“Next.”
Another guy. Neatly ironed shirt. Expensive watch. Not from around here.
“Uh... is the regular girl here?”
My eyes narrow. “No. You want coffee or not?”
He hesitates. “She’s... nice.”
I lean on the counter. Lower my voice. “She’s not here. And if that’s the reason you came, keep walking.”
He backs off like I pulled a gun instead of a dirty look.
Three more ask about her.
Each time, the muscle in my jaw ticks a little harder.
“She’s not here,” I tell one of them. “You’re stuck with me.”
It’s not customer service. It’s survival. Nobody argues.
I’m halfway through scorching another cappuccino when I hear her voice behind me.
“Maybe don’t scowl at the customers.”
I turn.
Ava.
Hair tied back. Boots scuffed. Jacket zipped all the way up. Calm like she wasn’t gone. Like nothing happened.
She steps into the truck, eyes flicking over the mess I’ve made.
“You’re not steaming the milk long enough,” she says, reaching past me.
Her fingers brush mine.
I freeze.
Then she’s moving, flipping switches, pressing buttons, pouring with muscle memory like she never left. She hands off a cup without even checking the order slip.
Outside, Sage leans on her car, grinning. Havoc stands beside her like a stone wall with eyes. Watching. Measuring.
A customer steps up. Ava handles him like she’s been doing it her whole life. A tired smile, a warm tone, and he walks away like the day just got better.
“You were trying,” she says quietly. “That counts.”
“I was doing fine.”
She raises an eyebrow. “You threatened the tip jar.”
“It worked, didn’t it?”
Doris strolls up not long after, smirking like she walked in on a punchline.
“Well, look who’s back,” she says, eyes dancing over Ava. Then she turns to me. “And look who thought he could play barista. Bless your heart.”
“It wasn’t that bad,” I mutter.
