Magic Notebook - The Cafe

Author's Note: I needed to take a break from other writings, so I wrote this as a palate cleanser, just as a fun piece to get some fresh creative energy built up. I may return to this later and write more chapters some day, but for now, enjoy a more lighthearted take on the genre!

Magic Notebook - The Cafe

or

About A Notebook That Imposes Magical Rules, But It Keeps Making Them Sexy

(The Cafe)

Dan slipped into his favorite cafe, laptop bag over his shoulder, and glanced around. He tried to time his visits for the late morning, because it let him hit the place when the early morning crowd had thinned out, but before they were out of all of their almond croissants. He was pretty sure he was clinically addicted to them, but as long as his waist didn't expand too much, he was in no hurry to try to quit.

The line at the counter was a little longer than he preferred, and his favorite table in the back right corner of the building was occupied by a young woman in a pink hoodie, the hood pulled up high over her head as she stared intently at a tablet sitting on the tabletop. Dan blinked when he saw the two points rising up in the hood, wondering what kind of hairstyle the woman had which lead to two prominent points standing out in the hoodie, before suddenly realizing she probably had a pair of those cat ear headphones on underneath it. Her head was occasionally nodding up and down despite no one being nearby to talk to her, so she was probably listening to music.

A quiet cough behind him made Dan realize that he was blocking the doorway, and he turned to mutter an apology to the tall man in a suit waiting to get in. Hurrying over, he joined the line, ignoring the businessman explaining to whoever was on the other end of his cell phone that he'd be late because 'some people have no idea how to be polite.' Dan rolled his eyes. If the guy was actually concerned about getting somewhere on time, standing in line to get coffee was not the right way to show it.

The line moved steadily. Bakes and Beans was a small, family-owned operation run by a pair of sisters who were trying to carve a niche out from the corporate giants that dominated the coffee scene, and they usually did a pretty good job of staffing to anticipate the number of customers they'd get. Today, four baristas worked behind the counter in an intricate dance of preparing drinks, heating and serving pastries, taking orders and calling out names. He had no idea how they managed to avoid running into each other constantly, but the three women and one man were a well-oiled machine when it came to slinging coffee and dishing out baked goods.

It still took a few minutes for Dan to reach the counter, during which time the man behind him had continued to talk on his phone, switching smoothly between corporate buzzspeak and full volume complaints about the wait time. The phrases 'maximizing the returns on the acquisition', 'aggressively leveraging positions', and 'minimizing personnel expenditures' were stated without a hint of shame or irony, followed by the man apologizing again for the delay because 'this tiny operation has no idea how to cater to their best clientele.'

As though he was their best clientele. As far as Dan could see, the four baristas were working at a perfectly adequate pace, far faster than the Starbucks he'd been forced to visit on his last trip out of town. He always tried to frequent smaller locations, and not just because he preferred the atmosphere.

Dan had lucked into a position as a travel writer. He'd been in the journalism club in high school and one of his pieces had won a local award. That had turned into a couple contacts with people in the right places, and he'd been able to fund his way through college with a minimum of student loans thanks to a series of jobs working for a couple different mid-sized publications. That, in turn, had landed him a cushy gig traveling domestically for a paper that was trying to establish itself as the source for non-corporate America.

He was home right now in Santa Cruz, where he maintained a tiny apartment that he spent about half the year in, but especially where he lived, he tried to support local businesses over big chains.

When Dan finally made it to the counter, the rotation of the baristas meant it was Kayla who greeted him. He wasn't sure that wasn't a coincidence, but Kayla was one of the baristas he knew by name, so it was entirely possible she'd arranged to be the one to take his order on purpose.

Kayla was a college student, just a couple years younger than he was, and while he knew her bright red hair wasn't a natural color, it suited her pale skin and lightly freckled face so well he couldn't actually imagine her with her natural blonde. He knew she was studying Data Science and Computer Engineering because they'd chatted on one of Bakes and Beans' slow days.

She was also gorgeous. She'd let slip that she did some modeling while she was in high school, but she'd gotten away from that because it wasn't how she wanted to make her way in the world. It was, in Dan's opinion, perfectly laudable, understandable, and also a terrible shame. Kayla was gorgeous. Her fine symmetrical features, pale green eyes, and perfect cupid's bow lips were complemented by an hourglass figure that she couldn't hide no matter how she dressed to minimize it. BaB's uniform was perfectly sensible and modest, consisting of dark gray slacks and a green button-down shirt, but the buttons on Kayla's were strained considerably more than those of her current coworkers, and even pressed slacks couldn't hide the curve of her hips.

Dan tried not to stare. He was even mostly successful this time. He liked Kayla, but he was also a firm believer in the idea that you didn't hit on anyone who was being paid to be there, so while they'd chatted in the past, he'd never so much as asked for her number. It wasn't fair to put her in a position where she felt awkward about saying no, and he didn't want to lose access to his favorite local cafe because he felt entitled to something.

In deference to the line forming behind them, he kept his interactions brief. The grateful smile on Kayla's face when taking his order (small caramel macchiato, almond croissant, 'like usual') told him she recognized and appreciated the small gesture. She looked... tired, her usually warm smile strained on her face, and some of the cheer missing from her eyes. This wasn't the time to ask her about it, though, so as soon as she finished ringing in his order and his card cleared, he stepped to the side.

Mister 'I'm too important for you' Business Man stepped up next. One of the other baristas, a new hire Dan thought he remembered as being named 'Steph', rotated in to take the man's order. Steph was a stark contrast to Kayla in most ways, being taller, skinnier, more tanned, darker haired, and with an obvious chip on her shoulder that she only just managed to keep restrained.

As Dan waited for his drink and croissant, he watched the frustration on Steph's (or was it Stefa? Teffa?) face rise closer and closer to the surface. "Ok, now I know you'll probably get this wrong, but here's what I need. Are you listening? Ok, good. So, I need a tall... I guess that's a .... Medium? No, make it a large, half-caff... actually, no, full caff today, it's a long day. Soy latte, served at one twenty, with full dairy foam on top, but no dairy in the drink itself. You got that?"

Dan's eyes involuntarily rolled so far back he was momentarily blinded. Without even thinking about it, his hand went to his wallet, and he pulled out the first bill his fingers encountered. Dan frequented enough places that only took cash that he'd gotten in the habit of carrying some, even as the world at large moved to a card-only model. He jammed the bill in the tip jar, only noticing that it was a twenty when his hand was on the way back. Mister Business noticed the motion and turned to him. Still holding the phone to his ear, he sneered and commented, "You know you shouldn't tip until after you've got your drink. They'll probably mess it up, and if you tip before they're done, they have no motivation to get it right."

Dan gritted his teeth, managing a polite tone as he responded. "They're hard workers, and they deserve to be compensated for that." He got a snort in response.

"If they wanted to be paid well, they shouldn't have chosen to work here. Look at this place, it'll probably close down within a year. I've heard Starbucks is going to be opening a new location just around the corner. This little shithole won't last two weeks once they do." The man suddenly turned his head, staring off into space as he yelled into his phone, "No, goddamnit, tell them they can't start without me. Fucking Morgan's going to go in with a soft pitch like he always does, and we'll lose our negotiating position. Damnit, Tim, I'll be there soon. Just keep everybody cooling their heels."

Dan shook his head, walking over to the other end of the counter to wait. He glanced around as he did, noticing that the woman in the pink hoodie had vacated the table in the corner while he was in line. He paused, torn between claiming his seat and waiting for the caffeine and carb fix he was craving. Glancing at Kayla to check on her progress, he actually caught her eye. She glanced over at the table for a moment and mouthed, "Go!" and he flashed her a smile in gratitude, hurrying over to the free table and dropping his laptop bag in one of the empty chairs. He was about to plant his butt in the other available seat when he noticed that the woman who had been there before had left something, a small notebook bound in cream colored suede.

He picked it up, sliding into the seat and sweeping his eyes across the room. This was Santa Cruz in the winter, so there were actually three people wearing pink hoodies, but none of the ones he could see had their hoods up, and there was no sign of either weird hairstyles or cat-ear headphones to make them stand out. He'd only gotten a glimpse at the woman's face when he first came in, so while he might recognize her on sight, it was fifty-fifty at best.

The notebook looked slightly worn, so he cracked it open in the hopes that there was some kind of identifying information inside the cover, a name or something else he might use to try to return it to its owner. Instead, at the top of the first page, were a few words in elegant calligraphy.

The The Nootbook

Dan stared at that for a few moments. The lettering was absolutely immaculate, to the point that he wasn't sure if someone had written the header by hand or if it was printed onto the page. The pages themselves were a fine cream paper, heavier than he would have guessed, with thin blue lines. Below the title was a small block of text in a similar script.

What is inscribed here is true, whether that be cause or affect.

Write with care, for your truth can be another's miss. Fortune favors the cautious,

but boldness will overcum.

For a few moments, Dan stared at the page, before shrugging. This was obviously something ordered from overseas, written by someone without a firm grasp on the English language. It also didn't seem to have been used, despite the obvious signs of wear on the cover. Maybe the woman who had been sitting here before had carried it around in her backpack, or whatever, and never gotten around to actually using it. Dan knew he had a few blank notebooks from high school and college that he'd misplaced before writing a single word in them. Thinking back, those were probably dwarfed in number by the notebooks he had filled out one or two pages of, then forgotten somewhere.

He flipped through the pages of the notebook, but it looked as though they were all blank. Dan guessed that there were about a hundred pages, but none of them had so much as a single ink smudge on them past the first page. He closed the notebook - or rather, 'The The Nootbook' - and slid it to the side of the table, pulling out his laptop. It only took another minute or two before Kayla walked up, macchiato in one hand, croissant-bearing plate in the other. She had a smile on her lips, but it looked more brittle than usual. Glancing around, he saw that Mister Businessman was in the process of dressing down Steffa (Tifa? Tiffany?). He couldn't make out the details, but the other barista's body language was somewhere between professional contrition and barely contained rage.

Dan gave Kayla his most friendly, warmest smile. "Rough day?" The bottle-redhead's posture relaxed a little as she slid his croissant and macchiato onto the table, and she leaned in to be able to speak without others hearing. "It's... been a day. Tessa almost walked out this morning, and if she doesn't punch that asshole, I'll consider it a miracle. Hey, I'll swing by to chat more later if you're hanging around, but I need to go try to diffuse this before we lose a barista and get a lawsuit instead." Dan chuckled quietly, calling after Kayla as she walked back towards the counter. "You guys deserve more than you're paid!"

That thought floated through his head a few times as Dan opened his laptop and hit the power button. He never actually shut the thing down, just put it into sleep mode, so it only took a few moments for the screen to light up and present him with his logon screen. He reached towards the keys, ready to enter his password, then paused. Glancing over towards the nootbook he'd shoved aside a few moments later, he stared at it, then pulled it close again. Opening the cover, he read, and then re-read the inscription at the top.

Closing his laptop without ever logging in, Dan grabbed a pen from his laptop case, opening the notebook. With the shit these baristas went through on a day to day basis, they deserved more. He wasn't about to ask Melanie and Jennifer to pay more up front, since he was pretty sure their margins were pretty slim, and it was the assholes of the world who deserved to bear the brunt of the cost. Instead...

Everyone in Bakes and Beans should be able to ask to be tipped. Or to tip, if they were customers, he supposed. And to get what they deserved. And that shouldn't feel weird to anyone.

Dan gripped the pen and, before actually writing it down, shuffled around the wording of this mental note so it would flow a little better. He was a writer, after all, and he had his pride. He smiled to himself, indulging in a brief fantasy where that actually happened, specifically because of the - and he giggled again at this - 'Nootbook'.

Dan flipped his laptop open once more and started to type. He logged in, pulled up his most recent saved document, and got to editing. This was always his least favorite part of the job. He had to imagine that aspiring voice actors and audiobook narrators shared the same problem with writers, because whether it was out loud or in writing, actually reading the things that he wrote was a thousand times worse than writing them in the first place. Actually... thinking back to the time he and a college buddy had tried starting a podcast, the voice workers probably had it worse. Reading his own writing was bad, but listening to his own voice as he edited their first podcast had been enough to shoot that idea dead while it was still in the cradle.

Dan had gotten through the first page of the document when he realized he hadn't taken so much as a sip of his macchiato. He glanced up, looking for it, his eyes briefly sweeping across the cafe. It had cleared out a little, with only half of the tables being full. It was probably ten in the morning by now, so most people who just wanted something to take to work were already gone, leaving the writers, college students, retirees, and anyone else who didn't have a set schedule. Mister Businessman was still there, though, seated at the table closest to the swinging door the baristas used to get out from behind the counter. His face was shoved between the legs of the woman whose name was apparently actually Tessa. Tessa had her fingers wrapped through the man's hair, an imperious look on her face as she shoved him between her thighs.

As Dan watched, the businessman struggled halfheartedly, but failed to actually extract himself from between the barista's bare legs. Dan realized that while Tessa still had her work blouse on, her pants were draped over the businessman's shoulders. She was seated on the top of the table the businessman was occupying, naked from the waist down. The male barista, Tom, made his way around the table, lightly touching Tessa's shoulder to avoid bumping into her, delivering a cardboard to-go container of drinks to a middle-aged woman standing not far from the front door.

Neither Tom, nor the middle aged woman, nor anyone else in the cafe appeared to notice the dark haired woman aggressively shoving a customer's face into her cunt. Tessa's mouth moved occasionally, but her words were quiet enough that Dan wasn't able to make most of them out, with only, "That's right, bitch..." and then a few moments later, "Fucking eat it," coming through.

Dan worked his tongue through his mouth to moisten it. No one was reacting as though this was unusual. He'd been coming to Bakes and Beans for about two years, and the coffee and atmosphere were both good. At no point in the probably hundreds of hours he'd spent taking up space at a coffee table had he observed anything more sexual than the odd college couple making out in the corners. He wouldn't be surprised if he learned there was some literal under the table hanky-panky going on that no one had noticed, but a grown man openly performing cunnilingus on one of the baristas was new. And admittedly pretty hot. Tessa's face kept shifting between open pleasure and the same anger she'd shown earlier, but the businessman was apparently on his way towards earning her forgiveness for his behavior, as Tessa's moans started to get louder and louder.

A stray thought hit Dan's mind, and he slowly closed his laptop, sliding it to the side. He grabbed The The Nootbook and moved it to the table in front of himself, then cracked open the cover once more. Forcing himself to pay close attention, he re-read what he had actually written on the first page, just under the header block.

Anyone at Bakes and Beans may ask to top, or to be topped. No one is forced to give more than the person asking deserves, but if it's within their means, they'll give what's asked. No one will complain about being asked, or about seeing others ask, or find it unusual to see someone getting what they ask for.

That... was almost what Dan had intended to write. He'd meant for it to mean the staff could ask for tips and get them if they deserved, but without it making it weird for customers to ask to tip instead. He had somehow written 'top' instead of 'tip' twice, but otherwise the wording was about the same.

Tessa cried out as she came, both hands clutching the businessman's hair and preventing him from escaping her thighs. No one else in the cafe so much as turned their head as the college student came on the face of the man who had been berating her about ten minutes before. She relaxed her grip a few moments later, allowing the man to pull his head back and gasp in a breath, but did not release him. A few seconds later, she had his face between her thighs again.

Dan held up a hand, gesturing until he caught Kayla's attention. The line had mostly vanished by now, and the other two baristas seemed to have a handle on things, so he beckoned her over. She held up a finger asking him to wait, but accompanied the gesture with an apparently genuine smile. She exchanged a few words with the other two baristas behind the counter, then turned to make her way towards them. She paused at the table Tessa was still seated on, legs now wrapped around the businessman's shoulders. The two women exchanged a few words too quiet for Dan to hear, then Kayla walked the rest of the way to stand before him. "Hey Dan! Need anything else? Another macchiato?"