New Agenda

As you might imagine, the night's activities had left me pretty exhausted. I didn't wake up until my mother inconsiderately fired up our old vacuum cleaner in the hallway right outside my bedroom.

My groggy mind was slow to process the high angle of the sunshine sneaking through my closed blinds, and I didn't realize how late it was until I rolled over and saw the numbers on my bedside clock: 11:32. The café opened in less than half an hour, and I didn't even have my bike to get down there!

I immediately jumped out of bed, changed my clothes, grabbed a banana, and burst out the door, thinking I'd have to jog all the way downtown. (I certainly was NOT going to ask my mother to drive me – a newly-minted man! – to work.)

But I didn't have to rush after all; my bike was leaning against the oak tree out front. Wedged between the spokes was an index card bearing a note: "Thought you might need this. See you soon! -Sylvia" She's the greatest.

With my bike back, I was leaving earlier than I really had to. So I took my time, pedaling along quiet dusty side roads (not that there are any big roads on Meredith Key) and wondering what Sylvia's attitude would be when I arrived.

I'd have to wait even longer to find out, as her truck was missing from its usual spot in the alley behind the café. I let myself in and fired up the coffee maker and the tea machine, my anxiety growing with every passing minute. Things had gotten weird every previous time we messed around. If some heavy petting produced days of awkwardness, what would things be like after a couple rounds of unrestrained out-and-out fucking? I worried that she might not show up at all.

It was almost exactly noon and I'd started working on the first sandwich for the display case when I heard the back door open. I braced myself for anything, and literally cringed when Sylvia finally burst through the door from the kitchen into the café.

"Sorry I'm late!" she apologized semi-mischievously. "It won't happen again; promise!"

It took me only a few seconds to realize that my fears had been unfounded. Sylvia's expression and body language showed none of that withdrawn reserve like it had those other times. Her good morning (or afternoon, whatever) was playful and warm and real, and so was the hug she immediately wrapped me in. I relaxed, and my relief swelled up into pure joy; it was one of the happiest moments of my life. We'd finally torn down the wall between us and things were still alright.

Of course, we had to enjoy the glow of love while quickly prepping the café for business. Fiddling with the coffee machines and making sample sandwiches together behind the counter, I couldn't help continually beaming like a fool. She noticed but pretended not to notice until she finally put down her humus-spreading knife and asked "What???", all fake-annoyed like. However, she couldn't stop her own goofy grin from spreading across her face.

Between that beautiful smile and her simple outfit (short-sleeved button-down plaid top and comfortable jeans), she looked so cute and wholesome and delicious that I answered her question with an even bigger hug and a tongue-filled kiss, squeezing her denim-covered bottom as I finally let her go.

"That's what," I replied matter-of-factly, releasing her to wobble and automatically smooth her shirt while I ground more coffee beans.

"Oh, that's what," she replied, "No wonder you were grinning!" She reached for my butt, I squeezed hers again, and we might have played grab-ass all day if a couple of the old ladies from the grocery store hadn't walked up to the glass front door and peeked in, wondering why the café was still locked half an hour after our scheduled opening time.

"So, are we ready?" Sylvia asked, clearing her throat and trying to get into professional mode.

"Ready for what???" I asked, flopping open my mouth melodramatically as if shocked by her suggestion. "There are a couple of grandmas right outside!!!"

"Ready to open, you dork."

Frankly, I wanted to keep her to myself. "Oh, that. Well, if we have to..." I got in one last quick feel of her behind (and received one more facetiously irritated look) before she unlocked the door and greeted our first customers.

Once again, business was really slow after the initial "rush" of a half-dozen or so patrons. But on that day, neither one of us cared all that much. Our customers became infrequent interruptions as we talked excitedly about ideas about changing the café while trying (somewhat unsuccessfully) to control our wandering hands, kissing often. We actually didn't talk much about the night before, nor about our plans for after work. We'd finally made love, we'd really enjoyed it, and we were going to do it again as soon as possible. Both of us knew all of this; no verbal communication was necessary.

We quickly disengaged from a particularly intense embrace late in the afternoon when a grease monkey from the garage across the street came in for a brownie. Sylvia and I had brainstormed a pretty good list of café ideas between our smooching, and she was eager to test them out on a random Meredith Key-er.

"Hey, Chuck," she read his name off his shirt as she handed him his change, "Do you think we should serve ice cream?"

"Sure," he responded. "The ice cream at the pizza parlor tastes like pepperoni." I snorted; it was one of those statements that are funny 'cuz they're true.

"How about if we opened early for breakfast?" she went on. "With coffee and pastries and maybe egg sandwiches?"

"Now that's a good idea," he nodded. "Since the old Galley closed, there's been nowhere to get a quick breakfast around here, no offense" (this with a nod towards Sylvia). "A bunch of guys used to come in every morning before heading out to fish."

"How about fresh-squeezed lemonade?" I added, throwing out my favorite idea.

"Sure, nothing beats lemonade on a hot summer day."

Sylvia handed Chuck another brownie. "Thanks, that one's on the house. You don't get great market research like that every day." He thanked us, repeated his approval of Sylvia's breakfast idea, and left with his baked treasures.

The door had barely closed behind him when Sylvia was dialing up her restaurant supply people in Tallahassee. Sweet talking up a storm, she was able to swing a deal in which we got one of those glass-topped ice cream freezers and a nice lemon juice squeezer in exchange for our brand new but no longer needed refrigerated display case. She's good.

"We'll be serving out scoops by next weekend!!" she announced after wrapping up a second call to an ice cream vendor. We high-fived and hugged, and might have done more if another customer hadn't wandered in just then. What a lousy time to finally get some business.

"Cooking breakfast is easy. If we keep it simple, all we'll need is the grill," she explained as the café emptied out again. "But do you realize how early we'll have to open if we want to catch the charter boat crowd before they head out? I'm talking 5AM. Are you ready for that?"

I gulped. That was insanely early, especially during my precious summer vacation. But I was a teenager in love. "I can do it if you can," I challenged, and she smirked. "We'll be closing earlier, right?"

"Listen to Mr. Rise and Shine," she teased. "Yeah, there's nobody down here after dark, so we'll close earlier. But you know, Ben, being here every day from dawn until dark isn't my idea of a life. That's what Mack did for years, and he never had time for anything else. We'll need to hire some help, especially if business picks up like we think it will."

That was a lot for me to process all at once. For one, it had never entered my mind that anybody else would ever work at the Coffee Key Café. I considered the place to be me and Sylvia's private hideout, kinda like a treehouse that happened to sell refreshments on the side. You know the saying: two's company and three (or even more!) is a crowd.

And Sylvia's relationship with Mack was becoming clearer: it was definitely a love/hate thing. She was right about the amount of time her father used to spend working, tho. I hardly ever remember visiting the old Galley without seeing its proprietor behind the counter. The only times he was absent was when he was out running a fishing trip on his charter boat, which was also working, of course. Sylvia had been gone by then, but it sounded like Mack had worked just as hard when his family was still in town. Seemed like a plausible reason why they'd left.

"Do you think any of your friends would want a job here?" Sylvia asked after a pause, trying to figure out where my thoughts were spinning.

Most of my friends were small-town slackers of the laziest kind. I doubted that they'd have any desire to be gainfully employed when they could wander around aimlessly for free. All they needed was an old fishing pole and a bucket of sand crabs for bait, and a summer day was as good as killed.

"I guess I could ask..." I replied with a shrug. She gave me a thin smile, probably sensing my uncertainty about the whole idea. Pretty soon the sun faded behind the closed autoshop across the way. We hadn't had a customer since the affable Chuck came left, so we went ahead and closed as well.

I emptied out the display case and put away some stock in the bigger fridge in the back room while Sylvia tried to get the overly complicated cash register to spit out our sales numbers. Only remarkable self-control had been keeping me from jumping her bones during the long day together, and I was sure she felt the same way. When I came back out front, she was still fighting with the register, leaning over the counter, her jeans-covered behind sticking out saucily.

That was it – my self-control meter was officially on empty. I silently peeled off my shirt and flicked off the light switch. Before she could complain that I'd cut her work light, I rushed up and spooned against her backside while nibbling her ear lobe. "Mmmm," she hummed approvingly as she ran her hands up my bare arms and discovered that I was shirtless. I wrapped those arms tight around her shoulders and rested my bulge against her bottom.

I wasn't really thinking when I lowered my hands to her belt buckle. Apparently, Sylvia wasn't thinking either, because she let me unbuckle her belt and attack her fly, and she still didn't stop me when I yanked her jeans and panties down to her knees while we stood behind the counter.

Yes, it was pretty dark in the café, but those big front windows and the glass door were still only about 30 feet away and still just as transparent as ever. I didn't care. I groped high and low simultaneously; one hand caressing her breasts through her blouse and the other massaging the exposed patch of fuzz between her legs.

Sylvia encouraged my brashness by grinding her bare ass back against the skin of my lower belly. I let go of her luscious body for an instant to drop my jeans, baring my own ass and, of course, the stiff pole around front.

She gasped when that hot rod touched her thigh. I wasn't sure if she'd put on the brakes, but she most certainly did not. She didn't speak, but a moan and a slight arch of her back were sure invitations to continue.

Sylvia was mostly bottomless and me mostly naked, but I figured that anybody who happened to walk by wouldn't be able to see us in the darkened café. And even if they could, they probably would only be able to make out two shadows real close together behind the counter. At least that's what I told myself as tried to poke my lover's slick pussy from behind.