Glimmers of Glass (A Glimmers Novel #1: Cinderella)

Chapter 4

A faded orange paper from Elle's folder said Pumpkin Spice in curling brown letters. I followed the address printed at the bottom to a one-story cafe tucked in between a two brick buildings, one a three-story Lebanese restaurant and the other a two-story real estate office that looked like no one had bothered to come into work in a while. The same curling name, Pumpkin Spice, repeated itself across the windows of the small building in vinyl lettering. 

I peered over my glasses, but no sign of magic disturbed the cozy little facade. This was a Humdrum establishment through and through. I blew out a long sigh, reminding myself to let the tension out with the air, and went in. The door's bell clanged as I entered.

Coffee, some kind of perfume, and the distinct scent of opening a spice cupboard all hit me at once, followed immediately by the impression of butterscotch-colored walls. The door opened between two windowed alcoves. Each held a delicate table and two spindly metal chairs with burnt orange cushions. Three sets of brown wraparound couches lined the right side of the room. Books and board games littered the tables that stood at their centers, and people lounged around on these with their feet propped up like they'd be there for a while.

The left side of the room was all tables, each decorated with a whimsical candle holder in the shape of a pumpkin. A long orange-cushioned bench ran along the left side of the room, and the tables were fringed on the other side by wooden chairs with tendrils of leafy vines carved on their backs. The whole place gave me the impression of having walked straight into a piece of pumpkin bread.

At the far end of the room, a counter curved around an array of shiny machines and racks of Italian syrups. A small doorway stood to the side, curtained in burnt orange and with with the word Restrooms hand-painted above its arch in forest green. The R was trimmed with more pumpkin vines.

These people really knew how to pick a theme and stick to it, I thought, scanning the room for anyone who looked like the sardonic blond girl in the folder. I checked out the aproned people behind the counter: a tall one with black hair and close-set eyes, and a freckled guy who looked like this was his first-ever job and he was determined to be enthusiastic about it.

"Hi!" someone shouted behind me. I jumped and smacked her hand away from my shoulder. Letting the tension go apparently hadn't worked.

Imogen dodged my hand and took in the odd couple behind the counter. "No luck, then?"

"Shh," I said, realizing a second later that shushing her was ridiculous—who would have any idea what we were talking about? But I couldn't shake the paranoid feeling that I was being watched and that any second, I was going to screw up and the whole world was going to know about it. I wanted to stay as low on Elle's radar as I possibly could.

Unfortunately for me, Imogen wasn't on board. 

"Oh, relax," she said. She marched up to the counter. I could never put a name on the color of her hair. It wasn't auburn or Orphan-Annie orange or strawberry blond, but was instead what might happen if all those colors came together and agreed to compromise. Whatever it was, it wisped down from her messy bun and perfectly matched the Order Here sign propped on the counter.

"It's my first time here!" she announced to the person behind the counter. "What's good?"

The girl raised one bored black eyebrow, like she really couldn't care less, when someone emerged from behind the burnt-orange counter with a stack of disposable coffee cups in hand.

"It's all crap," she said. "The shortbread mocha cappuccino is probably as good as you're going to get."

Someone was clearly having a bad day. As soon as I saw her face, I stepped on Imogen's toe and made a coughing noise that could have meant anything. Imogen didn't need to be told.