Puppet Love

Chrystia stood back. “I work for Miss Piggy. All the puppets are difficult, but particularly the sock puppets. Lambchop is the worst. She’s a notorious diva.”

“I’m not kidding! She wants a grande, half-sweet, no water, oat milk chai latte. Don’t forget the oat milk, she said. In that saccharin baby voice,” Danny spoke into the cellphone headset that was as much a part of her these days as her own skin. She eyed the long line of patrons ahead of her with despair. They were taking their time choosing between the numerous new Christmas special menu items: would it be the chocolate-peppermint or gingerbread latte; maybe just one reindeer-snowman-Santa cookie - it’s Christmas time after all!

Bah, humbug, Danny thought. There would be no Christmas for her if the queue didn’t move faster.

“I’ll call you back. If I don’t get this latte in the next thirty seconds she’ll fire me. No, Dad, you don’t understand. She’s nothing like the sweet character we watched Saturday mornings on television. I swear, if I hear ‘By all means take your time, you know how I love that’ one more time….” Danny disconnected the call and turned her attention to the blonde woman standing in front of her, sighing at the sight of yet another ugly Christmas sweater.

“Excuse me, do you mind if I go ahead of you,” Danny said, tapping the woman on the shoulder.

The woman turned around. Danny lost all sense of time as she was pulled into the woman’s unusual blue eyes.

“You were saying,” the woman said, a bemused smirk making her face even more perfect. How is that even possible, Danny thought.

“Are you okay,” the woman asked, her brows knitting together with concern. People started to move around them to place their orders.

“Damn, you’re beautiful,” Danny blurted out. “What shade of blue are your eyes exactly?”

The woman laughed a big bright laugh and Danny swore she heard the tinkling of bells in her laughter. “I think it’s called cerulean. I’m Chrystia. I believe you were asking me if you could go ahead in line.”

“I’m Danny. Yes, sorry. Can I? It’s just that I have this nightmare of a boss and if I screw up this order, if it’s not hot when it arrives, I’m fired. And I really need this job.”

Danny mentally kicked herself for over-sharing. This beautiful woman didn’t need to know how desperate her life was, how she had run away to the big city with nothing but a few pieces of clothing and a letter of recommendation from her college creative writing professor.

That she had looked for weeks for a job, any entry level job, that could set her on course for the writing career she always hoped to have. This was the only job she’d found and it wasn’t as advertised, had nothing to do with writing. And it barely paid the rent for the room she let in a rather sketchy part of town. No, Danny thought, this beautiful woman does not need to know that I’m such a loser.

“Half-sweet, no water, oat milk chai latte. Grande. Don’t forget the oat milk,” Chrystia recited, interrupting Danny’s self-indulgent pity party. “I overheard your conversation. Let me guess who your boss is.”

“I don’t think you can. She’s a bit… unusual,” Danny said.

“I think I can.” Chrystia leaned in and put her lips close to Danny’s ear. Danny felt her heart begin to race and butterflies flit frantically in her stomach. In the back of her mind she thought, I’m going to get fired. The rest of her pleaded with the universe not to let this moment end.

“Blonde curls, long eyelashes, and red mittens,” Chrystia whispered, her voice like velvet. Again, the tinkling of Christmas bells filled Danny’s head. Goosebumps crept up her arms.

Danny nodded. “How’d you know?”

Chrystia stood back. “I work for Miss Piggy. All the puppets are difficult, but particularly the sock puppets. Lambchop is the worst. She’s a notorious diva.”

“She doesn’t even drink the latte,” Danny laughed. “She’s a puppet.”

Chrystia stepped up to the barista and placed Danny’s order. Tapping her card on the card reader, she turned to Danny with a sparkle in her cerulean blue eyes.

“You can get it next time.”

Danny blushed. “I would love that.”