Fiction by Richard Schreck
With the steady hand of a virtuoso, the barista poured the steaming milk into an intricate pattern of freehand latte art. Lost in the aesthetic, she concentrated on the emerging design oblivious to the crowd pressing into the tiny space allocated to Traditions Bookshop.
As she snapped the lid down and handed off the takeaway cup, she heard a new request—one so seldom spoken that she was forced to consider whether she’d heard it correctly. “I’d like to buy this book, please.”
She lifted her eyes with interest.
Occupying high-cost commercial space in Washington D.C.’s Union Station, Traditions Bookshop had realized her father’s life-long dream of owning a used bookstore. But soon after opening, his health had failed and she had stepped in to take charge full time. In spite of her best efforts, the place had failed as a bookstore. But it had succeeded—with her as barista—as a bookstore-based coffee shop.
The customer handed over a book for purchase. “By the way, I found this between the first two pages.” He held up a folded-over rectangle of paper. “Such a nice sentiment, don’t you think? It gives the object soul.”
Taking both, the barista recognized the paper as quality stationery, apparently a note-card. She placed the book on the counter and unfolded the card. I loved this book, she read above the initials A.M.L. The sentiment struck a chord. This is what she had hoped for their bookstore—being of service to a clientele appreciating and sharing works that had touched them. Suddenly astonished by the sharp contrast with the commercial pressures that filled her life, she fanned through the pages in hope of finding more.
“There’s nothing else,” the purchaser remarked. “I checked thoroughly.” He held out his hand for the card and book.
Ah, he had looked for more notes, too. A kindred spirit. The barista examined her customer more carefully. A man of her grandfather’s generation, he wore a finely tailored and perfectly pressed wool suit. Her mind flashed to old movies and to the refined gentlemen she had encountered there.
She returned her attention to the purchase, reluctant to lose the feel of the volume in her hand. “My father was meticulous about books.”
When she at last handed it over, she inquired, “If you don’t mind my asking, why did you decide to buy this book?”
“Excuse me?” The man stared at her as if at a curiosity.
“People come in for coffee and sip it while standing around thumbing through the books on the shelves—maybe reading a line or two here and there—but they don’t often buy the books.” She paused. “This shop was my father’s dream, he talked about a place where people could be happy enjoying books. His health failed soon after we opened it. The shop is a success. But it’s a success as a coffee shop, not as a bookstore.”
“Does that matter to him?”
“Very much. He thinks he must have done something wrong the way he set up the shop. That’s the reason I asked why you bought a book instead of a coffee.”
The man smiled. “Books make me happy as, it appears, they do your father. Tell me, do you enjoy working in this place? Do you take satisfaction from working here? This whatever-it-is shop? Surrounded by the books you and your father love?”
She scanned the closely packed shelves and a smile transformed her face. With the abruptness of emerging truth, she acknowledged, “Yes. Yes, I do. I like being a barista here. Surrounded by the books we chose.”
He returned her smile. “Then say to him that he succeeded. You can both be happy.”
Richard Schreck is the author of over 30 pieces and a former publication editor for a large professional association. “The Barista” explores a world he is developing in Brain Game, a novel set in Baltimore and New Orleans. Brain Game stories also appear in other magazines. More at richardschreck.com and Instagram @richardschreckwriting.
