Annabelle balled her fists at her sides as she retreated to the kitchen, her head light and hot and her heart beating too fast. When she could hide behind scripted interactions, she could fool customers into thinking she wasn't cripplingly anxious. But as soon as she wasn't sure how to respond? Everything fell apart.

It didn't help, of course, that she had touched the girl's hand, and that the girl had been cute. Stupid green eyes. Stupid freckles. Stupid smile.

Shaking the silly thoughts away, she willed herself to calm down. She shouldn't have been reading in the tea room. Breaking the rules started this whole mess. Maybe, just this once, Lesa's stupid rules were right.

In any case, the time for freaking out was over. She smoothed her apron and patted her face, checking for any excess sweat and oil. She tamed a few flyaway hairs, breathed deeply, and strode out of the kitchen. Annabelle wasn't confident, but she could at least fake it. And that had to count for something, right?

When she exited the kitchen, heading back into the tea room, the two girls were up from their seats, studying the jars on the shelf opposite the drink counter. Annabelle slipped behind the counter with her patent Pleasant Smile, feigning ease.

"Need any help?" she asked.

"There are so many choices!" the green-eyed girl exclaimed with a little laugh. Kendra nodded in agreement.

Annabelle returned the laugh with a fake one of her own. "Have you ever tried tea before?" she offered.

"Does sweet tea count?" the girl asked, turning to Annabelle.

Annabelle wrinkled her nose. "No, not really," she answered, with a laugh that was slightly more genuine this time.

The girl seemed amused by Annabelle's clear disdain for the ubiquitous Southern drink. "Well, I guess that's good, because I don't really like it very much."

"Of course you don't!" Annabelle replied, letting a bit too much of her own personal bias shine through. "It's made from the scraps of leaves at processing plants, and pumped full of so much sweetener that you can barely taste anything else. I'll never understand the obsession with it."

Annabelle noticed the girl's intent smile at her mini-harangue, and her face reddened. She dropped her gaze, and redirected herself. "But, anyway, um, are you in the mood for a hot or cold drink?"

"Oh, uh, hot drink is fine," she replied.

"Okay, and are you wanting tea or a tea latte?"

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"Tea latte?" the girl repeated curiously.

"Kinda like dessert in a cup," Annabelle clarified with a smile. "Tea, frothed creamer, whipped cream, and a pinch of drizzle and nutmeg. It's a great place to start out trying tea. No one can hate a latte."

"That sounds amazing," said the girl, and she turned to her friend who nodded enthusiastically.

"Great," Annabelle replied, clasping her hands. "Now, which tea would you like it to be made with? I can use anything except the fruity red teas, but the rest of the reds and anything else are on the table."

The two girls began to study the shelf in front of them, which held all the red teas available at the shop. It was the most accessible shelf in the room, and this was purposeful: these were the teas that were most likely to be liked by newcomers. Without a true "tea" base, they lacked any bitterness found in black, green, and chai teas, and were much sweeter than any herbal blend. While a repeat customer was likely to be bold enough to peruse the other, more out-of-the-way shelves, and ask to be handed jars out of their reach, first-time customers were usually more nervous, and preferred to pick from the shelf most readily available to them. Though Annabelle didn't like her boss very much, she had to admit that the woman was quite clever when it came to customers.

"Ooh, 'Hazelnut Honeybush?'" the girl with green eyes said at last, peering at a jar near one end of the shelf.

"That one makes a lovely latte," Annabelle confirmed. "It's a very sweet, homey rooibos. The cream rounds it out very nicely."

"It sounds delicious," the girl replied, turning back to give Annabelle a smile that made her flush just slightly.

"You can smell it, if you like," Annabelle offered, pushing through her nervousness. She had to remember that when she was at work, she wasn't Annabelle at all. She only knew how to smile and be helpful.

The green-eyed girl turned back to the large glass jar, and carefully lifted it from its place, looking as though she was terrified she would break it. Annabelle couldn't blame her. She used to feel that way, too, especially considering how clumsy she tended to be. The girl took a moment to figure out how to open the container, before successfully flipping up the metal piece that allowed the lid to pop open. She moved the lid back, inched her nose forward into the jar, and inhaled deeply.

"Oh, my god," the girl exclaimed. She took another whiff. "That smells amazing. Smell!" She shoved the jar toward Kendra, who curiously leaned down to sniff, and Annabelle giggled in spite of herself. The one good thing she could count on at her job was that it always made her happy to share the joy of tea with others. Kendra smiled and nodded enthusiastically. "I'll definitely take this one," said the girl. "Do you wanna try a different one?"

Kendra thought for a moment, then turned back to the shelf and picked up a jar of a different rooibos, this one caramel flavored. She opened it and breathed the scent in deeply, then smiled and held the jar out to Annabelle. "I'll take this one."

"Perfect," Annabelle replied, taking the jar from her hands and lifting it over the counter. She set it in front of her, then turned back to the girl with green eyes. "I'll have these ready in just a few minutes," she assured her.

"Thank you," both of the customers replied. They smiled and returned to their seats, and Annabelle reached for the rack behind her, where the glass steeping pots sat upside-down to dry after they were washed. She grabbed two, and the metal lids, and sat them on the counter, one in front of each jar of tea. She filled the one-ounce scoop with one tea, then the other, pouring them into the pots. The kettle, which had been left on the "Keep Warm" setting, took only seconds to heat back up to two-hundred degrees after Annabelle pressed the button. She poured the filtered water into the pots, watching as the finely-ground rooibos swirled around in a beautiful, fiery flurry. The metal lids with their mesh inserts slid soundly into place atop the pots, with an assuring "clink."

She set a timer for five minutes, a little plastic thing shaped like a classic kettle. It began its quick, sure ticking, and she set it in front of the two servings of tea before retrieving some vanilla creamer from the mini-fridge behind the counter. She would need four ounces, two for each latte, but she didn't need to measure it out— she counted off her pour, one ounce of creamer pooling into the frother each second. After four seconds, she knew she had enough. This lid also sat pleasingly snug atop the appliance, and she pressed the heated froth button.

She retrieved two large, glass mugs from beneath the counter and set them in front of the brew-pots, with the timer snug between them. Perfect.

She stood back from her work, having nothing now to do but wait. She glanced over at the girls by the fireplace, against her better judgement, but luckily they were too engrossed in their happy, hushed conversation to notice. She exhaled, large but quiet, and was grateful. There were so many things she didn't know, so many situations she had not a clue how to handle. But she knew tea, knew it like one knows the scent of home, the footsteps of housemates. And that, she decided, was certainly something.