TESSA
“He sure likes coffee, doesn’t he?” Layla asks, her tone laced with skepticism as she eyes the table where Preston has been slowly nursing his cup for the past two hours.
I answer with a smile, the kind I hope passes for casual. Layla’s too perceptive for her own good, though. She, no doubt, sees straight through it.
I’ve never been good at making friends, not the real kind. I suppose Layla is one of my best and only ones, even if our entire friendship exists inside this coffee shop. Three years of working side by side has a way of bonding people. With Layla, it’s more than that, though. She sees me. She knows the rhythm of my moods, the tells in my voice, and the way I shrink when someone raises theirs.
“He works a lot. Needs the caffeine,” I say, wiping down the counter even though it’s already spotless.
She gives me a look because we both know that Preston lurking in here has nothing to do with caffeine and everything to do with me.
I study Layla for a beat, and my heart swells. No one knows me the way she does. Despite my efforts to keep her out, like I do everyone else, she’s persistently forced her way in. She doesn’t know everything, but she knows enough. Just having her on my side gives me the extra strength I need to face it all. I’m going to miss working with her.
Finally, at twenty-five, I’m only a semester away from my degree in social work. It took longer than I hoped, mostly because juggling a full-time job and classes doesn’t leave much room for being a normal college student. But I’m close. I can feel the finish line now. The idea of graduating—actually graduating—and moving into an adult job as a social worker sends a strange mix of excitement and nerves through me.
It’s everything I’ve worked for. I’ve wanted nothing more than to make it, to break the stereotypes of an adult who spent their childhood juggled through a revolving door of foster homes. The statistics of the life of an unwanted foster kid like me should be bleak. I’ve fought so hard to have more. Not only do I want to be successful in a worthy career but I also want a job that allows me to help children like me, ones without a voice.
But the thought of leaving this place? That part unsettles me.
This shop has been my safe little pocket of the world. The owners, Bob and Joyce, treat me like family. Layla loves me like a friend, even when I’m not sure I know how to be one. There’s comfort in the familiar smells of roasting beans, the regulars who always order the same drink, and the steady hum of the espresso machine.
If I’m honest, the part that scares me the most is the fact that I don’t know if Layla and I would work outside these walls. Our friendship only exists here. He’s made sure of it. I can get through anything in life as long as I have some sort of safety, and Layla is that for me. She’s my comfort.
But graduation is coming whether I’m ready or not. And I’m terrified.
“Tessa.” Layla’s voice cuts sharper than usual and louder than it needs to be. “Can you help me unload the delivery in the back?”
My gaze sweeps the shop even though I already know what I’ll find. Completely empty—except for Preston, sitting alone at his usual table. His laptop is open, but he’s not typing. He lifts his eyes and pins me with a stare that slides straight through my ribs.
I give him a small smile, then turn back to Layla.
“Sure,” I say, keeping my voice steady as I follow her through the swinging door into the back room.
The wooden door shuts behind us. It’s almost closing time, and I doubt we’ll get more customers. Even if we do, we’ll hear the bell on the front door from back here.
“Is it a big one?” I ask, forcing my shoulders to relax.
Layla shrugs. “Just some coffee.”
She stops in front of two boxes stacked on the floor and pulls a box cutter from the shelf. The blade slices through the tape in one smooth motion. She wouldn’t normally ask for help with two boxes of beans, so I know exactly where this is heading.
She reaches inside, grabs a bag of roasted beans, and hands it to me. I take it and place it neatly on the storage shelf behind us.
“You know my offer still stands,” she says.
“Your offer?” I ask, pretending not to understand.
“The offer to move in with me.” She doesn’t bother to soften her tone. “The one I’ve been making for three years.”
I give her a small smile and nod. “Oh. That offer. Yeah.”
She stares at me, waiting.
“No, I’m fine living with Preston,” I say lightly. “It’s been working out great, actually.”
I hear how thin my voice sounds, but I keep going.
I moved in with Preston a year ago, and it’s been convenient. It’s been easier to focus on my classes. I don’t have to panic every time a bill comes in or juggle more shifts on top of a full course load in order to pay them.
