THE JOB
ALM No.91, July 2026
SHORT STORIES
I got to the cafe at the same time as always, and as they had been every other day, they were sitting at the corner table, she with a book, he with a sudoku.
I ordered my usual latte and a croissant and sat down where I could see them, grabbing a book off the shared shelf so it didn’t look creepy. The same gentle bossa nova was play as the last two days, and I’d unwillingly learned the tune. It made my foot tap, distracting me from the job. I pressed my hands on my knees, watching as he said something to her. She laughed, swatting him gently on the shoulder. They looked peaceful and happy, not as if she had something to hide.
But she must. Otherwise I wouldn’t be here.
I’d watched them every day for a week, and every day at eight thirty sharp they showed up, ordered something, and spent an hour relaxing in each others’ company. Simple enough job with a predictable pattern like that. They were too old to move very fast. Always together, but it wouldn’t be an issue.
I should have done it by now. After three days, I’d been ready, but something had held me back. And now, after seven, it wasn’t a simple job anymore.
So she’d done something in her past that pissed someone off. So what? She had to be seventy years old now, probably older. (I could find out, wouldn’t be hard.) Seemed like letting it go would be the adult choice, but instead they’d hired me. They hadn’t told me what she’d done, and I never asked, but this time I was curious. What could the old white lady with the smile wrinkles, the pom-pom hat, and the fuzzy vest possibly have done to deserve sending me after her? Killed a beloved pet? Stolen a lover?
At nine sharp, they stood up. I could hear their joints creak from my table. They bussed their cups, waved to the person behind the counter, and left the cafe arm-in-arm. Outside, they chatted for a moment, looking left and right as if unsure where to go next.
I waited. They always went straight home after breakfast—that would be how I’d do it, wait at their apartment—but today they turned right and strolled up the street, looking in shop windows.
A change in routine. More observation needed, then.
Relief dripped down my spine, easing the tension I hadn’t noticed until now. I could admit to myself that I wanted to watch them a bit longer. Another couple of days to confirm the plan. It wasn’t enough of a delay that anyone would complain.
Or, they could complain, but they couldn’t do anything about it. I’d taken the job, and I’d do it. Just—not quite yet.
***
At eight the next day, I was picking up my order when they stepped into line. Years of practice kept my expression neutral, though I was raging inside. They’d never been early before.
“Oh, that looks good,” the woman said, pointing at the scone on my plate. “Is that pear?”
I nodded without looking at her.
Don’t interact. Don’t befriend.
Basic rules of the job.
“I might get one too, if you say it’s as good as it looks.” She cocked her head as if waiting for me to take a bite.
“Um.” Faster to do it, answer, and move on. I broke off a corner of the scone and ate it. “Oh yeah, it’s delicious.”
She threw her head back and laughed.
Beside her, the man grinned at me and moved to the counter. “We’ll get two, then.”
“I’ve seen you around. Do you work near here?” she asked me.
I nodded, keeping my eyes on the scone. Why were they so early?
“We live just up the road, above the Italian place,” she continued. “It’s small, but so convenient, right downtown. The kind of place a young person like you would love, I bet. Did you go to school here?”
“Excuse me.” I grabbed my latte from the barista and walked to the door. No observation today. Might be hard to finish this job, now she’d befriended me. I wasn’t invisible anymore.
I pulled out my phone to message the buyer, then put it away. I’d see how tomorrow went before I backed out. I didn’t need the money, but I wanted it. There was no rush.
***
The next day they followed their regular schedule, arriving at eight-thirty and filling their usual corner table with books and coffee mugs and a plate of scones. More food than usual, but otherwise normal.
I sat down at the far corner behind a fern and pretended to read. Again my foot tapped annoyingly to the music. I stopped it, craving earplugs—I didn’t need to hear them to do my observation—but someone might notice. I didn’t want to stand out.
This job would be done soon. Part of me was glad of it; this town was cute, but too small for my taste. People remembered strange faces here.
“There she is! I told you she comes every day.” The woman had noticed me, despite my new location, and my jaw clenched as she walked, smiling, over to my table. “Well, hello there.”
I’d stayed too long, become too familiar. What to do? I could ignore her, but she’d remember rudeness than a simple social exchange.
I smiled. “Hi.”
“That pear scone yesterday was delicious. Did you try the apricot ones today? You should.”
Keep it short and polite. She’ll move on.
I shook my head. “Just coffee.”
“Well, maybe get one for later. What’re you reading?”
I flipped the book to its cover. I’d grabbed it from the cafe’s bookshelf without noticing or caring what it was, and now we looked at it together.
“That’s the guy who wrote Fight Club, isn’t it?” she asked. “Great movie, but I didn’t love the book.”
I nodded, hoping it would act like a response since I hadn’t read a single word of this book and wasn’t familiar with the author.
“Ready to go, hun?” The man came to her side holding her coat. “It’s so cold today, I’m thinking we go home and light a fire. Maybe watch a movie?”
“That sounds great.” She looked like she was about to introduce us, so I got to my feet fast.
“Excuse me, I need the bathroom.” I left quickly, only looking back when I reached the restroom door. They were gone.
I imagined her returning home, planning a cozy day with her partner, and finding me waiting there. She might greet me with a smile, which would be worse than a scream.
Nope. Couldn’t do it.
I texted the buyer: Something came up. Need to cancel. Apologies.
***
I woke up early the next day, packed my bag and dumped it in the trunk of my car. I couldn’t leave town without breakfast, so I walked over to the cafe. It wasn’t weird to go back there. It had good coffee, good pastry, and I wasn’t working anymore so it scarcely mattered.
When I got in line, it was eight-twenty. I glanced around, but they weren’t here yet. It didn’t matter. Natural to be here at this time; I’d come here at the same time for over a week.
Apricot scones were on the menu, so I ordered one along with my latte and went to a table by the window where I could see the door as well as the corners.
By nine, they still weren’t there.
I went home. Got my bag from the car because I needed my workout clothes. Did some exercises, watched something on TV.
***
The next day, they didn’t show up either.
I walked past their building. The side door behind the Italian place was locked up tight, nobody around.
I went home. Worked out.
***
The next day, he showed up at eight-thirty, alone. He ordered a coffee and a scone and sat down in the corner table, as he had done every day since I’d arrived. He pulled out a book, but he set it on the table without opening it. Curls of steam rose up from his untouched coffee mug. His eyes were red.
I got up and left without bussing my table. At home, I pulled up the buyer’s original email. In ten minutes I’d found their name and address in a town twenty miles east of here.
I packed my bag, threw it in the trunk of my car, and pulled away heading east.
Sophia Krich-Brinton (she/they) lives in Colorado with her partner, kids, and cats. They write weird stories at dawn when the world sleeps and the cats try to sit on their keyboard. Her work has appeared or is upcoming in HAD, Farewell Transmission, Bull, and more. When not writing, she boxes, plays the banjo, and goes backpacking. Find them at sophiakbrinton.com or on Twitter/Instagram at @sophiakb_writes
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