By one o'clock, the fog outside had turned into a steady, freezing drizzle that made the street pavement look like dirty ice.
Ethan was sitting on his small wooden stool behind the counter, trying to replace the drive belt on a mid-eighties dual-cassette deck that a guy named Marcus had brought in two days ago. The belt was made of black rubber that had melted over thirty years into a sticky, tar-like goo that coated the plastic gears inside.
He was using a q-tip dipped in isopropyl alcohol to scrape the black residue off a tiny gear no bigger than his thumbnail. His right hand was cramping from holding the small tweezers, and his fingers smelled strongly of chemical solvent.
"Hey, Ethan," Leo said, coming out of the back room with a broom he wasn't using. "Did you know there's a cat sitting on the roof of the newsstand across the street?"
"No," Ethan said carefully, scraping a tiny black fleck off the gear teeth. "And I don't care."
"It's orange," Leo added, leaning against the window glass and leaving a forehead print on the clean pane Ethan had wiped down yesterday. "Looks wet. Poor guy."
"Leo, stop touching the glass."
"Whatever. I'm going to get lunch. You want anything from the noodle place?"
"No, I brought a sandwich," Ethan said, gesturing with his tweezers toward a small metal lunchbox sitting under the counter.
"Suit yourself," Leo said, grabbing his coat and shuffling out into the rain.
Ethan went back to the cassette deck. His left shoulder was aching again from Tuesday's couch hauling, and the cold air coming through the cracked bottom seal of the front window was making his ankles feel stiff. He managed to get the last bit of sticky goo off the gear, wiped his tweezers on a paper towel, and reached into a small plastic bag for the replacement rubber belt.
He hooked the belt around the motor pulley, stretched it gently with his thumb toward the flywheel, and—SNAP.
The thin rubber band snapped right in the middle, flying off his thumb and landing somewhere in the dark, dusty bottom of the cassette deck's internal housing.
Ethan sat completely still for five seconds. He didn't scream, he didn't curse, he just lowered his forehead until it rested against the edge of the metal chassis with a dull thud.
"Need a hand?"
Ethan lifted his head slowly.
Maya was standing on the other side of the counter, wearing her rain jacket with the hood down. Water droplets were sparkling in her dark hair, and she was holding a clear plastic container filled with steaming noodle soup.
"I just broke the last replacement belt for a nineteen-eighty-four Pioneer deck," Ethan said, his voice completely flat. "And my right thumb is covered in thirty-year-old melted rubber."
Maya set the noodle container down on the counter, next to a stack of empty record sleeves. "Sounds like a great Thursday."
"It's Friday," Ethan corrected, rubbing his eyes with his clean wrist.
"Whatever day it is, you look miserable," she said. She pulled two wooden disposable chopsticks out of her jacket pocket and snapped them apart with a clean crack. "Sarah made too much beef soup for the lunch staff. Eat some before Leo comes back and eats the container itself."
Ethan looked at the container. Clear broth, thin rice noodles, sliced beef, and green onions floating on top. Steam was rising off the top, smelling of star anise and ginger.
"I have a turkey sandwich," Ethan said weakly, pointing under the counter.
"Ethan, your turkey sandwich has been in that metal box since eight AM," Maya said, pushing the noodles toward him. "Eat the soup."
Ethan didn't argue again. He picked up his tweezers, set them down on a clean rag, and walked behind the small sink in the back room to scrub his hands with orange soap until the black rubber goo finally peeled off his skin.
When he came back, Maya had pulled up Leo's stool and was sitting on it, her boots hooked over the bottom rung. She was watching the rain outside hit the sidewalk in long, grey streaks.
Ethan took a mouthful of the broth. It was hot, salty, and burned his tongue just enough to make his eyes water, but it felt incredible in his throat.
"Good?" she asked without turning her head.
"Yeah," Ethan said, chewing a piece of tender beef. "It's really good. Thanks, Maya."
"Don't get used to it," she said, leaning her chin on her hand. "Sarah's only being nice because she feels guilty about her sofa."
"I told you, the sofa is gone," Ethan said, taking another bite. "It's in a pit at the landfill. It can't hurt anyone anymore."
Maya snorted, a small sound that made her shoulders jump. "She was worried you were gonna sue her for medical expenses because of your shoulder."
"I'm not gonna sue anyone," Ethan said. "I'm twenty-four, not eighty. I just need a couple days without lifting heavy iron frames."
They sat in silence for a few minutes while Ethan worked his way through the soup. The shop was quiet, the only sound being the soft clack-clack of his chopsticks against the plastic container and the heavy hum of the refrigerator in the back.
"Julian came by the bakery again around eleven," Maya said suddenly, her voice dropping a bit lower.
Ethan stopped his chopsticks mid-air. "Yeah?"
"Yeah. He brought two guys in suits with him. Tried to show off by ordering some expensive espresso blend we don't even carry, then got annoyed when Sarah told him we only have regular drip and Americanos." She shook her head, looking out at the foggy street. "He kept talking about how his store's quarterly sales were up twelve percent over last year."
"Good for him," Ethan said, though he felt a small, bitter lump in his stomach.
"He asked if I wanted to go to some fancy wine bar near the harbor tonight," she added, her fingers playing with the zipper pull of her jacket.
Ethan kept his eyes on his noodles, taking a deliberate mouthful of broth before answering. "What did you say?"
"I told him I had to wash my hair," she said plainly.
Ethan nearly choked on his rice noodles, coughing twice into his elbow before he could speak. "You... you actually said that?"
"Yeah," Maya said, looking at him with an unblinking, deadpan expression. "It was the first thing that came to my head. He looked at me like I'd spoken in ancient Greek, then just said 'Oh, sure, another time then' and walked out."
Ethan wiped his mouth with a paper towel, a genuine, wide grin spreading across his face despite his best efforts to stay neutral. "You're terrible at making excuses."
"It wasn't an excuse," she said, though a tiny flicker of amusement showed near her eyes. "My hair actually was dirty. I've been around baking flour all morning."
"Still," Ethan said, setting the empty plastic container down. "That's cold."
"He's annoying, Ethan," she said simply, standing up from the stool. "He treats people like they're inventory items on a spreadsheet. I don't like people who talk like that."
She grabbed her umbrella from the corner near the entrance, shaking a few loose water drops onto the floor mat. "I gotta get back before the afternoon rush starts. Leave the container on the counter, I'll grab it tomorrow."
"Thanks for the lunch, Maya," Ethan said, leaning against the register case.
"Yeah, yeah," she waved her hand over her shoulder as she pushed the squeaking door open. "Don't break any more drive belts, grease monkey."
She stepped out into the mist, her dark jacket disappearing into the grey drizzle toward the bakery.
Ethan stood there for a long moment, looking at the empty soup container, before picking up his magnifying glasses and sitting back down to find that stupid broken rubber belt in the dark bottom of the cassette deck.
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