“He’s in the back, unloading a delivery.”
“In that case, I’ll sneak in one of these for good luck.” I grip the front of his sweater and pull his mouth to mine for a brief kiss. It’s just enough to drive home that I’m good, that my bout of quiet after the street market hasn’t changed anything.
“Perfect start to the day,” he murmurs against my lips. The connection between us settles back into place—comfortable and easy with that ever-present pop and crackle of fire beneath the surface.
Before we open, Chaz and Jamar get me situated for my first solo shift, reminding me of where everything is and offering a few quick tips. “You’re going to do great, Blue,” Chaz assures me with unwavering confidence.
Customers trickle in slowly at first, locals bundled in coats, regulars with their usual orders ready to recite. I lean into the rhythm: the hiss of the espresso machine, the shuffle of feet on wood floors, the hum of conversation. My nerves are still there, but they’re manageable—a flutter instead of the usual frenzy. For once, the fear of failure is not caught in a web of anxiety. My chest feels looser, and I can breathe. It feels like more than just air filling my lungs. It feels like courage and hope.
I’ve made a decision. After hours of tossing and turning, the guilt keeping me from sleep, I knew what I had to do. By the end of these next two days and nights with Chaz, I’ll tell him the truth. All of it.
It’s the only way forward. It’s the only way to keep building this thing between us without my secrets casting shadows. He deserves to know that not only am I Lexie Monroe, the woman he calls Blue, but also Alexandra Townsen, the name I’ve hidden behind for years. The woman I never wanted to be.
I glance down at my hand as I pass a steeped tea across the counter. His ring glints under the café lights, snug on my finger. I shouldn’t like the sight of it so much, but I do.
The morning picks up, and I find my footing. I recognize the next customer and, having some fun with it, call out her order, “Macchiato, extra foam with a side of Al Green for Miss Arlee.”
Chaz, standing at the far end of the counter, flashes his dimpled grin. “Coming right up.”
Miss Arlee beams at me, “Aren’t you a doll for remembering? I do love Al, and only C can do him justice. He’s got the face and personality to match that voice.”
“He surely does,” I agree, sliding her a toasted bagel. “Have a good day, Miss Arlee.”
“Thank you, darling,” she says, moving eagerly to the pick-up counter where Chaz begins singing, his deep voice silky smooth and dripping with soul. She clutches her coffee to her. “Lord, havemercy.”
He has me just as captivated. His gaze finds mine, reaching the chorus, crooning “Simply Beautiful” as if he’s just serenading me. He draws out another happy smile from Miss Arlee and applause from the small crowd. I almost forget I’m supposed to be working until he releases me from his gaze to take a theatrical bow.
For the duration of the morning rush, I keep pace, chatting with customers and handling orders. Even when I fumble by getting an order wrong or overheating a danish, I don’t spiral. I just correct it, apologize, and move on. This feels good—working with my hands, moving with purpose. I’m contributing to something real, something I chose. Chaz is a big part of that. He makes me believe in myself. Like I can be someone who doesn’t let fear dictate her life.
I’ve never felt this way about anyone before, and that’s why I have to give him the truth. More than that, I need to understand his truths too. His father’s death hangs over him like a storm cloud. He’s opened up a little about it, and what I’ve heard breaks my heart for the boy he was. I know there’s more, andI want to understand it. Not because I need him to lay himself bare for me but because I care too much to let him carry it alone. We both need to unburden ourselves if we’re going to have a real shot at this.
Chaz moves behind me, his presence steady and solid, his arm brushing mine as he grabs more milk from the fridge. “You’re doing amazing,” he murmurs, low enough that only I hear.
“Thanks.” I smile, and for a fleeting moment, I let myself imagine that this is my life—working beside Chaz, living in this town, embracing this version of myself and all its possibilities.
But how can I stay here? What would I even do? My friends and everything else in my life are in Chicago. Yet, that life isn’t what I want anymore. I ponder that as the busy morning fades into a quieter afternoon. I refill the coffee beans and restock the napkins. The scent of freshly brewed coffee hangs in the air, warm and inviting. I catch Chaz watching me from the corner of my eye.
I’m crazy about him. Not just his teasing grins or how he makes me feel like I’m the only person in the room. I like him for the good, kind man he is: a sweet-talker who charms me with latte art and dorky notes, a vocal god who belts out a love ballad and collects comic books.
He’s nothing I would ever have expected when I came here on my solo retreat, but he’s everything I want.He’s the first man I’ve chosen. Not someone stamped and approved by my parents because he’s suitable, but someone right for me. Maybe I don’t need all the answers right now. Maybe I can figure it out as I go.
Chaz sidles up beside me, bumping my shoulder with his. “How’s my wifey holding up?”he teases.
I shake my head, laughing despite myself. “Just fine, hubby.”
“I like the sound of that.”
“Well, we’re about to play house for the next two days, so I expect full wifey treatment.”
“Don’t worry. I got you, Blue.” His grin is far too dazzling. “I intend to be the perfect husband.” With that, he lifts my hand and kisses my ring.
Jamar rolls his eyes at us, but it’s all in good humor.
I’m on cloud nine when a customer walks in. He steps up to the counter, looking vaguely familiar—a middle-aged man with an average build and straight brown hair. There is nothing distinctive about him except for his unnervingly blank expression. It takes a moment for recognition to click in.He’s the customer I noticed a few days ago, partially hidden behind his newspaper. Now that I think about it, I saw him during one of my coffee dates with Chaz and possibly at the gift store. I can’t quite remember where, but I’m sure it was him. That wouldn’t be unusual if he were a local, but he doesn’t seem like he’s from around here.
“Welcome to the Acoustic Café,” I say, forcing a polite smile while my instincts make me jumpy. “What can I get started for you?”
“Black, medium roast, to go.” His reply is flat, and his obsidian eyes burn into me like an X-ray—intense and invasive. His scrutiny prickles my skin.
