ALEXI

I was nervous around him. It wasn’t the type of nervousness that came when I was on a call with an angry customer, and it wasn’t the type of anxiety where I couldn’t find earplugs to stop myself listening to people in the flat having sex.

This type of nervousness came not knowing what he wanted from me. Twice now, yesterday, and today. It felt like he sought me out, and this time I was partly being forced to go out with him for lunch.

We were a few minutes from the office building. He led the way on foot. He dressed so smartly. He smiled. It was comforting and warming when he looked back.

Down an alley. It led to a small street lined with stalls and shops.

“This is my favourite place,” he said.

The coffee shop, Ferrara’s Café seemed empty.

“Where do you want to sit?” he asked, “by the window or near the back?”

I hated quick decisions like this, my hand clutching at the ends of my sweater. It was becoming a little damp in my palms from where I knew I was being weird and anxious. I told myself, it was all for nothing, and go with the flow. Another daily mantra. Nobody ever stuck out when they went with the flow, and I never wanted to stick out.

He took my silence and non-answer and lead us to the back of the coffee shop. He pulled out a chair for me, smiling with a full width of his lips up his cheeks, dimpling in one corner.

I looked away, back at the table after making eye contact.

He sat opposite. “I try and come here every day,” he said, “it’s usually a little busy, actually.”

I placed my hands on the table. My fingers still hooked around the ends of my sleeves. “I like the quiet,” I told him.

“I usually order a coffee and a baguette. I never finish it, so we can share.” His brows raised, his head almost bobbing and weaving as he tried to catch my eye.

“Ok, what—what type?”

“I like ham, or tuna, and they do all types of bread. All made here. It’s nice, actually.”

Ding. The bell above the door rang. I flinched to look and see more people walk inside. A gaggle of women.

“I don’t—I don’t mind.”

He stood. “I’ll go now before the queue forms,” he chuckled. “Tea? Coffee?”

“Coffee, yes,” I said, “actually—” my tongue froze in my mouth.

He paused, expecting an answer. “You look like a chocolate person, something sweet, right?” he asked with a grin. “What about a mocha?”

Smiling, I couldn’t help it. “Yeah. Please.”

“Whipped cream?”

Trying not to look like a maniac with my smile as he smiled back. I nodded. “Please, and thank you.” Turning my head, dipping my chin into my shoulder. “Thank you,” I repeated once more to myself.

After a moment of gathering my composure, I caught him staring and smiling at me. It sent my stomach into knots. People weren’t usually nice. In my experience, nobody was nice unless they wanted something. Maybe he was being nice because he saw me upset. Maybe this was all sympathy. I didn’t like either option my brain threw at me. My brain walls were large enough to collect the debris; something was going to stick. A thought always stuck.

With my hands on the table, I turned them over to see my fingernails. I’d painted them pale blue last night. I liked the colour. I’d ordered it online. I didn’t like to go into shops and look for colours, so I had to go with the colours I saw on the website.

I forgot to remove it. I hadn’t realised it was still on. The colour matched the new costume I bought. It was a baby blue sailor outfit, the top cropped, the shorts tight. They cinched into my waist. I had fishnets too, and a sailor hat.

“Right,” he said, approaching with a tray in hand.

“Thank you.” I grab the ends of my sleeves again.

He placed the tray on the table. “Mocha for you, squirty cream and cocoa powder on top. Latte for me, with some superb latte art. And I got a ham and lettuce baguette. Cut down the middle to share.” He had the nicest smile I’d seen in a long time, and it felt wrong to be admiring him for something like a smile. I didn’t even know what type of person he was. “And I treated you to a cream puff, they’re delicious.”

“I’ll pay you back,” I immediately said.

He scoffed. “It’s my treat.”

“Thank you.”

“So, we’ve got coffee, and we’ve got something to eat. Do you want to talk about your day?”

I didn’t know what I wanted. I knew what I didn’t want, and that was working there. It made my stomach curdle to think about the people on those calls.

“So?” he prompted, grabbing at a sugar packet from the corner of the tray. “I guess I’ll go first. My day was going well, then we had the marketing meeting with Marcus. He owns the company. He’s—” as my eyes crossed over him, he wasn’t looking at me this time. “He’s a handful, but you can’t tell him I said that. I think he listened to one of those motivation podcast things where they’re like, act for the job you want and not the job you have. I thought he was going to go all Devil Wears Prada on us at one point.”

“Devil Wears Prada,” I repeated.

“Yeah,” he chuckled, “it’s a classic, Meryl Streep, Anne Hathaway.”

I suppose it wasn’t beyond the realm that everyone knew of the film and those iconic scenes. And I guess it made sense for him. He had great fashion sense. I, on the other hand, was reduced to wearing this baggy sweater and shirt. It was the only business casual thing I owned that made me feel even the slightest bit comfortable.

“I wanted to quit today,” I let out, looking at the cream spill over the side of my cup. “I don’t like to talk on the phones, it makes me—” My jaw tightened. My back straightened.

“I’m glad you didn’t,” he said. “I know what anxiety looks like.” His soft voice speaking in my ear. I felt like he looked directly into my brain. “I’ve known people who’ve suffered with it.”

“Is that why you asked me for coffee?” I asked, still avoiding eye contact. “It was a nice gesture, but I—”

His hand crossed the length of the table. “I asked you for coffee because I hate spending lunch breaks in that bleak kitchen or at my desk looking through spreadsheets,” he said, “plus, you have this—this really delicate way about yourself, and I find that interesting.”

Tilting my chin, I looked up at him. I’d never been described like that in person before, in pictures, I’d seen it, the words, the compliments, but to hear it from someone. I wanted to sink from the chair to the floor.

“It’s a compliment,” he added, but that was obvious. “Plus, you love Totoro. He’s my favourite.”

With my lips butting together to stop me from talking, I nodded and hummed.

“You don’t have to be shy around me,” he continued, “but I don’t mind, like I said, I bet you’re a great listener.”

“Thank you,” I mustered.

“And do I have your word that anything I tell you, stays between the two of us?” he asked, his smile picking at that damn dimple on his cheek.

I nodded.

“Great, because I have so many great ideas for the company, and some of them are stupid, but some of them could catapult Fizz to compete with—with—” he snapped his fingers, the sound triggering my throat to clench. “You know, the likes of Coca-Cola and energy drinks.”

I nodded, feeling a little comfort as I reached across to grab at a small spoon from the side of the tray. Revealing my hand and the blue polished fingernails.

“I love the nails.”

“Thank you.” I pulled my arm back to scoop at the whipped cream with cocoa powder.

After he finished his story about how he got the job, he took a breath, placing his hands on his chest with a sigh. “It’s been a whirlwind since,” he said, “what about you? How did you get roped into customer services?”

I wished I could’ve been straight forward with him. He was warm and welcoming, and he put my anxieties at ease, somewhat. “It’s not as interesting as your story,” I told him.

He tutted. “Well, we should think about getting back,” he said. “You barely touched the sandwich; I can get it wrapped for you.” He smiled. “But you devoured that cream puff. They’re delicious, right?”

Pressing my lips together in a thin line across my face, I nodded.