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afreakingdork · 10 days ago

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Attempted Execute of Non-Executable Memory - Chapter 1

RotTMNT Michelangelo x Kendra

I'd like to welcome you to my new fic and the cafe Kendra works at with this gorgeous chapter art by @hitokshellart

Rated: Teen and Up Audiences

Warnings/Tags: Fake/Pretend Relationship, Revenge, Falling In Love, Love, Romance, Dating, Aged-Up Mutant Ninja Turtles, Love Confessions, Human/Turtle Relationships (TMNT), Step-Parents, Neglect, First Kiss, First Generation Immigrant Kids, Acculturation, Loss/Removal of Cultural Identity, Prison Time

Synopsis: After hitting the lowest of lows, Kendra has carved out a simple life for herself. She's content enough to live this way until opportunity walks through her place of employment in the form of an orange turtle mutant. She just needs to get close enough to him to plant a virus in his infuriating brother's servers, but will she be infected long the way?

ATTEMPTED_EXECUTE_OF_NOEXECUTE_MEMORY is a computer error code that occurs as a result of faulty or outdated device drivers, an issue in the RAM, a virus, a malware infection, or corrupted system memory.

While in canon Kendra, Jeremy, and Jase have no last names, Rise of the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles staff writer Russ Carney confirmed two times that they are nods to 2012 writers, so I took those same writer's names to give last names to their respective characters.

For the sake of this fic, this makes them:

Kendra Byerly

Jason Ricci

Jeremy Shipp

Also available on Ao3

It was the midday slump.

Consumerism was marked by the quintessential time when one lost their energy and motivation.

For pencil pushers, it was the time of day when their pitiable lunch break’s nutrition wore out and left them husks. It was by design. Their exhaustion made them more manipulatable by their corporate overlords. Every centimeter of the system was designed to keep workers docile. The obvious ploys of bureaucracy and hyper specification of a skyscraper’s worth of workers meant an over bloated building wasn’t under threat of collapse. Peons took pennies and were replaceable at a moment’s notice.

Kendra would have taken special pleasure in giving every one of those pencil necks a swirly.

Unfortunately such childish whims were frowned upon in adult society.

It didn’t matter that their attitudes needed adjustments now more than high school.

No, she could only savor her reality checks in the form of spit hocked into coffee cups.

At least she wasn’t a corporate wage slave, she’d tell herself.

No, she was free from that.

She traded a scholarship at MIT so she could be trapped behind a counter that barely concealed the perpetually sticky shoes. The scent of coffee beans was baked into every strand of hair so when she turned over in her bed at night she’d catch whiffs of Java. She stood tall through the morning rush with plastic smiles for those desk jockeys and spit into their no-foam latte hypocrisy as if that got her any sort of foothold in this battered world.

She wasn’t bitter.

She was iconoclastic.

She had only become opportunistic because of society’s frown upon her nonconformity.

There was a time limit to how long one could be misunderstood.

When she was a teenager, the world was hers. She’d climbed through the scholastic honors like monkey bars in elementary school. Pre-pubescence couldn’t mar one bit of her squeaky clean grades in middle. By high school, she had built an award-winning tech club from the ground up that was both sanctioned by the school and only existed because of her. She saw further ahead as she always had. She looked onward toward the next obstacle that lay beyond the walls of learning and onto her futures.

Wasn’t that what the guidance counselors wanted?

She moved ahead of the curve. She was the epitome of advanced placement. Her reading level had always surpassed her peers’. She was taking college credit classes as early as her sophomore year with special considerations taken as a freshman. It seemed obvious she’d hit a public educational wall, but what more could she have done with her pak’s single income household?

There were scholarships, but it would take her away and he needed her.

Until he didn’t.

Until Deborah Ricci appeared.

Until that mentality of ‘at least we have each other’ suddenly became ‘here: finally a sibling your age for you to bond with.’

Only pak conveniently left out the part where it was so he would no longer have to deal with her.

She didn’t rebel because her dad remarried. She busied her time once she had more of it to spare. She was an overachiever. She was success-driven. She was a college admission board’s wet dream. She had been tethered down by her upbringing so when she was freed from it, her creativity unleashed.

After their string of robberies and nearly infiltrating the Nakamura Corporation, the Purple Dragons didn’t get juvie, they got house arrest.

Their misconduct was seen as brilliant even in front of the eyes of the judge. They didn’t need character witnesses, they stood testament to what they had done. They asked how a mere set of teenagers were able to almost achieve such a feat. Nakamura’s CEO himself had set up a video call with both her and her bapak to commend her. An internship would be available in their security division after graduation if she wanted to find more of those same weaknesses in their system.

Escalation in the Purple Dragon’s endeavors after that was seen as natural evolution.

From their homes, eyes were on them.

On her.

They created a video game that captivated the world. The sequel was ordered the same day it was released. So it was created with an underlying purpose of ousting one irritating techno-dud and also happened to deploy a giant robot. Three teenagers with access to only their laptops and a shoddy WiFi connection built not only the 50-story machine, but the unique A.I. that analyzed and replicated player data. Their destruction was a stepping stone. They played their parts under her tutelage.

For his code, Jeremy got a full ride to Caltech the same day he was sentenced.

His records were sealed before he served a single day.

For the mech, Stanford’s recruiter made a home visit.

For Jase.

Kendra had tried to step in.

She fixed the bugs.

Not just in the robot’s design, but in Jeremy’s code.

The entire idea was hers and it showed how well she acted in a leadership position.

She took on the crunch time to give the other Dragon’s rest.

“We only have one spot to offer.”

Deborah Ricci had shooed her away.

“Shouldn’t you be happy for your brother?”

Should Kendra have been happy that Deborah Ricci played favorites with spawn that she pumped out?

She certainly wasn’t looking out for the daughter she supposedly always wanted.

MIT would come later.

After both Jason and Jeremy pulled away from Kendra in their senior year.

When their backtalk grew louder.

When they told her that it was time to grow up from renegade thinking.

College had lured them into the system.

They had both fallen for that bullshit West Coast dogma and betrayed their heritage.

When they had nothing but written promises and practice showed them otherwise.

All of Jason’s designs that weren’t proofed ended up short circuiting.

All of Jeremy’s code that wasn’t reviewed bugged out.

Kendra didn’t have such a failing.

She had sent the schools anonymous tips that their golden ticket students weren’t so lucky in the chocolate bar pick after all.

The drivel they sent back only further perpetuated the cycle of hogwash.

“Code review and proofing positions are integral to the technological developmental process.”

“No advancement in our society was done alone.”

“When it comes to your applications, we believe that your values might not be the best fit for our institutions.”

Try elsewhere.

We don’t want you.

She didn’t want them.

The new recruits to the Purple Dragons didn’t come close to cutting it. Not that she compared them to two losers who were jumping city ships. They cowered too much. Their outputs were abysmal. Motivation wasn’t what it used to be and current technology made the newbies soft.

Why command when the tech could do the work for you?

Who did they think wrote that script?

They were posers in the name of innovation.

Cowards.

Scared to upset that status quo and softened by the system.

She’d show them.

She used her Purple Game franchise residuals to buy real help. What approached her dark web offer was those with proper scruples. This was where she shined. She was the queen moving her pawns. Finally, she had staff that listened and understood. They set their sights on what she always wanted.

Control.

To oversee it all.

To excel as she did.

Finding bugs in the step beyond.

The ones in society.

The superior final checks.

She would weed the masses.

Word got out about the data breach days after it occurred. She held the information with a tight fist. That’s when MIT came to her dining room table. Their suspicions had been right and she showed the recruiter within reason. He had his offer ready and an embossed pen to sign.

She was finally seen for what she was. Her accolades would be appreciated. She never considered a single fallback. She didn’t apply anywhere else. All those tech schools with their supposed up and coming programs were vultures picking carcasses. Her father wiped an actual tear from his eye as the paper was slid over to her.

Her non-compete.

Her secured fall attendance.

Deborah Ricci’s little proud puff of air.

“I knew she’d get there.”

Deborah Ricci whispered to Jase.

“Isn’t that grand?”

A grand?

$1000?

Kendra had the intelligence to make billions.

Kendra held data that would destabilize the stock market.

Kendra had documents that outed nearly every politician.

Enough to cause a global depression.

Wasn’t that wonderful?

She set the pen down and told the recruiter she had one last thing to show him.

He said that wasn’t necessary.

She said she considered it a gift for his generosity.

His lips pursed and the room held a collective hush.

With a single button push, she released everything she had hacked to the masses.

Out of the kindness of her heart.

Her true blue beating life organ.

She could have held onto it.

She could have used what she learned for decades to come.

While MIT didn’t have honor’s distinctions, she’d always known in her heart that she would graduate Summa Cum Laude. She’d enter the workforce and sit at the top penthouse of some New York apartment. She’d grace the cover of every magazine. She would die a legend at a ripe old age with the same wits about her.

Where was the fun in fate?

She was never meant to walk the obvious path.

She was supposed to jump ahead.

Blackmail was pitiable.

It was beneath her.

What point was there in cleaning out a system that was wholly corrupt?

Having seen her future, she knew the truth.

She needed to burn it down.

Start fresh.

Mold it to her superior vision.

One that fit her drive.

One that awarded talent.

Merit.

The recruiter who was closest immediately knew what she had done.

He packed up without a single word.

Not while her father begged.

Not while Deborah Ricci stared on.

Not while Jase got a ping from his phone and pieced it together himself.

Kendra sat in the same kitchen chair and smiled.

She turned her laptop around.

She got to work.

The police came with their arrest warrant at 3:41pm that same day.

Two months from 18 years old, they decided to try her as an adult.

She had a record after all.

The compounded sentences for her conviction were up to 30 years.

White collar crime was a joke.

She served just under two years in a minimum security prison.

The hierarchy there was comical.

Her family must have thought she would get taken down a peg. She was running shop through the library's antiquated computer systems in a day. She placed orders and took hold of the supply chain. There were three separate attempts on her life during that paltry amount of time.

What was a shiv when one had fought aerial battles with jetpacks?

Still, in that time she barely remembered the clothes she was released in.

It was back to society.

It was getting her GED since she had never finished her senior year.

It was the nature of her crime that kept her from being accepted to college at even a community level.

It was her criminal record that barred her from any technologically-inclined firm.

What changed?

She had directed a kaiju-sized robot to destroy blocks of New York City and for Jeremy that spelled full ride. Nakamura wouldn’t even look at her even though they’d promised her security detail after a string of robberies. All that she could reasonably tell had changed was a number.

Her age.

Twenty was no longer a teenage designation.

She lost time, but hadn’t been less productive.

It didn’t matter.

All those doxxed individuals still took their checks.

Her disruption unveiled corruption and yet the system continued to benefit them.

She was damned.

She turned to what she knew best.

With rotating online personas, she hacked.

What choice did she have?

No one outside wanted her.

No one in the system would have her.

Her own family sucked the air out of the room if they occupied it at the same time.

Her room became her only haven.

There she was free.

The world wide web.

Until a literal maroon of her past resurfaced.

Genius Built’s own Donatello Hamato ousted her when she tapped one of his suppliers’ systems.

It was an instant violation of her parole.

She knew it wasn’t actually him.

Why would it be him?

He had people for that.

When was the last time that 30 under 30 blockhead touched an actual keyboard?

He likened himself to some pompous fashion designer these days.

Wearable tech revolution, her ass.

Some faceless nobody in his security detail took notice because they had to protect their bosses’ seismic assets instead of noticing a deficit in theirs.

She served five years in her next stint.

She didn’t blame him.

She had too much pride for that.

Blaming him took away her accolades.

She hated him for other reasons.

He was the poster child for everything wrong with this world. He was the sewers to success story the tabloids wanted. At least that was what the rags in prison touted. She had been barred from anything that even gave off a hint of an electrical current in her second conviction.

The worst part was he had no idea.

He ate up the attention like he’d earned it.

A wall of lawyers handled her case and he didn’t appear once.

Why would he?

Why shouldn’t he?

He was a gullible waste of space.

He had fallen for all of the Purple Dragons’ schemes.

He was a blowhard.

He hadn’t changed.

Self-serving.

Self-righteous.

Just as he had always been.

No one picked her up from prison the second time.

She had been released on good behavior, but all favor for that sort of thing had long dried up.

This time she actually didn’t remember the clothes she was apprehended in. The only part of her that remained was some faint purple that scorched the ends of her now black locks. They were a violent reminder of her true success. She wore it as a brand. She hitched rides home to find it wasn’t one any longer.

There was no room for her.

Her father never looked her in the eye.

Deborah Ricci wasn’t home.

Kickboxing, her father lied.

She was given a starting sum to get what would have to be a closet of an apartment.

She was offered a job by her uncle through the church.

A coffee shop.

Nothing chic.

Family owned and operated.

Small.

Hidden.

She was a shame to be tucked away. She took the cash with her head held high and spent part of it just to get her hair done again. The vibrant purple scared the cafe owners, but they’d already agreed to harbor a criminal.

Kendra wondered what they expected.

Tear drop tattoos?

They watched too much prime time television.

They dragged out her training over a week even though she could make latte art within her first few hours.

What was a flick of the wrist to a certified 132 WPM?

She was never alone at first.

She wasn’t given the WiFi password.

She cracked it on the very same first day, but its speed was piss poor.

She worked as a barista.

They were busy in the mornings and not just with the church folk.

The high rises nearby had their advantages.

The shop offered coffee strong enough to keep a narcoleptic awake.

Kendra refused to say she had grown docile.

She was tired.

She was bored.

She was just as hungry as she ever was, but what was the point?

She would always be a certain amount of starved.

There would always be a blight on her name.

It was as patent as the cockroaches in her apartment. She would always be taking home the stale bagels for a cheap dinner. Hacking Swiss bank accounts didn’t have the same allure. Not when the risk for her was higher with each prison sentence. So she settled for mucus in matcha and purposefully misspelling simple American names.

A pittance for her purveyor.

Once again good behavior granted her the illusion of freedom. She was finally left to run things in the shop. She could close, she could be trusted with the register, and she was given real food. The ibu there made a mean nasi goreng. Kendra wouldn’t say it reminded her of her mother’s.

She cried because it had been weeks since she’d had a vegetable.

Her body missed nutrients, not home. She decided then to join the family network. She had always despised it growing up. It felt like a restriction to be beholden to her community. Now, she found refuge because she was forced to.

Her wages got better.

The old folks asked for small things from her since their kids had run off for brighter futures. She tossed them bones in the form of grabbing groceries and hosting their game nights. She learned to call a fierce game of bingo and shooting down losers who faked their boards held some interest. It also helped that they would soon act as character witnesses.

With each small favor she spared, her reputation increased. They all knew her past, but they needed help. She was allowed to fix their ancient tech. Some of it was older than her, but it felt like an injection of joy straight to the veins. The second her fingers touched specific combinations of plastic and wire, she was home.

There were no newer models.

They liked what they liked.

It proved a certain challenge that had its advantage.

The coffee shop was like that.

She supposed it was for the best.

Would the allure be too great if she got hold of a stable internet connection?

It wasn’t worth her time to wonder as she succumbed to the slump. She teetered against the counter. Her arms moved, one over the other, to fold. She left a divot for her chin and put her head down. She had fallen asleep like this once and an angry customer woke her just so she could yell about her laziness. She wouldn’t be fooled again and only let her lids lull.

It was the midday slump.

It was her mid-twenties slump.

It felt like a mid-life slump.

The bell on the door chimed a soothing contrast to what omen it bid.

“Oh…!” A male voice sang. “That smell! Complex and spicy, mmm!”

Just as Kendra was straightening her body, her expression openly soured.

It was one of those.

Some foodie jag-off who thought himself groundbreaking because he drank coffee at a place that wasn’t owned by some white hippie start-up. He would go back to his friends and say the family roasting beans here had connection to Che Guevara through his travels even though the guy was pinning the wrong continent. Kendra didn’t have a tier list of customers she hated. She considered herself a loathsome equal opportunity lender in that regard, but she had special places in her black heart for specific types of assholes.

“Welcome!” She chirped with nothing but microplastics lining her smile. “What can I get started for you today?”

What she didn’t expect was a mutant to appear from behind the espresso machine.

He was round and soft and couldn’t keep his eyes in one place as they roved with a gape that matched his mouth.

Her gut dropped like lead.

She knew this mutant.

His name was something just as froufrou as ‘Donatello.’

They were related.

Brother.

This was one of the turtle brothers.

Which one?

He was clearly orange, but which one was he?

She had never bothered to learn the coordinating name-to-color scheme.

The ones that weren’t Donnie were tech illiterate anyway as far as she could remember.

She supposed it didn’t matter.

She guessed the only thing that did was if he recognized her.

He’d surely tell his stupid brother how she was working in some lowly coffee shop.

Donnie was absolutely the type to gloat.

The memory of his voice grated her ears.

“Uh…!” The orange masked man held the syllable before landing on her with bright eyes. “I’m sorry, I did not hear what you said.”

She blinked at him.

He returned the fluttering lashes.

There was no recognition on his face.

He must have had no brain power whatsoever.

He hadn’t heard her?

He didn’t need to.

The script was the same wherever you went.

You go in and someone asks for your order.

“Welcome.” She responded with a flat and bitter brew. “What can I get started for you today?”

“Oh! Uh!” The mutant scrambled looking for the menu.

It was above Kendra’s head because this shop was set up like all the others.

He continued to have trouble locating it.

She’d mislabeled.

He wasn’t one of those.

He was a complete and total idiot.

She pointed a finger up and knew irritation was showing on her face.

He chuckled sheepishly. “Thanks! Let’s see what we got here!”

He didn’t recognize her.

It’s not like she had a uniform.

She had an apron on at best.

Everything else was well-worn clothes, but she had the same style.

That was her.

Lilac hair.

Nevermind the roots.

Mid-length haircut.

The split ends hardly mattered.

Teal lipstick.

Smudged from work.

She’d ditched the beret only because she’d lost it years ago and finding another felt pretentious.

As the man mouthed what he read on the menu she could only think he was surely dumb enough to not recognize her unless she was wearing her exact ensemble from high school.

She did still have her purple satin jacket.

It was packed up.

Not that it mattered.

Nothing did.

He was yet another moron to squeeze a few bucks out of.

In that regard, she dodged one bullet for buckshot.

He was now a customer to get in and out.

“What’s an espresso bon-bon?”

“Espresso over sweetened condensed milk.”

“Sounds sweet!”

“Sure.”

“Affogato is espresso over ice cream, right?”

“Yup. We use Indoeskrim.”

“What’s that?” His eyes lit up.

“Ice cream.”

“Oh.”

She stared on, minutely satisfied at how his crest had fallen.

“Is that a brand or flavor?” His interest bounced right back.

“Brand.” She could barely keep a glare off of her.

“Where’s it from?”

“Indonesia.”

“Woah, seriously?!”

“No.”

“Wo-wait…”

His stupidity knew no bounds.

“Ah!” He pointed a finger like he got the joke.

She stared at the digit.

“You are… very serious.” His hand fell. “I can’t tell if you’re joking or not.”

“I’m not.”

His eyes were steady for a moment before flying around.

When he settled back on her it was with a narrowed gaze to look for tells.

She only cocked her hip while waiting.

“You’re too good!”

“Thank you for the compliment, sir.” She poured all her bile into her words.

“Sure!” He had no idea.

That meant she could freely be crueler. “Would you like anything or do you want to continue to hold up the line?”

He predictably spun around to check the empty shop.

When he returned, he didn’t look betrayed, but ecstatic that she had pulled another fast one on him.

Like this was some kind of fun game and not wasting her time.

He had the IQ of a lump of clay.

The social skills of that same orangey blob.

He would be achingly easy to manipulate.

She inhaled only through her nose as he prattled on something about choice.

That was a dangerous thought.

That was a bad road.

She had left that behind.

What end could she use him for anyway?

It’s not like he could do any feasible work for her.

He would go to a pet shop if she asked him to right click a mouse.

His only exploitable feature was his connection to Donatello.

Her eyes widened.

A bit of adrenaline raced through her veins.

She could use this man.

He shared a home with the asshole.

Or did.

She hadn’t kept up on the news.

They were something though.

They were close.

She had read that in prison for sure.

In every article, Donnie had blabbed about his microscopic brain and his brothers.

They were his driving creative force or some psy-op baloney.

If she could get close to even one of his servers.

She could leave no trace with that level of access.

It would take one tiny virus and boom.

She had loads of code to pull from.

She would have to transcribe it, but she had a particularly nasty one ready.

It was her therapist’s suggestion.

Well not that exactly, but the man was a court-mandated buffoon.

He told her to write out her negative feelings into letters.

Not to send, but as a means to talk to the people that had supposedly harmed her.

Her.

Of all people.

There wasn’t a being who existed that she cared enough about.

So she wrote code.

Notebooks worth.

Useless scratchings until now.

But Donatello.

Now, he wasn’t a being.

Donatello was a symbol.

Breaking him would finally send her message.

She had grown over the years.

She was now a big enough person that she didn’t need to stamp her return address along with her letter.

The one she wasn’t supposed to send anyway.

No.

She could let havoc ensue and carve out the rubble.

Surely this orange fool had a means to get her close enough.

She just needed to persuade him.

That entailed connection.

She would need to get close.

Close enough for him to bring her to a home.

Did he need friends?

She couldn’t stand the thought.

She’d sooner seduce him.

Oh.

She could do that.

Her looks had come in handy once in a while.

With someone as stupid as him, she could probably convince him without a single touch, she bet.

He’d be as easy as a dog to lead with a treat.

She would dangle it in front of his nose long enough until he took her home.

She would make an excuse.

The powder room.

A classic.

Plant the virus.

Leave.

Heartbreak would be his only association and this damned coffee shop.

She bet he didn’t even know the address.

He would get lost trying to find it again.

If not, there was always arson.

Electrical fires were about as easy to manufacture.

“Okay…” He spoke ready.

She was glad she had nailed her eyeliner wings today.

She lowered her body in a calculated sultry way.

“What’ll it be?” She looked at him in a striking way.

He jarred a little and smiled off to the side.

Bashful, a good start.

“I’ll have a latte and a side of espresso. I like to taste new beans in their purest form.”

Eating them made more sense, but it mattered little. “Discerning choice. A latte and a shot on the side. For here or to-go?”

That would set the rest of her plan into motion.

He was probably too dense to notice if she left her number on a napkin.

He would wipe his mouth with it.

He would throw it away.

He would ask if she had given it to him by mistake.

She needed to be overt.

She preferred that at least.

The worst he could do was reject her.

Then this spur of the moment plan would be a write-off.

Plans done this quickly rarely panned out.

This would all have been a pipe dream created to help her through the slump.

It wasn’t like she cared.

“I don’t know about discerning…” He chuckled with a hand behind his head and was clearly flattered. “How about the latte to-go and shot for here?! It’s gotta be fresh and I wouldn’t want to waste a second to-go cup on something so small!”

He was too easy. “You have taste. Few do.”

“Thanks, though that’s a shame about everyone else. The smell is incredible. It called to me!”

“Thank you.” She rang him up. “I try to let my work speak for itself.”

He paid.

“Receipt?”

“No, thanks.”

“I’ll have that right out.”

“Thanks!”

He walked away to peruse the seating area and she got to work. It was a process that took little brain power at this point. Espresso cups were warmed on top of the machine and she ground out an exact portion of beans. It was a quick tamp to get them into the portafilter. Then it was a lock into the machine for it to drip through. She pulled a double shot so one went into the cup and the other into an awaiting glass. Steaming the milk came next and she could tell by sound when it hit 155°F. One shot was ready while the other went into a to-go cup and, since the latte was made to-go, she didn’t bother with the design. She lidded the throwaway and placed the small espresso mug onto a saucer for an order up.

“Sir?” Damn, she forgot to get the name.

“Michelangelo, if you can believe it!” He headed towards her from where he’d been staring at some wall art with his hands folded behind his back.

It was like he wanted to ruin his brother. “Why wouldn’t I? It suits you.”

She slid the paper cup forward, but withheld the saucer.

Michelangelo reviewed her and seemed fine with reaching out to take the itty bitty handle. “You want to see my reaction? How scathing should I make my review?”

It looked dumb in his large hands. “I’d stake the shop’s reputation on this. Please.”

“You’re staking it on this?” He smiled and held the cup up. “I can’t let that go to waste! Here goes!”

He exhaled loudly above the small cup. It showed a gap in his teeth that she wondered why he hadn’t fixed. He tipped his head for an obvious inhale which he released in the same manner. He was putting on a show and she couldn’t have been more bored. He at least didn’t look at her as he took a delicate sip. Instead of swishing it like the sommelier he pretended to be, his lids cracked to observe the leftover liquid. He swirled it once before smiling into drinking the rest. When he looked at her again, she felt a tinge of irritation for having waited on him.

He grinned straight through it in an annoying way. “Incredible. I’ve never tasted anything like it.”

“We source our beans.” She scoffed. “The owners want it to be authentic.”

“From Indonesia?” He set the mug back onto the saucer she still had a hold on.

“I never said that.”

He chuffed. “Alright then, keep your secrets.”

Something about his playful tone caused her wariness to flare.

“My compliments to the masterful barista.” He bowed obnoxiously to her and got hold of his to-go cup. “I’ll come back for sure!”

“You wish!” She snapped before she could catch it.

“I do.” He spoke breezily and began to move away. “You know what they say! You hold onto a good barista with both hands!”

He was leaving.

He was leaving and she hadn’t gotten the necessary information.

She needed something.

She needed a number.

Sure, she didn’t care about this plan, but there was something to the cost-sunk analysis.

She hadn’t invested nearly enough staking capital to count this as a risk.

To get the reward she had to try.

At least a little more than she had already.

Which she guessed hadn’t been much more than playful.

She put on her best cool exterior and caught the last of his gaze before he turned away. “That makes it sound like I’m only good for coffee.”

He stopped.

That wasn’t as alluring as she had hoped.

His head tilted. “Like what? Do you guys make sandwiches too?”

She could feel the shine die in her eyes. “No.”

She didn’t have to remember he was dumb, but she really needed to calibrate just how much.

“I meant this job. If you wanted to see me so badly then you could ask me out.”

For a second she thought even that blatant of a comment wouldn’t be enough.

The idiot rotated to face her fully.

His green skin flushed an even darker shade in the process. “W-wait…! Can you-!? Can you say that again!? I don’t think I heard you right!”

She turned her head to the side so he would have to deal with her profile. “Get your ears or whatever you have checked.”

That was mean.

She raged against her own impudence.

He brought out the worst in her.

She folded her arms because it was all she could do.

“Out how?” He quacked. “Like outside? Like to watch while you sweep the street? Like something else?! You gotta remember that I can’t tell if you’re messing with me!”

Her glare burst from her as she lolled irritation toward him. “It’s obvious, you fool! Obviously I meant a date!”

“A date…?”

“Yes!” She snapped. “Sweeping outside!? What are you talking about?”

“You want to go on a date?” He felt the need to point to himself. “With me?”

“No, the other customers!” Her face felt hot as she threw her arms out to address the store.

Of course, he felt the need to look around.

Her hands fell hard onto the counter.

She guessed if she was mean enough now then at least he would never come back.

She wouldn’t have to suffer an ounce more of humiliation that way.

“I’m flattered…”

Rejection hit her far swifter than she cared to admit.

“No one’s ever asked me out like that before!” He crept closer.

She blinked once at him.

“Is this what it’s like?!” He sauntered a little. “The ‘love at first sight?’ The meet-cute? I reviewed your coffee and you reviewed me?! Ah! It’s like you asked for my number! Oh, but you didn’t… But you got me before I left! Most people have to get to know me first. I know my rugged good looks are one thing, but my personality is where I usually shine!”

He posed and put on what he thought was a smolder.

She could hit him.

She could say it was self defense.

She could smack that boiling hot drink right into his soft, round face.

She would relish in his screams as it melted off.

“If it’s a prank you can say so. You can laugh, but on the off chance you meant it…?” He sent her a sudden vulnerable look that undercut the positioning of his head.

The raw emotion scraped her nerves.

He was showing his tender side.

It had been mere seconds, she had done nothing, and she had already gotten this far.

He really was revenge on a silver platter.

She would take that heart of his and eat it raw.

She was going to ruin him.

“I meant it. Don’t get a big head.” She scowled into something she hoped was cute in a pouty way and cast her eyes down to hide anything else in her lashes.

“I’ll ask then! Number, please! I’ll need your number.” He returned to set his drink back on the counter and addressed her with full excitement.

She flinched away and tried to pocket her revulsion. “What did I just say!?”

“I’m sorry it’s not every day you’re asked out by a beau-ti-ful barista!” There was that damned smile of his again.

It took up too much of his face.

She didn’t like it.

“Who asked whom?” She got a napkin and hid near the register as she scrawled out the digits.

“Oh yeah! The credit is all yours. I’m just helping.”

She returned to find him in a newly curated debonair pose with an arm folded on the counter and his body leaned.

She stared at him dully with the slip of paper in her hand and wished to throw it in a furnace if she had one.

He reached out and plucked it from her before she could rig something flammable up.

“I bet you need that plausible deniability while you’re on the clock. There’s gotta be rules about hitting on customers! Just know that I don’t make it a habit to ask out people anywhere near their place of business. It’s total creep territory, but you made it clear! I just wanted to also tell you that I was feeling the vibe, in a not weird way!”

“You felt nothing!” She seethed.

He snorted one single time before he laughed. “Gosh, you’re so-! This is gonna be fun! We’ll have so much fun!”

“Hey! What do you mean? I’m ‘so’ what?!”

“I’ll text you!” He flicked his thumbs as if typing out a message and caught his drink once more.

“‘So’ what?!” She hissed after him.

“Bye!!” He ran out the door to another chime.

This one wasn’t near as soothing.

The sudden emptiness of the shop crashed around her.

She felt danger creeping up the little hairs on her neck.

She slapped them down.

She had to trust her judgment.

He was dumb and this would be an easy caper.