Harbinger Of Glory

Noah had been in the cafe for twenty minutes and was on his first frappe when the barista came around from behind the counter with a cloth, wiping down the tables nearby.

She got to his and took her time with it, and when she straightened up, she looked at him directly.

”You’re cute,” she said, like it was a simple observation rather than anything loaded.

Noah blinked at her bluntness.

He wasn’t very good with compliments, which was something that he had learned to hide after getting them so much in his line of work, but this was sudden and unexpected.

Still, he hadn’t finished recovering when she reached into the front pocket of her apron and put a small card on the table in front of him.

Then she leaned over and grabbed the pen by Noah’s side before writing her number and then dropping the pen beside the card.

”Call me,” she said, and went back behind the counter and through the door to the back without looking around.

Noah watched the door for a second.

Then he looked down at the card.

He picked it up, turned it over, put it back down, then picked it up again.

His mouth did the thing it does when you’re trying to decide something you’ve already decided, and then in one smooth motion, he slid it off the table and into his breast pocket.

Then he leaned face down and almost giggled.

”Still got it,” he said quietly, only for his phone to ring the next second.

”We’re at the Wigan complex,” Leo said when Noah answered.

Noah paused. ”What are you doing there?”

”You told us to come to Wigan.”

”I told you to come to me. I’m not at the complex, Leo, I’m at a cafe.”

A pause invaded the exchange as Noah pressed his hand to his face.

”I’ll send you the address,” he said before the call clicked.

They arrived fifteen minutes later, by which point Noah was most of the way through his second frappe and had arranged three chairs around the small table he’d claimed near the window.

He saw Leo come through the door first, or rather, he saw a hoodie come through the door, pulled up and drawn tight at the strings so that the opening was about the size of a fist and the face inside it was barely visible.

Jake and Ezra followed behind, looking considerably more like people.

They found him and came over where Jake dropped into a chair and looked at Leo, who was still pulling at the strings as he sat.

”What are you doing?” Jake said.

”Nothing,” Leo said, from inside the hoodie.

”You look like you’re in witness protection.”

”Glory cafe,” Leo said, by way of explanation.

Jake’s mouth opened and then closed.

”Ohhhh,” he muttered as he realised.

”Brand deal,” Leo said. ”I can’t be seen in a competitor’s—”

”No, that’s good awareness actually,” Noah said, leaning forward.

”Good instinct. But you’re fine, the Glory franchises around here are closed for the next week. Expansion thing, so it’s understandable”

Leo loosened the strings after that, then pulled the hoodie off entirely and set it over the back of his chair.

”Right,” he said. ”What’s this about?”

Noah leaned forward on the table and looked at the three of them with the expression of someone about to say something they consider important.

”What do you think of boots?” he said.

The three of them looked at him for a while, but then, Jake shrugged.

”Ehh, they’re all the same, really.”

Ezra tilted his head slightly to one side, like he half disagreed but couldn’t be bothered to argue about it.

Leo said, ”I use the new Adidas Predators. The ones with the tongue. Sometimes, Mizuno, if I want something different.”

All three of them said it with the energy of people who had been expecting something and had received something else.

They simply sounded uninterested, which wasn’t what Noah was expecting as he stared at them.

Then he lowered his head until it met the table.

Ezra leaned over. ”You alright?”

Noah raised his head.

”What if I said boot deal?” he said.

That landed differently.

Jake sat forward.

”Boot deal like—” he said as he glanced over at Ezra and Leo and then back at Noah.

”Boot deal,” Noah confirmed.

”Which brand?” Ezra said.

”Is it Adidas?” Jake said.

”Nike?” Ezra continued.

”New Balance are doing some nice things,” Jake came back again.

”Mizuno,” Ezra said, then immediately, ”actually no.”

”Puma,” Leo said, offering his first and only input.

Noah was smiling now, watching them go before he finally began leaning over, and the trio did the same.

And then, ”Skechers,” Noah said.

Nobody moved for a second.

Then, slowly, like the air going out of three separate balloons, they all leaned back.

Jake’s face went through several stages before settling on something between disbelief and genuine personal offence.

”Skechers,” he said.

”Skechers,” Noah affirmed.

”The dad shoes.”

”They’re branching out—”

”Noah,” Jake suddenly interrupted.

”I thought you said football boots. Skechers make the shoes my uncle wears to the garden centre.”

Whatever Jake was going to say next stopped because the barista from before had appeared at the table with a tray, setting down the drinks she’d apparently taken the order for while they were distracted.

”Mocha,” she said, putting it in front of Jake.

Jake accepted it automatically.

”Cappuccino.” Leo.

”Latte.” Ezra.

Then she looked at Noah with that same look from before.

”Your kids?” she said.

Noah smiled.

”Yeah.”

She looked at him for a moment longer with a puzzled expression before a smile spread across her face, as if she realised something.

”That won’t stop me,” she said simply and walked away afterwards.

The table, on the other hand, was completely silent.

Noah watched her go, her assets in full swing and then turned back to find three faces staring at him with their mouths in various states of open, drinks untouched.

Then Jake pointed at Noah slowly.

”Mr Noah,” he said. ”You dog.”

At that, Ezra laughed so suddenly that latte went somewhere it wasn’t supposed to go, and he spent the next few seconds dealing with that while Leo sat beside him with his hand over his mouth, trying not to join him and failing.

”Teach me the talk,” Jake said, completely serious.

”I’m begging you. Whatever you just did, teach me.”

”Focus,” Noah said, though he was trying not to smile. ”Can we focus?”

”How are we supposed to focus after—”

”Skechers,” Noah said, bringing it back.

”Yes. Known for what they’re known for. But not for long.”

He looked at the three of them, waiting for the laughter to finish draining out of the table.

And when it finally did, he looked at them, serious this time.

”They wanted names. They’ve got one for the foreseeable future, and now they turned their eyes on potential, which is something you lot have!”