Alexis Lawrence's Blog

"Follow The Handyman" is now available for sale on Amazon.

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Join Matthew, the handyman, in his various callouts in Gat County as he restores order to his clients' houses - from fixing a burst pipe to patching a drywall, and partake in his musings from his astute observations of and interesting interactions with his quirky clients, and his lovable colleagues.

"I was reading a press report about a handyman and realized there aren't many stories in the literary world that feature a handyman as a hero/protagonist in a novel. I thought his work - restoring order to clients' houses by fixing their malfunctioning stuff to patching up walls - would be a nice metaphor for him bringing about changes in people's lives through his interactions with them. So I decided to explore his world: his clients, colleagues and work, and life in general." - Alexis

Contents

1 The Beauty Who Never Gets Fat
2 Pete’s New Company Directive
3 Star-crossed Lovers
4 A Novel Ceremony
5 Curveball
6 The Barbie Doll
7 The Sleeping Beauty
8 The Artist & A Request
9 The Woman with the OCD
10 The Neighbor at Hunter’s Laundromat
11 The Haunted Mansion
Special The Giraffe BNB Inn

Chapter 1:
The Beauty Who Never Gets Fat

A frantic rapping on the door reached the young man’s ears, stirring him from his light sleep, but he made no move to acknowledge the guest’s presence. Instead, he directed a half-opened eye at the time reflected on the illuminated screen of his cellular phone and grunted in frustration. Argh! The guest should know better than to disturb a tired tenant at six in the morning unless it was an emergency. No, strike out the last part. Emergency or not, he should not bother him, period.

“Go away!” he yelled, then drew the comforter over his head.

The man barely got any sleep yesterday, having had to pull an all-nighter, thanks to an absentminded couple who had locked themselves out of their apartment. He had accepted the assignment, thinking that the crisis involved only a change of lock, but he was dead wrong. The sight of a flooded interior greeted the trio as soon as the door swung open, and he had to stay for another hour to deal with the burst kitchen pipes.

Either the guest did not hear his earnest rebuff or the matter really did require his immediate attention. Whichever the case, the ruckus continued until the man could bear it no more. He lifted his upper body from the bed and pulled himself upright, tousling his hair as he did so. He unbolted the door, but not before he slipped on a shirt for modesty’s sake in case the guest turned out to be a she.

And he was right.

Standing at the doorway was a petite woman of about twenty-five years of age who identified herself as Mary Jane Lee, his next-door neighbor. The first thing that caught his attention was the light brown freckles that dotted her high cheekbones. It was not a feature he would normally associate with an Asian.

The man frowned. It was not often that female guests, or neighbors for that matter, turned up unannounced at his doorstep at such an early hour in the morning. Did she really live right next to him, or was she a new tenant? He was under the impression that he knew everyone residing in Derby Apartment House, but her presence proved him wrong.

Despite the smiling ‘Hello Kitty’ printed on her sweatshirt, the man felt far from cheery at that moment. Truth be told, he had the urge to slam the door in her face and resume his aborted sleep, but propriety dictated he had to hear her out as the former was not an option.

Not privy to his thoughts, the woman rambled in her Asian-accented English, “Jon told me that you’re the go-to guy for home repairs of any kind.”

“But not at this hour,” the man groaned inwardly, then mentally socked his landlord in the stomach as he thought, sarcastic, “Thanks for the early wake-up call, Jon."

“I am facing some trouble with my gas stove; can you check it out for me? Naturally, I will compensate you for your time,” she continued, her English speaking abilities belying her accent.

“Compensation?” he sighed inwardly.

He would rather exchange that for a ten-minute snooze, though he did not see how he could do that now that he was wide awake, and his senses alert.

He managed a friendly smile, then remarked somewhat half-heartedly, “Sure, anything for a neighbor.”

In ten minutes, he was at Mary Jane’s apartment, subjecting the offending stove to a thorough examination. Unable t0 find any fault with it, he cast his attention on the gas line, and voila! A section of it had suffered considerable damage and as a result, thwarted the smooth flow of gas to the stove.

“Did you move any heavy object across this spot recently?” he asked, indicating at the vicinity of the gas line.

“Yes, the fridge,” answered Mary Jane promptly. “Is there any problem?”

“It must have scraped against the pipe when you moved it,” explained the man, his tone grim. “I will have to replace the damaged pipe.”

“Can you fix it within the hour? I have to get a feast ready by eight,” she articulated, her voice hardly masking the anxiety she was feeling at that moment.

“She’s having a gathering so early in the morning?” thought the man, mildly surprised.

No wonder she was so desperate to get him out of bed to see to her crisis.

“You don’t have to worry on that score. The procedure takes thirty minutes, tops,” he assured her and proceeded to dislodge the unwanted pipe from the existing gas line.

“That’s a relief,” breathed his neighbor, clapping her hands together in a thankful prayer. “I would hate to have to cancel my webcasts. I have never done that before, not even when I was running a temperature.”

The man elevated his thick eyebrows. “Webcasts?”

As it turned out, Mary Jane made her living as a professional ‘hearty eater’ in Gat Town – shoveling tons of food into her mouth twice a day: once in the morning and a second in the evening – in full view of her audience via the webcam. They had to pay a fee via a credit card or any valid cryptocurrency before they were given access to the channel where she would showcase her mind-boggling exploit for three hours, then spend another two conversing with them.

Today marked her fourth year in this line, and this would also explain why the man never so much as caught a glimpse of her in the apartment building. How could he when she was cooped up at home most of the time, either cooking and gorging on the food or chatting with her virtual audience?

“People actually pay to watch you eat?” the man blurted out in bewilderment.

His unflattering reaction did not faze Mary Jane in the least bit. Instead, she effected a slight raise of her shoulders, as though to say “Yes, why not?”, the corners of her lips tilting upwards in a girlish smile.

The man’s colleague, Joey, had brought up the fad – gastronomic voyeurism – in one of their conversations, but the idea seemed so ludicrous at that time that he dismissed it from his mind. What sane person would waste a part of his life – however minimal it might be – watching another person cram his mouth with huge amounts of food? What satisfaction could he possibly derive from it? Or was the sight of a ‘hearty eater’ such a turn-on that he could not tear his eyes from the screen?

“Not everyone in the channel is a spectator though. There are some who prefer having a ‘communal’ meal to dining alone,” said Mary Jane as an afterthought.

Her remark stopped the man in his tracks. He could identify with that lonesome feeling, having experienced it almost every day for six months after his mother’s death. Meals became more of a wretched chore than a pleasurable activity, and the tedium made him more acutely aware of the absence of a dining partner at the table.

Mealtimes were much more enjoyable with his mother around. He could exchange banter with her as he savored every mouthful of her homemade dishes.

Joey’s wife, hoping to take his mind off the loss of his mother, would every now and then invite him to dine with them at their apartment. Although the man was not taken with her culinary skills, he was, nevertheless, grateful for the company.
“How did you get into this profession?” asked the man, curious.

“I used to share pictures of my meals on my blog, but the activity was too passive for my liking,” related his forthcoming neighbor, as she made sure the food in the fridge was sufficiently defrosted for cooking. “So, I switched to live broadcasts of my meals online. They received positive responses from the audience, and everything just fell into place after that.”

“Cool,” was all the man could offer.
It was hard enough finding a job one enjoyed doing; but to be able to turn a hobby into a job and make enough money from it to live a comfortable life, wasn’t that the dream everyone hoped to achieve? He envied Mary Jane in this regard for he was still struggling to realize his aspiration of becoming a singer. As of right now, it was his sideline, and the current job his main.

He would have expected a person like Mary Jane to be more awkward and reticent due to the lack of social interactions, but she was none of that. If anything, she seemed so well-adjusted and quick-witted it was hard to believe she had been living a reclusive life for four years.
When he secured the new pipe in place, he turned on the gas valve and straightened up.

“Thank you, you’re my savior,” she exclaimed gratefully, awarding him a brief hug as the blue and orange flames danced on the stove. “Do stay for breakfast. It’s the least I can do for disrupting your sleep.”

“If you put it that way,” the man laughed good-naturedly. “But seriously, you don’t have to take it to heart. I was supposed to wake up at that hour anyway.”

“What’s your name?” ejected Mary Jane, handing him the money and the signed invoice. “I don’t believe I have caught it.”

“I apologize for my lack of manners,” the man uttered and presented her with his name card. “The name’s Matthew.”

“If I encounter any problems in the house, I’ll be in touch,” she promised, as she slipped the name card in her apron pocket and set a tray before him. “Here’s your breakfast.”

He, seated at the countertop, hesitated at the sight of the main course and side dishes, unaccustomed to such a heavy meal so early in the day. He took a bite of the crispy, albeit chilled cabbage, fascinated by the ingredients she had used to conjure the dish. Although the smell was a tad too strong for his liking, the taste was a delightful blend of sweet, sour and spicy, and within seconds, he polished off the side dish.

As Mary Jane busied herself with stirring the pot of instant noodles, Matthew gawked at the buffet – seasoned cabbage, grilled beef, chicken pieces and dumplings – she had arrayed across the coffee table. She was not kidding about the tableful of food, but what was more eye-popping was the size of each serving – it was more than enough to feed three adult diners. Even he, with his huge appetite, foresaw difficulty managing one dish. How could a woman of her size devour everything and still maintain her lithe figure? Either she was blessed with an unusually high metabolic rate or she engaged in intensive cardio workouts to burn the extraordinary amount of calories that she consumed on a daily basis. There was a third option, of course, but Mary Jane exhibited none of the symptoms characteristic of a bulimic, so he discarded that notion.

“It must be difficult to decide what to put on the table. I mean, you can’t be putting out the same dishes every day. Is there a poll where your audience votes for the food of the day, or do you prepare whatever catches your fancy during your grocery shopping?” he queried.

“That’s a good question,” she said thoughtfully before removing the golden brown chicken pieces from the deep fryer. “I usually base my meals on the theme I have set for the week, and for this week, I am focusing on Asian cuisine, hence the Asian-styled dishes. I don’t know why I haven’t thought of it before, but the poll is an excellent suggestion. Thanks for the idea.”

Matthew cocked his head slightly to the side. “I’m glad to be of some help.”

“You can stay and watch if you are interested,” she smiled as she, with Matthew’s assistance, transported the table of food to a small room.

The ‘gourmet room’ as per his neighbor’s term was similar to a film set, albeit a smaller version. Matthew leaned against the doorframe, careful to stay out of sight of the webcam as she activated her PC. The moment the hour hand struck eight, the bubbly Mary Jane made some small talk with her audience, then commenced with her binge session.

To her credit, she still retained her elegance, despite her distended cheeks, and the bliss on her face as she relished the food was infectious. She would make for a good motivation for anorexics to take pleasure in their food and not shun it like an elephant would avoid an ant because of their obsession with a slim figure.

The scene brought to mind an incident that had occurred at a café when he was seven years old. He was peering through the glass window, his eyes fixated on some mouthwatering chocolate éclairs in the display fridge. Unfortunately, they were way out of his budget, so he could only contend himself with the sight of a patron reveling in the said pastry. He remembered how his mind would conjure its sweet buttery aroma when she brought it to her mouth, and how he would imagine himself sinking his teeth into the delectable mix of crispness and creaminess when she took a bite. And for that short period of time, he was in seventh heaven.

He suspected some of the viewers shared the same mentality as his seven-year-old self. Instead of a lack of monetary resources, however, they were probably on a diet and hence, unable to indulge in their food without experiencing some degree of inhibition, so they turned to Mary Jane for ‘help’. Through her, they were able to ‘savor’ the foods they would otherwise stay away from, and that pleasure was augmented by her stellar performance.

That said, however, how did this particular group feel every time the session came to a close? He knew how the seven-year-old Matthew felt after the deed – hungrier and surprisingly, emotionally emptier, as if his subconscious was aware that it was an exercise in futility.

He decided he had watched enough. When he caught Mary Jane’s sidelong glance, he gestured at his watch and left for work.

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Chapter 2: THE WOMAN

For the past few days, light gurgling noises had been punctuating the silence in the cottage but the nonchalant lady had not attached much significance to the abnormal occurrence until an unwelcome stench alerted her to its presence. By the time she made her way to the bathroom, the sewage had already backed up and overflowed the bowl.

A mild disgust spread across her face as her eyes fell upon the brown miniature island drifting aimlessly on the surface of the water. Assuming it was due to poor drainage again, she gingerly sidestepped the puddle of putrid muck on the rough pebble floor and turned off the valves. She secured a bandana around her nose and mouth to keep out the stink, then struggled to clear the blockage in the pipe with a plunger and toilet auger and all the while taking the utmost care to prevent the liquid waste from splashing onto her clothes. To her dismay, however, the murky water persisted in its slow descent down the sides of the ceramic toilet bowl.

“Why isn’t the waste water receding? Have I missed out on something?”

In her mind’s eye, she saw herself adhering to the steps Joey had taught her to resolve the problem, so she could not understand why they did not work. Her eyebrows knitted into a light frown. She squinted at the offending toilet bowl and puffed up her cheeks with air like a chipmunk. Had her gloves not been stained with the filth, she would have crossed her arms in front of her chest too.

When subsequent attempts proved futile, she waved the white flag. She wiped the beads of perspiration from her forehead with her sleeve and leaned back against the bathroom wall in vexation. Times like this always reminded her of the limits of her ability. No matter how hard she tried, there were simply some situations she had difficulty overcoming with her efforts alone and the feelings of inadequacy and helplessness did not sit well with her. No, not one bit. But what could she do? Plumbing was clearly not her forte. She was left with no choice but to consult a professional.

Briskly, she headed for the small tea table situated in the living room. Akin to a king on his precious throne, a Victorian telephone sat proudly atop the hand knitted table cloth. Intricate carvings of stems and leaves adorned the rectangular trinket box and right smack in its center was a rotary dial in the shape of an attractive pink flower. However, its enthralling beauty was not sufficient to entice its owner to put it to more frequent use. Had it possessed the ability to shed tears at the lack of human contact, it would have produced enough to fill an Olympic-sized pool. She picked up the heavy receiver and dialed a number she had long committed to memory. Unlike the previous calls, where she was made to wait for ages before they were answered, this one was picked up within a ring.

“Good morning. Pete’s Handyman Services. This is Matthew. How may I help you?” enthused a cheery, boyish voice at the other end of the line.

Not expecting the unfamiliar voice, her shoulders tensed visibly. She bit her lower lip and stared at the receiver for a split second.

“Goo… good morning. Is this not Joey’s number?” she inquired, an edge of hesitation in her voice.

“Yes, it is. Let me get him for you,” responded Matthew in the same radiant tone. “Joey, there’s someone asking for you!”

She heard a rustling noise, followed by a muffled exchange and then a hearty voice which boomed into the receiver, “This is Joey. How may I help you?”

At the familiar introduction, relief coursed through every fiber of her being as she squeaked, “Joey!”

“Miss!” he exclaimed in delight. “How have you been?”

“There’s something wrong with the pipes in my bathroom.”

“What’s wrong with them?”

“There’s a blockage somewhere. Though I did everything you taught me, the liquid mess just kept on coming.”

“The problem might lie in the sewage line then. Just leave everything as it is. I’ll be there in an hour or two.”

“Thank you,” she said, the gratitude evident in her voice. “The door bell isn’t working, so just come round the back. I’ll leave the kitchen door unlocked for you.”

“Right, I’ll remember that.”

After hanging up, she moved a few steps behind the tea table, towards a series of shelves that stretched all the way to the ceiling and on which her extensive collection of books, DVDs and CDs had taken up their respective residences. Like a doting mother, she ran her fingers lovingly down the colorful spines of the CDs that had been arranged in alphabetical order. If someone were to ask her what mankind’s greatest discovery was, her answer would be music. She found it incredible how the same sounds, when arranged differently, produced tunes that wielded the power to evoke, stir and speak to different emotions in a human being. And with the addition of the appropriate lyrics, its effect was phenomenal.

But she had not always thought that way. For a long time, silence had been her best company and friend. The modest living conditions in which she was raised did not afford the luxury of music. Thus, it was not given the opportunity to charm or serenade its landlady with its enchanting melody. The woman’s preference for silent movies did not allow her to develop an appreciation for it either. She imagined music to be a hodgepodge of noises designed to torture the human ears; something that bore a resemblance to the cacophony of noises that assailed her fragile ears every time she set foot in the city area. It was beyond her comprehension how the city-dwellers were able to tolerate the constant racket. That was, until she chanced upon a group of young adults busking on the sidewalk.

Comprising of a drummer, guitarist and singer, the lively amateurs were having a whale of a time, performing their self-penned tracks and entertaining the amused crowd with their cheeky interactions. Despite the chill that permeated the day, they were perspiring so profusely it caused their dyed hair to be matted to their damp foreheads. Like the seeds of the showy tick trefoil would to a person’s socks, their sweat-soaked shirts clung to their lithe bodies.

“Are you enjoying yourselves?” yelled the affable soloist into the saliva-ridden microphone.

“Yes!” screamed the giggly teenage girls.

With a mischievous wink, he brought his gloved hand to his red ear and pointed out in a singsong voice, “I can’t hear you! Are you enjoying yourselves?”

“Yes!” roared the delighted crowd, dragging out the ‘s’ for good measure.

“The next song we’re performing is our title track ‘Remember Me’.” He flashed the audience a wide grin and gestured towards the shaggy-haired drummer. “The lyrics and music originated from Keith.”

The smiling composer waved from behind the set of rusty drums and sent a flying kiss to the excitable mob.

“Without further ado, let’s rrrrock the house down!”

As much as she did not have a good ear for their funky music, she was nevertheless captivated by their abundant energy and passion towards their vocation. She was also impressed with the way the nimble vocalist incorporated his suave dance moves into his performance and yet not sound huffed from the vigorous exercise. On impulse, she bought their first endeavor on the spot. She figured her purchase would provide them with some encouragement and confidence to embark on the tedious journey into the entertainment scene. Needless to say, on that very day, she bought a hi-fi system at a local store to go along with their music CD.

At that juncture, a sagging plywood shelf caught her eye. That, in turn, caused her to notice a number of its peers facing a similar possibility of a collapse. Taking a step back, she folded her arms in front of her chest and puckered her lips. It was a habit she had unconsciously developed whenever she was in deep thought.

“Some metal shelf brackets should do the trick,” she surmised. “I’ll have to get them from the hardware store first thing tomorrow morning.”

Come to think of it, it had been a month since she last stepped out of the cottage to stock up on her groceries. In spite of the expediency the Internet had provided her with, there were still some items which were unavailable online and could only be purchased at the physical stores.

As the piano rendition of “A Thousand Years” flooded every nook and cranny of the cottage, she set herself to work, ridding the bathroom floor of its unwanted guest. She cringed at the colossal amount of waste matter a person could produce, especially when she did not have a voracious appetite to begin with. Just then, a grating noise pierced through the lovely melodious music. Pausing in her chore, she strained her ears to catch the elusive intruder again. It took her a few minutes to identify the disturbance. She removed her gloves and boots and hurried to its source.

“Mi… Miss!” Joey’s exhausted voice reached her ear the moment she picked up the receiver. “I’m sorry but I’m afraid I have to spend the rest of my day in the bathroom. I’ve sent Matthew in my place instead. Don’t you worry about him. He’s a nice chap and… ooh! There we go again!”

Before she had the time to react to the unforeseen piece of news, he had hung up. Blankly, she stared at the receiver. What did he mean he sent Matthew in his place? Matthew. The name sounded familiar. Where had she heard that? Wasn’t that the name of the guy who had taken her call just now? So that Matthew was coming over to her cottage to look at her clogged toilet bowl? Uncertainty crept into her face. The idea of having a stranger on her premises - even if he was Joey’s colleague - did not sound at all appealing.

The memory of Joey’s first appearance at her cottage came to mind. She had been so stressed at his presence she stuttered like a broken gramophone throughout their five-minute conversation. To his credit, Joey had been quick on the uptake and discerned her discomfort with strangers. After obtaining all the details needed to rewire her cottage, he got right down to work, not uttering another word until the task was completed.

She shook her head to dispel the disastrous encounter from her mind. For an instant, she entertained the thought of asking Joey to come round another day. But the idea of having to endure the unbearable odor for the rest of the day repelled her. She supposed she could put up with Matthew’s presence for a few hours.

After five hours had passed, there was still no sign of Joey’s replacement.

“What’s taking him so long?” she wondered. “A drive from the city to the outskirts only takes three hours. Even with unfavorable road conditions, the journey should not take more than five hours.”

Pursing her lips in apprehension, she withdrew her glance from the cuckoo clock on the stone wall and placed a call to his company.

“The little brat’s not arrived?” screeched his incredulous supervisor, Pete. “He’s been gone for quite some time. Let me call him.”

Almost immediately, a faint ring tone sounded in the background.

“That foolish punk! Why didn’t he take his cell with him?” An irritated expletive reached her ear, followed by a gruff holler. “Larry, I want you to head over to Aster Cottage right now.”

“Miss, please accept our sincerest apologies for our employee’s no-show today. Rest assured he will be severely dealt with when he returns.”

“It’s alright. I don’t…” But her feeble protests fell on deaf ears as Pete rattled on like a bullet train, “Please give us another two hours. I’ve sent Larry over to help you.”

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Chapter 1: Malfunction

“No, no, no! Please don’t do this to me! Not today!” groaned the young man inwardly as the Vespa heaved, then spluttered to a miserable halt. Despite several attempts at turning the key in the ignition, it was for naught. The stubborn engine refused to budge.

Unfolding a piece of paper he had fished from his pocket, Matthew checked the map Joey had hastily sketched for him the fourth time that day. Previously, his callouts had always been limited within the confines of the city itself. This was the first time he ventured to the outskirts alone and to such a remote area at that.

It didn’t take long for Matthew to realize it was impossible for him to traverse several hundred miles on foot and still get to his destination on time. He thought to contact his supervisor, but when he reached into his pocket for his cell phone, it was not there. For a heart stopping minute, his breath caught in his throat and his mind went blank.

“No! This cannot be happening!” he screamed to himself.

Twice, he blinked, hoping to wake up from this horrible nightmare. But alas!

“Serves me right, charging my cell at the workplace instead of my apartment!” he berated himself.

It did not help that he was stranded in the middle of nowhere and the nearest place to obtain telephonic assistance being, ironically, at his destination. At that thought, he stumbled off his stationary vehicle and hurriedly proceeded to examine its engine. If he could resolve the underlying cause of the breakdown, he might stand a chance at salvaging the entire situation.

* * *

Although all the snowflakes put forth a valiant fight against the prevailing wind, they were simply too weak to defeat the powerful opponent and, against their will, eventually succumbed to traveling in the direction it dictated. However, the battle with the millions of headstrong snowflakes seemed to have drained much of the wind’s energy, and it stopped blowing. Caught by surprise, the snowflakes plunged headlong onto the uneven white terrain. Others landed atop their counterparts slumbering soundly upon the bough of a huge linden tree. None too pleased at the unwelcome intrusion, the merciless veterans conspired to get rid of them. Due to their inability to defend themselves against the unexpected attack, the newcomers fell off the bough.

“Not again!” muttered Matthew, sweeping the offending snow off his winter coat.

He had just removed the last vestiges from his sleeve when another blanket landed squarely on his hood. Pausing for a brief moment, he pursed his lips in wry amusement. His arms akimbo, he tilted his head upwards and fixed his glance at the boughs adorned with thick white pillows, only to be greeted with a third clump of snow.

“Does the linden tree have an ax to grind or is it just not my day today?” he sighed.

Despite a thorough inspection of his scooter, the source of its breakdown still eluded him. He ought to have accepted Joey’s kind gesture when he volunteered his truck. An utter fool he was for even believing that he could depend on his unreliable vehicle for once! He stuffed his hands into his pockets and directed a half-hearted kick at the silent vehicle.
“Now thanks to you, I am going to be late.” He checked his watch and corrected himself. “No, I am already late.”

In fact, Matthew had not been assigned for callout that day. It should have been Joey, as this particular client had been patronizing his services for as long as anyone could remember. Unfortunately, a last minute stomachache rendered Joey incapacitated for the entire day, the most probable culprit being the unappetizing breakfast his wife had prepared for him that morning. From his history with her cooking, Matthew was sure of it. Her cooking skills left much to be desired. No, it was far worse than that. The painful truth of the matter was that she had an uncanny knack for turning a seemingly delicious dish into something revolting, despite her faithful adherence to recipes.

Once, Joey had invited Matthew and two other colleagues, Larry and Stewart, to their housewarming party after work. As he had constantly waxed lyrical about her stupendous cooking skills, they were looking forward to a grand feast. To their horror, the much anticipated feast turned out to be a test to determine the prowess of their teeth, as they fought tooth and nail to tear the steak apart.

“Is this even edible?” mouthed the disgusted Larry as he nudged his red-faced buddy with his elbow.

“How am I supposed to know?” Stewart shrugged and persisted with the uphill task of chewing the piece of tough leather.

“Do we really have to consume this?” muttered Larry again, examining the tasteless mess on his plate.

After that ordeal, they unanimously swore off her cooking. Thus, it struck Matthew as bizarre that Joey had the stomach for all that diarrhea-inducing garbage every day when the consequence always saw him making frantic dashes for the gents.

But while Matthew was not one to pry into others’ privacy, his coworkers were not as tactful.

“Get yourself a girlfriend, and it will come naturally to you,” was Joey’s standard reply whenever they pressed him for a reason.
Larry and Stewart wasted no time when they received news of Joey’s indisposed state. They descended upon the most gullible employee they could find like an eagle on a mouse, cajoling him into replacing Joey for the callout. When it appeared that Matthew could not be budged by their flattery, Plan B promptly kicked into gear.

“Oh, come on, be a good sport. We promise to put in a good word for you with Pete,” pledged the duo and in a display of their sheer sincerity, placed their hands upon their hearts.
As much as he sensed the empty promise, Matthew did not call their bluff. He knew his colleagues were suffering from the Monday blues and hence, the lack of motivation to work that morning. He was all too familiar with this feeling, having experienced it more than a few times in the past.

When it first struck him, it was so foreign he had difficulty grappling with it, which resulted in a lot of unnecessary stress and anxiety. As time went by, however, he learned to adjust to the situation and on some special occasions, even give in to it, though he was careful not to allow it to develop into a habit.
Matthew, being the youngest and the least experienced of the lot, understood he had no right to override his colleagues’ “requests”. Nevertheless, that did not mean he accepted every case they foisted on him without any grouses. Indeed, from time to time, he protested against the unfair practice but took care not to come across as offensive or thoughtless lest it should create unhappiness or tension at his workplace.

As Matthew set out for the client’s residence, he recalled the advice Joey had given him with respect to this particular callout.

“Present the client with your employee pass the moment you see her. You will be turned away immediately without it.”
Matthew patted the pass in his pocket and smiled. Checked.

“The client will not entertain any requests for food and drinks, so it’s advisable to bring your own.”

To be fair, she did hire a handyman to do the repairs at her cottage, not raid her larder or get himself drunk on the job. Though he thought it a tad unsympathetic of her to reject the idea of a cup of warm water, he was not going to start an argument with anyone over such a trivial issue. At any rate, he had already established the habit of packing his own lunch to work. Checked.

“Be professional. Never flirt, make small talk or ask the client any questions that would make her feel uncomfortable. Not that she is much of a conversationalist anyway.”

This rule suited him just fine. No matter how attractive or alluring the clients were, he was of the firm belief that an employee should never get involved with them. Checked.

“Always address her as ‘Miss’ and don’t be surprised when you see her sign off as ‘Miss’ on the invoice.”

“Is she just plain quirky or an oddball?” he wondered.

Well, that was not of paramount importance as it was unlikely that they would meet again after he completed the case for Joey.

Left with no choice, Matthew pushed his vehicle as he made his journey down the long winding road flanked by two straight rows of towering linden trees. Light dainty snowflakes swirled in the frosty air. From afar, the snow that had gathered on their forked branches presented an illusion that the trees were sprouting white leaves. It was a picturesque sight but he was in no mood to enjoy it.

Just then, he caught sight of a dark silhouette slowly making his way toward him.


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Excerpt of "O.U.R. Café":

Chapter 2: The Hold-up

January 26, 2012

The brawny stranger scrutinized Zack and Juliette like a hawk, then peered through the window for any signs of the police in the dining area.

As the wary baker surveyed the small confined space they were trapped in, he weighed his options. Should he wait for rescue or battle the armed man himself? But he could not risk having the kitchen thrashed, and the expensive equipment and his sugary creations destroyed. The presence of another hostage also tipped the scales toward the former option.

“Are you hungry?” Juliette’s serene voice cut through the tensed silence.

¤ ¤ ¤

Beth wiped the beads of perspiration trickling down her forehead with the back of her hand, trepidation consuming her entire being. She swallowed the lump that had forced its way up her throat as she craned her neck like an ostrich to catch a brief glimpse of the hostage crisis in the café, but alas!

Everything had happened so quickly, leaving Beth little time to make sense of the situation. One minute, Juliette was standing on the boardwalk, and the next, a man had a knife to her throat, snarling orders at everyone to clear out of the establishment. Then he, using Juliette as a shield, took refuge in the kitchen – where Zack was working.

“Do you think they will be alright?” Beth murmured.

Duncan tried to assuage his employee’s fears by giving her hands a tight squeeze, answering, “The cops will take care of this.”

Earsplitting sirens, crackling radios and loud hoarse commands punctuated the air, creating a cacophony that hurt Beth’s ears. A policeman cordoned off the café, his face impassive, as his fellow officers pushed back the inquisitive crowd, which was threatening to break through the barrier.

According to the police, the man had burglarized a villa near Hampshire Beach an hour ago, and a terse face-off between the two opposing sides of the law saw him take off in the direction of the café.

“Please stay calm,” the police officer advised Beth and Duncan. “Leave everything to us.”

¤ ¤ ¤

Zack close his eyes for a brief moment as he summoned his willpower not to bang his head against the table. As if an armed man was not enough, he had to deal with someone with a screw loose in her head, not that he had not sensed that when he first encountered Juliette, but he had sorely underestimated the magnitude of her eccentricity. Who would think of offering the man food at a time like this? They were hostages, for goodness’ sake, and the man, a perpetrator. She was not developing the infamous Stockholm Syndrome, was she?

“These pastries are delicious, but I recommend the raspberry mousse cupcake,” she said, tilting her head in the direction of the pinkish pastry topped with a small raspberry. “Since we’re going to be trapped here, we might as well use the time to fill our stomachs.”

¤ ¤ ¤

Beth and Duncan clamped their lips into a thin line, the ominous silence in the café heightening their dread. Ten minutes passed, but the police had yet to take any physical action against the perpetrator.

The blazing sun rays interfered with Duncan and Beth’s squint at the “hijacked” café as they struggled to catch a glimpse of the on-goings inside, but their effort came to naught. Were Juliette and Zack safe? Were they hurt, or were they already dead? The rapid assault of questions did nothing to dispel their fears – only amplified it.
The uniformed officers had taken their positions outside the establishment, all waiting for their chief’s signal before executing their next move. Meanwhile, the chief blasted into his bullhorn for the last time for the obstinate criminal to give himself up, but there was no response.

The chief then raised his clenched fist in the air, an indication for his team to move into the café.

¤ ¤ ¤

“This is good stuff,” lauded the man, the pinkish cream outlining the edges of his dry lips.

Juliette watched him chomp the remainder of the raspberry mousse cupcake. He reminded her of the vagrant she had encountered at the alley. Both seemed to have a tough life and seemed to have been deprived of the finer things in life, and a cupcake did not cost much.
“The architect of these masterpieces,” introduced Juliette, with a note of pride in her voice, as she gestured toward Zack.

Her colleague, in turn, studied her calm face and frowned. She seemed a tad too composed for a hostage, and he wondered if she had an ace up her sleeve, though he was confident that he could take the man down without creating so much as a dent to the kitchen now that the man had let his guard down.

“Why don’t you ‘reward’ yourself with some good food?” asked Juliette, brusquely switching the topic. “I suppose you’ve taken a fair bit of money?”

The color drained from Zack’s face. She seemed to be taking their situation a tad too lightly. Did she think that she was having a chit-chat with a long-lost friend? This was a criminal, and an armed one at that. One erroneous word, and they could wind up on the autopsy table. He had no intention to add to the number in the morgue, not now. He tried to make eye contact with her, but the woman, as if privy to his thought, refused to meet his eyes.

The perpetrator wiped his greasy fingers on his ragged shirt, disillusioned.

“Not everything is about leading a good life,” he muttered. “It’s a struggle to find employment these days, more so for people like me. Life’s far easier behind bars; at the very least, I don’t have to worry about food and rent.”

“The prison isn’t a very safe place to be in either,” Juliette opined, then tapped at her temple.

“I suppose that is a battle scar you sustained during one of your ‘vacations’…” she trailed off.

The man issued a deep-throated laugh at her choice of words, fingering the ugly scar that stretched from the side of his coarse forehead to his tragus.

“I got into a fight with another inmate during a basketball game,” he recounted. “I didn’t see the sharp tool in his hand until it was too late.”

Juliette divulged, “I have an acquaintance who is equally destitute. He sleeps on the streets and salvages discarded food from the trash cans.”
“Are you comparing me to a tramp?” the man snorted derisively.

Juliette ignored the contempt in his voice and carried on, “Why isn’t he robbing anyone to make ends meet?”
The burglar blinked, then stared at her without a word. The thought had never crossed his mind.

All this while, the silent Zack observed their interaction, paying close attention to the man’s body language, and prepared himself to lunge at him in case Juliette antagonize him with her tactlessness. Though he doubted it would come to that because from the corner of his eyes, he detected some moving shadows under the door – an indication that the police had already stationed themselves outside – and he secretly heaved a sigh of relief.

“You think you’ve no choice because of your desperate circumstances, but that’s not true. You have a choice,” Juliette cerebrated, looking him straight in the eye. “This is the time to turn your life around. Make use of your time in prison to hone a skill and make it count.”

“You make it sound so simple, but it’s not as simple when translated into action,” he said.

“Didn’t Justin Bieber sing a song ‘Never say never’?” remarked Juliette.

The question was met with the two men’s blank countenances, so she said, “Justin Bieber, the singer?”

Silence lingered in the air for a brief minute before she finally puffed out her cheeks and discharged a loud sigh. “Never say never?”

¤ ¤ ¤

The police had stolen into the no man’s land, crouching, as quiet as mice, at various spots outside the kitchen and waiting for the opportune time to strike. Once the hostages were at a safe distance away from the criminal, they kicked the door open with much vigor and overpowered him within minutes.

“Do you think I can have another shot at life?” the burglar asked Juliette as the police handcuffed him.

“Are you willing to give yourself another chance?” she asked, fixing an encouraging gaze on him.

He did not have time to reply for the next second saw the law enforcers escorting him to the police car.

They might have escaped unscathed, but Zack was not impressed with Juliette’s recklessness and did not hesitate to make his opinion known.

“You could have been killed,” said he. “We could have been killed.”

“I apologize for the lack of forethought,” she spoke. “But he’s not a ruthless guy. He’s just a person who’s lost his perspective in life and made some bad decisions.”


End of excerpt

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Chapter 1: The Tuesday Couple.

January 13, 2012 10:23pm

Juliette dragged her feet through the soulless main street toward the bus station. She had never yearned for the comfort of her home as much as she did now – to sink her exhausted body into the soft contours of her settee, her feet soaked in a basin of warm water. It had not crossed her mind how punishing the long hours of standing would be to her limbs when she signed up for the job as a barista, and now she would have to pay the price for her lack of foresight.

Her first day at “O.U.R. Café” went relatively well, thanks to her pleasant co-workers, though she could not say the same for Zack. He was standoffish with her, and their exchange had been limited to two words: “yes” and “no”. Truth be told, she had a nagging suspicion that he disliked her.

A moving shadow at the side street caught Juliette’s attention, but she did not give it much thought until a noise reached her ears. Curiosity prompted her toward the dimly lit alley where she discovered an unshaven vagrant lying near a dumpster, his filthy overalls barely covering the entire of his skeletal frame. He seemed to be asleep and did not stir when Juliette, sympathetic to his predicament, left him her dinner before continuing her trudge toward her destination.

There she noticed a familiar figure.

Meredith.

¤ ¤ ¤

January 13, 2012 11:07am

Save for a regular, Mister Larsen, poring over the daily paper, the morning saw a lackluster response at “O.U.R. Café”. So Beth took advantage of the lull to school Juliette in the sacred art of coffee brewing, but with little success. And this, Beth reckoned, was due to the newbie’s lack of aptitude for the undertaking.

“Ugh!” winced Juliette, disappointed with her appalling latte – her fifth in that hour alone.

The woman circled her aching wrists clockwise, anticlockwise, and clockwise again, then released a small sigh. Perfecting the essence – the flavor, texture and temperature – of the brew proved to be a tougher endeavor than she imagined it to be.

“Here comes the Tuesday couple,” Beth interrupted her thoughts.
She noticed the puzzlement on Juliette’s face and gestured toward the newcomers at the sheltered alfresco section.

“It’s their habit to drop by the café on Tuesdays, hence the nickname,” she offered a quick explanation before approaching the couple, menus in hand.

“What would you like to have, Alan?” the girl asked the freckled boy.

“A macchiato,” he spoke as he fiddled with his iPad touchscreen.

“Make it two,” interjected the girl.

“Would you like some dessert with your coffee?” suggested Beth, noting the order in her dog-eared book. “Our baker has come up with a new creation – kiwi chocolate pudding – today.”

Again, the girl directed a glance at her boyfriend and purred, “What do you think?”

“I’m not hungry,” he replied, his eyes still glued to his gadget.

If the girl was peeved at his disinterest, she did not show it.

“We’ll pass on that,” she smiled, returning the menus to Beth. “Thank you.”

Beth supervised Juliette as she prepared the order, demanding a macchiato of the highest quality. When Juliette’s concoction fell short, Beth dumped it into the basin without hesitation and chastened her junior.

“Not fit for the dogs to drink” was the phrase Beth had used – which, Juliette had to admit, hurt her pride. She wondered if it was typical for baristas to be subjected to such verbal abuse, but this was not the time to brood over the question. The couple was still waiting for their order, and the thought made Juliette grit her teeth and embark on her second attempt.

Duncan, having observed them from the kitchen, beckoned the petite perfectionist over.

“Easy on the language, girl. Remember the notion of positive reinforcement?” he reminded her.

Looking for employees who were willing to toil in the food and beverage industry was a challenge these days. Not many could endure the tough working conditions, namely the long hours and demanding customers, and Duncan did not want Beth to drive his newest recruit away with her harsh words.

“There’s no hurry,” smiled Duncan, giving Juliette’s tensed shoulder a reassuring squeeze. “Nobody gets everything right on their first day.”

Duncan was the owner of “O.U.R. Café” – the wood-themed shop situated at Hampshire Beach. He was a confident but quiet man, and Juliette found herself drawn to him the moment she set her eyes on him.

“I have a few appointments scheduled for the day,” he informed them before heading out the door. “So Beth, take care of the closing, will you?”

“Aye, aye, Sir!” Beth saluted.

¤ ¤ ¤

January 13, 2012 11.52am

“Should I choose Social or Abnormal Psych?” asked the feminine half of the Tuesday couple.

The boy knitted his eyebrows into an exasperated frown and pursed his lips. “How should I know? I am not familiar with either one.”

“Can’t you stop it with your iPad and help me out here? I’m torn between these two modules,” she whined.

“Why do you have to seek my opinion on everything, regardless of the triviality of the issue?” fumed the boy, his exasperation manifesting in every word that passed through his lips. “And why don’t you try making your own decisions? For once in your goddamn pathetic life!”

The girl’s eyes bulged in shock at his last statement, but he did not seem to have registered her reaction as he continued, “I’m not in the mood for coffee anymore. Why don’t you have it by yourself?”

And with that, he walked off.

This minor commotion did not escape the wait staff’s eyes. And while Beth seemed indifferent toward it, Juliette felt empathy toward the upset girl. She probably felt neglected by her boyfriend. It was hard not to, with him wrapped up in his gadget throughout their date. Her incessant questions were probably her way – misguided as it was – of gaining his attention, and needless to say, it backfired.

“Don’t worry your pretty little head about it,” remarked Beth, sensing Juliette’s concern. “This is a common scene in our line of work. We’re lucky today. There have been times when the patrons came to blows with one other and even turned the place upside down.”

Despite her words, Juliette could not bear to see the girl helpless and depressed and figured a cup of piping hot beverage was a better antidote than solitude.

“I would love to say the espresso is on the house,” said Juliette, giving the customer a rueful smile. “But the reality is, it’s coming out of my paycheck.”

“Thank you,” sniffed the girl, accepting the barista’s kind gesture. “I apologize for any unhappiness my boyfriend and I have caused with our tiff.”

“We are the ones who should apologize,” commented Juliette, just as Daniel Powter’s “Bad Day” played in the background. “For failing to make our patrons a happy person with our service.”

From the exchange that followed, Juliette learnt that the girl’s name was Meredith, and the boy’s Alan, and that they were sophomores in the same college. “O.U.R. Café” was the venue where they, then high school students, first crossed paths with the other, and on a Tuesday no less – which explained why they frequented the establishment only on the said day of the week.
Meredith paused for a brief moment to take a sip of the espresso. The chat seemed to have improved her mood, albeit slight, with color returning to her ashen-white cheeks, and her shoulders less hunched. Her eyes, however, had yet to regain the girlish twinkle Juliette had noticed when she served the couple their macchiato.

From the counter, Beth signaled her co-worker to cut the conversation short, with the intention of resuming her training. But the girl was a step ahead of them.

“Look at the time!” she gasped, embarrassed. “I can’t believe I have taken up so much of your time.”

“You don’t have to feel apologetic about it,” Juliette remarked. “Take care of yourself.”

The girl nodded. “You too.”

¤ ¤ ¤

January 13, 2012 10.45pm

Juliette recognized Meredith the moment she stepped into the waiting room. The girl seemed lost in her thoughts and did not appear to be in a sociable mood, so Juliette took the vacant seat behind her, with nary a greeting. She watched the buses, one after another, pull out of the station as the number of passengers dwindled until they were the only ones left.

As the last longitudinal vehicle pulled into the station, Juliette tapped Meredith’s shoulder.

“This is the last bus,” she told the girl. “If we don’t get on it, we will have to stay here for the night.”

Both were silent for most part of the journey. The recurrent drone of the bus engine lulled Juliette into a light slumber when a faraway voice intruded her subconscious.

“Will he return?” came a female voice.

“What?” murmured Juliette, confused, as she opened her eyes, only to be assaulted by the glaring ceiling light.

“Will he return?” Meredith repeated.

“He?” interjected Juliette, finally recognizing the voice as she struggled to stifle a yawn.

“Alan?” answered Meredith.

Juliette fixed her gaze on the dispirited girl in front of her. She was not sure if she understood the girl’s question. Was she referring to the café incident this morning? Had they not made up?

It was apparently not the first time that Alan had expressed his discontentment with her, but the frequency saw an exponential increase after they got into college. He was heavily involved in campus activities, and as a result, they hardly saw each other. When he finally had the time for her, he would act all annoyed and distracted, as if he could not wait for the date to end and return to his newfound friends.

“But he’s never lost his temper with me until today. I suppose he’s at the end of his tether,” she concluded, the sadness evident in her voice.

From their brief conversation, Juliette gathered that Meredith was an insecure and timid girl, who did not have a social circle outside that with her boyfriend. To make matters worse, he was moving on with his life, but she staying stagnant with hers.
“Have you spoken to him about it?” inquired Juliette.

Meredith shook her head. “Won’t he find me whiny?”

“On the contrary,” corrected Juliette. “If you perceive a genuine problem in your relationship, you should raise it with your partner instead of keeping quiet. Ignoring it will only aid in festering it, not eradicating it. And bombarding him with petty questions does nothing to improve the quality of your relationship.”

“You saw through that?” said Meredith, turning away from Juliette. “I figured if I keep the conversation going, he will eventually come around.”

“He’ll get more annoyed than enlightened, primarily because he doesn’t know where it’s leading to,” Juliette voiced her observations when Meredith interrupted, apologetic, “This is my stop.”

After bidding Juliette a hasty goodbye, she alighted from the bus. Through the glass windows, Juliette’s eyes followed the lean figure until it morphed into the darkness of the night.

“Good luck,” she whispered.

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Excerpt

PROLOGUE


January 26, 2013

“Agnes!” croaked a tired masculine voice for the fifth time that morning. “Why haven’t you added the cup of sugar to the mixture?”

The children between eight and ten were gathered in the kitchen for their weekly culinary lesson. The principal had noted their interest in making pastries, and thus engaged Zack – a baker – to conduct some hands-on sessions in the orphanage.

The pretty little blonde named Agnes whirled around, only to come face to face with a reproachful Zack. Instead of appearing rueful, she broke out into a girlish smile, accentuated by a deep dimple on each side of her chubby chin, then dipped her fingers into a bowl of velvety mixture and smeared its contents on his nose.

“AHH!” The baker crinkled his face and pinched her tiny freckled nose in mock disapproval. “Is this how you behave toward your teacher?”

The mild rebuke did not deter her, and she scored another scoop of cream on his cheeks.

“Oh, you naughty girl!” grinned Zack as he strode after Agnes, having taken to her heels to avoid the castigation her teacher was going to bestow on her.

The children, buoyed by her performance, started hurling creamy globs at one another, with loud squeals of laughter dominating the room. Anna, having spotted a cup of unused sugar near the bowl, wasted no time in emptying it over Jan, who blinked furiously as some white crystallized grains found their way into his big round eyes. Lukas, meanwhile, fooled around with the bag of flour he had found under the table, flinging handfuls of it at anyone running in his way.

In a matter of minutes, a family of powdery snowmen materialized in the kitchen. It was a miracle the children did not bring the whole place down with the ruckus they were making, though they did attract considerable attention from someone else.

“What’s going on here?” A familiar authoritative voice cut through the din.

That had the immediate effect of silencing everyone on the spot. All shriveled at the sight of the elderly nun at the doorway, their heads hung low. Zack, recognizing his failure in keeping his students in line, followed suit.

“I believe this is a baking class, not a spring cleaning session,” the elderly nun addressed them in a crisp German accent as she planted her stern gaze on them, then turned to the teenage girl beside her and said, “Sophie, please see that the children clean up the kitchen before their lunch.”

“Yes, Sister,” Sophie obliged and issued instructions to the young ones to begin their chore of restoring order to the kitchen.

“Zack,” the nun paused for a split second before continuing, “I’d like to have a word with you.”

¤ ¤ ¤

“How long have you been with us?” the nun inquired as they ventured toward the garden.

“Almost half a year,” replied Zack promptly.

“Are you still having trouble sleeping?” she asked, concerned.

The unexpected question stopped him in his tracks, and for a brief moment, his face seemed taut, as if he was struggling with the flood of bad memories that the question had evoked.

“The images just keep coming; they never seem to stop,” he admitted finally.
She nodded, her eyes creased with sympathy.

“You have to accept the fact that the accident is of no fault of yours, and there’s nothing you could have done to prevent it,” she counseled.

“It’s not that easy, Sister,” he interjected, quiet.

Soon, they reached the gazebo. The delicate tendrils hanging lightly off the edges of the roof, the green vines twirled with much fervor round the whitewashed structural posts and braces.
Zack and the nun settled on the bench that faced the wide expanse of a lake – its surface a combination of brown and green due to the reflection of the overhanging branches and leaves.

Whenever he needed a breather from the boisterous children, he would rest at this very spot for an hour or two, allowing his body to soak in the tranquility of the surroundings like a sponge.

“Isn’t there a girl you’re interested in?” asked the elderly nun.

“Ah, well…” Zack’s voice trailed off.

“You’re going to let that incident interfere with the present?” She shook her head in reproval. “You have to learn to let go of the past and move on with your life.”

All rights reserved.

O.U.R. Café is now available for purchase on both US and EU Amazon platforms at $11.99.

The book follows Juliette who seeks employment at "O.U.R. Café" following her dismissal from ANJ, an architectural firm. However, she soon learns how touch being a wait staff and barista can be and struggles to adapt to the grueling hours and demanding work environment.

In the process, she gets embroiled in her colleague's past and puts herself in harm's way. She also meets some odd, colorful characters in her line of work, including a patron who can't seem to remember his requests and a vagrant who scours the trash for food and drinks. Through her interactions with all of them, she learns more about life - the human touch - and change, incidentally the central themes of this book.

"I had the inspiration to write this book after visiting a simple beach café, which not only sells beverages and desserts, but also memorabilia. I had the luxury to sit there for the entire day, sipping a hot beverage and people-watching. Then it hit me to write a book about the interesting characters that can inhabit a beach café. I do realize that there are already a lot of books and movies on the said theme, and that mine won't be a stand-out.

That said, however, I still hope this novella will touch a chord with you, and that you will enjoy it." - Alexis Lawrence

Stores to purchase the book from

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The Kindle version will be available for for sale tomorrow.

CONTENTS

0 Prologue
1 The Tuesday Couple
2 The Holdup
3 Zack’s Absence
4 The Girl In The Bedroom
5 Mister Larsen’s Strange Behavior
6 The Enigma That Is Duncan
7 The Ex Strikes Back
8 Duncan Springs A Surprise
9 In The Hospital
10 An Ardent Pursuit
11 Juliette’s Ex-colleagues
12 A Mishap At O.U.R. Café
13 Who Is Megan
14 Bad Luck Comes In Threes
15 The Aftermath
16 The Tables Are Turned
17 The Vagrant
Special Merry Christmas

To celebrate the new release of the novella, there will be a 10% discount on books purchased from the e-store between September 1, 2014 - September 7, 2014:

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Discount code: 6B7KF2LL

This book (third revised edition) will be available for purchase on all Amazon platforms tomorrow.

Here is a rundown on the main characters featured in the book.

O.U.R. Café Employees

Boss:

Name: Duncan James Walters
Physical Appearance: blonde, well-built, dark blue eyes, sports a pencil moustache similar to that of Clark Gable in “It Happened One Night”
Age: 33
Height: 6’
Weight: 162 lbs
Interests: RPG games, hanging out at cafés, traveling, interacting with people
Corporate Title: Boss

Employees:

Name: Zack Evington
Physical Appearance: dark brown hair, lean like a dancer, brown eyes
Age: 28
Height: 5’ 8”
Weight: 154 lbs
Interests: publications of all genres, especially health-related ones, movies, creating pastries and desserts
Corporate Title: Baker

Name: Beth J. Bowles
Physical Appearance: natural brown hair but dyed blonde, athletic, green eyes
Age: 24
Height: 5’ 6”
Weight: 110 lbs
Interests: Self-defense, movies, coffee recipes, magazines ie Women’s World, Lula, Cosmopolitan
Corporate Title: wait staff and barista

Name: Juliette Anne Euridge
Physical Appearance: auburn hair, slender, hazel eyes
Age: 27
Height: 5’ 4”
Weight: 121 lbs
Interests: online shopping, movies, interior design, autobiographies ie Benjamin Franklin, interacting with people
Corporate Title: wait staff and barista