"Early riser, Ryne," Mayo had said, placing my cap on her head carelessly. "This week is going to be a lot of fun, I promise."

"My cap," I whispered, pointing at her with a trembling arm. It now sat crooked on her head. She had that careless look in her eyes.

"Oh, right," she said, taking it off. "Since I never see you wearing it, I thought you didn’t care." She laughed, pointing at the logo. "Besides, look at this. An N on a coffee cup — what kind of idiot came up with that?"

"Nolan," I said, looking at the cups with the same N.

"Figures." She put it back on. "Creativity was never his strong suit."

I sighed, pulling my gaze away and looking her over completely.

A white shirt so thin that the café light passed through it without effort, leaving everything beneath it visible with a perverse clarity.

Her neckline made a bold statement — even I found it hard to look away.

"Mayo, you can’t be dressed like that."

"Like what?" she said, touching her shirt. "Does it bother you? Or are you just jealous?"

"Neither," I replied, looking at her gray skirt — barely covering half her thighs — and the black stockings that on anyone else would have been elegance, but on Mayo were just the frame of her own provocation. "It’s just inappropriate."

"Inappropriate?" she questioned. "I’m actually wearing underwear this time. Don’t tell me I need to wear a sweater too. Or worse, a tunic."

"That’s not what I mean," I countered. "Maybe a slightly thicker shirt wouldn’t hurt."

I looked down at her shoes — they were the brown ones I had touched, the ones I had wanted.

She noticed, turning them sideways. "What are you looking at?"

"Nothing," I said, shaking my head. "I was just wondering if they were too tight."

"They don’t fit badly," Mayo clarified, with her usual smile. "They do pinch a little, but they’re beautiful." She turned them slightly, admiring them. "Aren’t they?"

I didn’t respond — I had to clench my jaw for that.

"And Nolan?" I asked, looking toward the kitchen door. At this hour he was always at the counter, waiting for me with my coffee in its exact spot. "It’s not normal not to be welcomed."

Something I said made her look away. "In the kitchen," she replied, leaning against the counter. "Since I arrived and greeted him he hasn’t come out."

I nodded. That made me smile.

I approached the door, pushing it slowly.

There he was. Back to me, hair still slightly damp, shoulders tense in the way of someone who has been at the same task for a while. Cooking, with that artistic violence that fascinated me — but without his leather apron.

"Nolan," I greeted him, with a hug. "Why no apron?"

He sighed, kissing my forehead. "I left it out there, and you can imagine why I’m not going to get it."

I looked at the kitchen. The used pans, the order in progress, the smell of spices that had been settled in for a while. He had arrived earlier than usual, with more work than a Saturday normally called for.

"I’ll bring it," I said, turning around.

But when I opened the door, Mayo was on the other side.

"Ready to work, superior," she announced, arms open wide.

I looked her up and down one more time, because it was impossible not to.

"You can’t serve customers dressed like that," I said. "And as your superior, I’m saying you need to cover up."

"I already regret it," she replied. "Better if we’re equals."

I took my green apron from the hook and held it out to her. It was the right thing to do.

It was a mistake. A massive one.

"Don’t you think my hips really stand out nicely?" She let out a laugh. "First time I’ve ever said: great choice, girl. High five."

The apron, which on me fell to the knees like a straight curtain, on her was extremely short — fitted where it shouldn’t be, highlighting exactly what I had hoped it would cover.

It was worse.

"It works," said Mayo, looking at herself in the reflection of the pastry display case. "Perfect outfit."

"Nolan," I called, not taking my eyes off her. "Can you lend Mayo your apron? Mine doesn’t fit her."

Nolan poked his head out from the kitchen, assessed the situation in under a second.

"Alright," he sighed, handing me his leather apron. "I can use the white one."

The old white one. The one that had hung on the last hook since before I arrived. I had given him the leather one because I hated seeing him in it — and Mayo, MAYO WAS RUINING EVERYTHING.

I said nothing.

I nodded.

"Here," I held it out to her. "I know it won’t fit exactly, but mine looks like a dress on me."

She looked at herself in the display case, as if saying goodbye to a loved one. "Fiiiine," she grumbled. "But you can’t deny I looked incredible."

"That’s exactly why," I said. "Now that we’re both ready — let’s start with the chairs."

One by one, the same way as always, setting each leg in its exact marks — those small indentations in the wood that preserved my order.

Mayo lowered the first three with a speed that surprised me. "Slower, Mayo," I told her, barely holding onto one myself.

"Just because you’re a malnourished little thing doesn’t limit me," she replied, lowering two more. "I train every day, I eat well, and I have above-average endurance — but of course, you’ve never seen me with three people at once."

Even though her speed was impressive, she wasn’t following the most important rule.

"The marks," I told her, lowering the third.

"What marks? The ones on the floor?"

I pointed at the floor.

She looked down, saw the small indentations in the wood, and burst out laughing. "Seriously? You have marks on the floor for the chairs?"

"They have to go in their place."

"They’re on the floor — that’s already their place."

"Their exact place."

She looked at me for three seconds.

"Fine, fine," she moved them with her foot, without bending down, without the necessary care. "Done. Happy, little boss?"

They weren’t on the marks. "I’ll fix it later — let’s not waste time."

Next was the cleaning. I gave her the mop and took the cloth for the counter, dividing the work.

Mayo mopped the first two meters with enthusiasm. "This is easy," she declared, then began sliding across the wet mop like the floor was a skating rink.

"Mayo!"

"What? I’m cleaning," she slid another meter.

"You’re playing."

"The two things aren’t mutually exclusive."

I squeezed the cloth, wringing it out without meaning to. "Connect and turn on the coffee machine," I said, taking the mop from her hands. "I’ll finish this, and the chairs while I’m at it."

She raised her hands in surrender and walked toward the counter. "Fine — but don’t get mad."

I arranged the chairs in their marks, one by one, recovering some of my breathing. While I listened to the click of the coffee machine being plugged in.

Then its classic yawn.

Fuuuuaammm.

"Did you hear that, Ryne!" Mayo shouted from the counter. "This thing moans, hahaha!"

I closed my eyes for a second.

"Watch that mouth, Mayo," I said, without raising my voice. "This is a family establishment."

"It’s a coffee machine, not the Queen of England!"

"But it’s still a family establishment."

Silence.

Then a short laugh.

"It’s only four days," I whispered, watching her study herself in the display case like a supermodel.

I finished cleaning, wiped the cloth across the surface from left to right without skipping a single crease, and arranged the cups on the shelf with their handles facing right.

Mayo lay down on the counter.

Literally. Arms crossed under her head, cheek resting on them, eyes closed as if she had all afternoon.

"This is too much work for two people," she noted. "I’m exhausted — I want ice cream and a vacation in Hawaii."

"I do it alone every day."

"That’s labor exploitation," she wailed. "You should report it."

"I’m employee of the month."

"Twenty-four months in a row and not a single raise. Who do you think you are?"

"Of course I have my raise," I said out loud. "But I take it in the form of dinners and affection."

"As long as you don’t finish in two minutes," she burst out laughing.

"That’s private!" I grumbled, looking at the clock.

Eight minutes to eight. I flipped the door sign, feeling the cool air.

"Officially open," I announced. "Ready for the hardest part, Mayo?"

"Wait — that was just the warmup?" She lay back on her arms. "Exploitation," she murmured. "Pure and utter exploitation."