are a few key differences between Zoe and Chloe. Zoe is at least four inches shorter than I am, with hair that has clearly been professionally styled. She has a team of stylists picking out her artfully vintage clothing, whereas I stick to the Anthropologie sale rack, where all the truly weird shit lives. Oh, and Zoe makes out, and falls in love, with her boss, Rick.
The names, Annie. You couldn’t have changed those names?
“Put your phone away. You’re working.”
Nick is so close I can feel his breath on my face. He smells, as usual, like coffee and this aftershave I’ve never smelled anywhere else, something that feels old-fashioned (like a grandpa) but kinda hot (not like a grandpa).
I jump, startled by his proximity, and shove my phone in my apron pocket. Nick and I do not talk about the movie; it’s like the elephant in the room, if that elephant were making out with one of its elephant coworkers.
There are a few people clustered around tables, but still no one in line. “Ah, yes, things are bustling,” I say, gesturing at the nonexistent line. “I wouldn’t want to ignore anyone.”
“It’s the principle of the thing,” he says, staring at me for what seems like just a beat too long. Or maybe it isn’t.
The thing is, this ridiculous movie my best friend wrote (wow, that sentence will never stop sounding weird) has really screwed up a lot of things for me. Things I never thought about before, like whether Nick is hot or whether he’s giving me a weird smile or what his perpetual five-o’clock shadow would feel like on my cheek . . . All of a sudden those thoughts are in my head, and I don’t like it. I’m just trying to work over here, you know? This is my job, the thing I use to make money for the business classes I’m moving through at a glacial pace.
A new song starts playing: “Steal Away” by Robbie Dupree.
“Chloe,” Nick says, his voice a low growl.
I busy myself with restacking the already-stacked cups, trying not to let my mouth twist into a smile. “Yes?”
“Didn’t I explicitly ban your yacht rock playlist?”
I tilt my head, thinking about it.
“Several times? With increasingly dire language?”
I shake my head. “It’s weird. I don’t remember any of those conversations. I just remember the vague sense of dread that overcomes me as I’m forced to reckon with my own mortality every time you play the depressing music you like.”
Nick sighs, then gives me another one of those looks. It’s kind of a smile but kind of a frown at the same time, which is a face he’s really good at. I widen my eyes back at him.
This is the fun part, the part I love about work. I like arguing with Nick because it’s not serious (I mean, I seriously do hate the music he listens to, but I don’t actually care that much), but we both treat it like it’s life and death. I don’t even know if I’d like yacht rock half as much if I didn’t have to defend it to him every day.
To Annie, a born-and-bred rom-comaholic, our playful banter means we’re destined to be together. Because that’s what happens in rom-coms, right? Two people who can’t stand each other are actually just hiding deep wells of passion, and eventually all those pent-up feelings will explode in one of those make-out scenes where shelves get knocked over and limbs are flying and people are panting.
But listen, I get angry at Siri when she willfully misunderstands me, and that doesn’t mean I should marry my phone. Sometimes people just argue and don’t want to make out with each other, because life isn’t a rom-com (unless you’re Annie and you’re marrying a literal movie star).
Nick shakes his head and points toward the back of the store. “I’ll be in my office. Think you can handle it up here?”
I gesture once more toward the mostly empty shop. Business isn’t due to pick up for another hour. “Somehow, I’ll manage.”
I lean over the counter and pull out my phone again, but between you and me . . . yes, I do look up to watch Nick walk to his office. It’s like that old saying, “I hate to see you go, but I love to watch you leave,” except that it’s, like, “I hate the depressing AF music you play, but I love to watch you leave because *fire emoji*.”
Although it pains me to admit