Lightning split the night sky, casting the rain-slick sidewalk in stark relief, startling pedestrians with the ferocity of the crack. It was close, no doubt one of the taller buildings that loomed over the street like shadowy sentinels. The rain hammered mercilessly against the windows of The Perkatory Café, as if the storm were a living thing trying to claw its way inside.
The door swung open on hinges that sounded to be in pain as Lydia stumbled in, being chased by the vengeful storm. She’d covered her head with her ancient satchel and as she forced the door closed – against the objections of the storm – shaking the rain from it to the floor.
“Hey Lydia!” Rowan called from behind the counter. The chaotic barista was only an employee but Lydia couldn’t remember a time when they weren’t working. The tall barista had their sleeves rolled up, showing off intricate sleeve tattoos on each arm, patterns of densely packed sigils they swore made the coffee better.
The café itself was cozy like the witch’s cabin in Hansel and Gretel. Everything slightly too warm, too inviting, it felt ominously homey. Behind the counter, the shelves were overburdened with a collection of mugs, no two alike, and everywhere one looked were glass jars holding lit candles. The chalkboard above the counter read:
Try Our Haunted Latte! Taste The Moans!
Lydia squinted at it, wrinkling her nose as she considered. Rowan, Lydia concluded. They just couldn’t help themselves with the bad jokes. “That’s filthy.”
Rowan seemed to appear behind the counter, directly in front of Lydia, a self-satisfied grin on their lips. “That’s what I was going for,” they said. “Want one?”
“Haunted?” Sceptical.
“Or filthy,” Rowan shrugged, teasing.
Sighing in defeat, but happy to be out of the storm and talking to her favourite coffee-slinger in the world, she said, “Surprise me.”
Rowan gave their favourite customer a slow once-over. Probably reading the energy clinging to me from the rain, Lydia thought, not unkindly. “Haunted it is.” They turned to the espresso machine which made a low, contented hum.
The latte arrived in a mug the size of a cauldron. It was steaming, golden-brown, and the foam moved! It formed a spiral that shimmered and pulsed; a heartbeat.
Lydia regarded Rowan, raising her eyebrows,“That’s not … normal, right?”
Rowan shrugged. “Sometimes.”
Lydia raised the cup to her lips. Rowan had a knack for brewing exactly the right temperature for Lydia. She closed her eyes and took her first sip. Heat, sweetness, spice and … something else. Something velvety smooth and teasing that slid over her tongue and down her throat like a promise.
The tension left Lydia’s shoulders, and her cheeks flushed as something deep inside sighed.
She sipped again, the air shimmered. Lydia’s thoughts were drifting to … bodies. She opened her eyes slowly to find Rowan smiling at her, expectant, and Lydia’s cheeks flushed more. She was thinking about touching, teasing, tasting … not Rowan, not anyone, really, just the idea of …
The espresso machine exhaled a long, steamy rumble.
Lydia blinked in surprise, struggling to ignore the heat not just in her cheeks now but also further down. “Did the machine just … purr?”
Rowan laughed softly, “He does that sometimes.”
“He?”
“Hmm? Oh, that’s Obadiah. Former barista. Real nasty accident with the steam wand. He’s still committed to customer satisfaction, though!”
Lydia laughed, “Rowan!”
The slowly throbbing spiral in the foam shifted; now there were faint lips, curling in a smile. Lydia stared, gobsmacked. The lips dispersed back into the pulsing spiral, and the warmth surged again. In Lydia’s mouth, over her chest; like hands caressing her lips, her breasts, down her arms, her hips…
“Rowan," Lydia kept her voice perfectly even, “don’t panic, but I think your latte’s touching me.”
Rowan’s eyes flicked up. “He’s friendly.”
“He’s fresh!”
The espresso machine let out a hiss that sounded like laughter.
“You can tell him to stop,” Rowan offered, but Lydia shook her head quickly and took another sip as she sat at the bar. The over-warm, over-cozy air in the coffee house felt thicker somehow, there was a sensual charge that made the tiny hairs on Lydia’s arms stand up. Lydia sat perfectly still, clutching her mug like a life-preserver in a sea of cinnamon-scented lust.
“Okay,” she said, mostly to herself. “It’s fine. Totally fine. It’s not even real, just the caffeine and the storm and—”
The chair beneath her shifted. It didn’t move, it caressed her butt.
“Rowan?”
The barista’s head appeared above the counter. “Hmm?”
“My chair’s grabbing me.”
“Oh. Sorry, he gets really touchy at night.”
“He?”
“Obadiah,” Rowan said, as if discussing the weather.
The espresso machine gave a low, throaty groan and Lydia was sure she could feel something delicately caressing her ankles. She tried to stand, but warmth pulsed through her and her legs already felt weak. She bit her lip trying to focus on anything other than her growing need.
A couple at the corner table laughed too loudly, another had started kissing passionately, heedless of the other customers. At a booth near the back two women had opened their male companion’s shirt and were licking his chest.
“Okay,” Lydia said, breathless. “This is weird.”
“Define ‘weird’,” Rowan was stirring a drink with uncommon focus. Lydia thought their voice might be a little higher pitched that normal.
“Everything’s vibrating.”
Rowan their face a little flushed as well. “It’s supposed to do that.”
Lydia squirmed in the very friendly chair. “Excuse me?”
Before Rowan could answer, the lights flickered. The speakers pulsed with static for a second, then the lo-fi jazz was replaced with something sultry and full of bass.
Soft, amused, distinctly masculine, a voice that seemed to come from nowhere said, You missed me, didn’t you? Lydia jumped. “Nope. Nope. Note a bit. Don’t know you, latte ghost.”
You do, the voice purred. Every lonely night you wished someone would warm you up… I was listening from the grinder.
“Gross,” she gasped, still trying to ignore her building lust. “Also kinda hot?”
You smell like rain. I loved customers like you.
Rowan was bent over the counter now, their head hanging low as they supported themselves on their elbows. “He’s been like this since October ‘07. The night he w-went out miii–” they gasped then went on, “mid-doppio. T-tragic.”
The steam wand was hissing constantly now, filling the café with humid warmth, fogging the windows. Out of the billowing clouds appeared a shape. A torso outlined in mist, eyes glowing faintly amber, a smile like a burn mark.
Every breath Lydia took made the air taste of espresso and something darker. She wasn’t scared. She was aware. Aware of skin, of pulse, of sounds filling the café; sounds normally reserved for bedrooms. Shy, curious sounds, sounds of discovery, of exploration. Laughter deepened, sighs lengthened, limbs tangled under tables.
Lydia gasped, her toes curling inside her very sensible flats. “Is this happening?”
Rowan, red-faced, grinning, tried to shrug as they squirmed behind the counter. “It’s an i-immersive experience.”
A decorating pen in a half-full frothing pitcher clattered in approval. Lydia half-laughed, half-gasped. “You should charge extra for this!”
“Please don’t give him ideas,” Rowan groaned, looking like they may be about to lose their footing.
Steam filled the café like fog at a séance. A bar stool toppled with enthusiasm. The couple who had been kissing a moment ago were now standing, facing each other, hands down one another’s pants. One of the two women at the back had disappeared, the other broke her kiss with the man long enough to look down in horror, “Stop it! You’re vegan!”
Don’t fight it, the ghost murmured. I just want to feel alive again.
Lydia’s laughter melted into a shiver. Unseen hands pulled her panties to the side, ghostly fingers finding her sensitive bean, sending a thrill straight to her core. “Buy me dinner first?” she giggled wildly.
Done. As Lydia felt a new sensation between her legs, one that immediately brought to mind other lovers, other places, she was dimly aware of a charcuterie snack box leaving the display and approaching her, completely unsupported.
Dawn came slowly, softly, filling the day with new promise. The storm was gone, the windows were still fogged, but the café was empty save for Lydia and Rowan. Everyone else had departed in groups of twos or threes during the night.
Lydia was on her third mug of black coffee, sitting at the bar once again, Rowan leaning against the bar nursing their own strong, black brew. “That got steamier than usual,” they said, giving Lydia a playful grin.
Lydia snorted into her mug, “I’ll help clean this up before someone calls the health inspector, but you owe me!”
The espresso machine released one long, satisfied hiss. Rowan hip-bumped Lydia gently as they started preparing for the morning rush.
