She is self conscious to the point of awkwardness. Whenever she leans over the counter of the coffee shop, she holds a hand to her sternum, as if her square collared dress might show some cleavage as she bent down. She blushes at comments made to other counter workers and whispers sorry whenever she bumps into someone. She bumps into them frequently.

Her nametag says Doris, but I bet her name is really Dorothea or Doris Ann. When the counter is not busy she fidgets with cups that are already neatly stacked and pulls at her apron as if it were wrinkled or untied. It is neither.

Doris cocks her head to one side when she hears music she likes (Classical violin) and watches children who come in with mothers and grandmothers. She sneaks them free cookies, but only after checking to see if her manager is watching.

Doris also likes compliments but I am careful to give them to her in small amounts. She blushes and knocks over the little pewter pitchers full of half and half when I come to her counter and comment on her hair or her earrings. Then she bites her lip and whispers something to herself. I know when to stop, because I know not to spoil a good thing.

for rischi, per request