Chapter 3

Olivia's POV

I slumped against the counter, my eyes heavy from another late night of rehearsing lines. The coffee shop buzzed with the morning rush, and I plastered on my best fake smile as another customer approached.

"Welcome, sir. What can I get started for you?"

The man squinted at the menu, furrowing his brow in deep concentration as if trying to decipher ancient hieroglyphics instead of deciding between a latte and a cappuccino.

"Uhh... what's the difference between a macchiato and a cortado?"

I bit back a sigh. It was going to be one of those mornings.

"A macchiato is espresso with a dollop of steamed milk, while a cortado is equal parts espresso and steamed milk."

He nodded slowly, still looking confused. "Okay... and what about an americano?"

"That's espresso with hot water."

"Huh. Interesting. You know what? I'll have a small coffee. Black."

I forced my smile wider. "Coming right up!"

As I poured his coffee, my mind drifted back to yesterday's disaster of an audition. The memory made me cringe.

"Here's your coffee. Have a great day!" I chirped, using my best customer service voice.

He grunted in response and shuffled away. I watched him go, wondering if he realized how lucky he was to have a job that didn't require always pretending to be cheerful.

My coworker, Jess, sidled up next to me. "How you holding up, superstar?"

"Don't call me that. I'm about as far from a star as you can get right now."

"Aw, come on. A few bad auditions don't define you. You'll get 'em next time."

"Thanks, Jess. But now, my acting career is about as promising as our tip jar." I nodded toward the sad, nearly empty container on the counter.

She laughed. "Hey, you never know. Maybe some big Hollywood producer will come for their coffee and discover you."

"Yeah, sure. And maybe I'll sprout wings and fly to the moon."

The bell above the door chimed, and we both turned to see a harried-looking woman in a business suit rush in, her phone glued to her ear.

"I need the biggest, strongest coffee you have," she mouthed at me, still talking rapidly into her phone.

I nodded and got to work on her order, trying to tune out her loud conversation about quarterly reports and synergy or whatever corporate types talked about.

As I steamed the milk, I wondered what it would be like to have a job where people cared what you had to say, where your words mattered instead of just being background noise in someone else's day.

"Here's your triple shot espresso, ma'am," I said, sliding the cup across the counter.

She grabbed it without looking, still engrossed in her call. "Thanks," she muttered before sweeping out the door in a whirlwind of perfume and importance.

I watched her go, feeling a twinge of envy. She looked stressed, but at least she had somewhere to be. Something important to do. Meanwhile, I was stuck here, serving overpriced coffee to people who barely knew I existed.

The morning dragged on, a blur of lattes, muffins, and increasingly bizarre drink orders. By the time my break rolled around, my feet were aching, and my smile muscles threatened to strike.

I collapsed into a chair in the back room, pulling out my phone to check my messages. Nothing from my agent. No missed calls from any casting directors. I just got a text from Logan asking how my day was going.

I typed out a quick response: "Surviving. Barely. Pretty sure I've inhaled more coffee grounds than oxygen today."

His reply came almost instantly: "Hang in there, babe. You're tougher than any coffee bean!"

I smiled. Logan always knew how to cheer me up, even if his jokes were cornier than the muffins we served.

Just as I was about to respond, my phone buzzed again. This time, it was a text from Emma.

"Hey, girl! Don't forget, Jake's birthday party is this Saturday. You're coming, right? 🎉🎂"

Jake. Emma's boyfriend. The human equivalent of watching paint dry. But Emma was one of my closest friends, and I knew she'd be crushed if I didn't show up.

I typed a reply: "Wouldn't miss it for the world! 😊 Should I bring anything?"

Emma's response was immediate: "Just your fabulous self!"

"Just your fabulous self!" Easy for her to say. My fabulous self was currently drowning in coffee grounds and self-doubt.

"Break's over!" Jess called from the front. "We've got a line forming!"

"Coming!" I shouted back, stuffing my phone into my apron pocket.

As I made my way back to the counter, I caught sight of my reflection in the chrome of the espresso machine. My hair was frizzed from the steam, and there was a smudge of something—probably chocolate syrup—on my cheek. Fabulous indeed.

The rest of my shift passed in a caffeinated blur. By the time I clocked out, I was sure I could smell colors and hear shapes. The joys of working in a coffee shop.

I stumbled into the late afternoon sun, blinking like a mole emerging from its burrow. Although my apartment was only a few blocks away, it felt like a trek across the Sahara right now.

As I walked, I couldn't help but daydream about what it would be like if I actually made it as an actress. No more early morning shifts. No more dealing with cranky customers before they've had their first cup of joe. No more smelling like a walking Starbucks.

But then reality came crashing back down. Who was I kidding? After yesterday's disaster, I'd be lucky if I ever got another audition.