Sadie pivots away from the espresso machine, a tray of clean mugs anchored in her hands. Her barista brushes her elbow. Hereyes flare wide, that strand of hair slipping over her cheek, and she snaps a warning I barely catch as she tries to steady the load.
Muscles fire before my brain has a chance to weigh in. “Hey,” I start.
“Careful,” she warns, already off-balance.
Ceramic scrapes against ceramic, a high, sharp clatter. The tray jerks, mugs tipping in a slow, horrible cascade. Her hair fans out with the motion, her knees buckling a fraction. I lunge forward, arm shooting out, fingers slicing through air inches from the spinning handle of the first mug as it teeters off the edge.
Chapter 3
Sadie
The tray slips from my grasp. Coffee mugs collide, tilt forward, then slam into Axel’s chest. Ceramic cracks, and shards skitter across the floor. Hot coffee splashes his shirt, dark rings blooming through the fabric.
“Jesus Christ!” The words slice out of me, too loud. “Why would you— Don’t you look where you’re walking?”
The whole café goes quiet. My hands shake around the empty tray.
Axel doesn’t even flinch. He glances at his soaked shirt, but it’s like nothing touches him. Then those green eyes lock on mine, not even blinking, and it isn’t calm, it’s a challenge. Like he’s daring me to look away first.
“Totally my fault,” he says, palms lifted in mock surrender. “I should’ve announced myself with a warning siren.”
“Watch it, man,” Saul calls from behind the counter, tone clipped. “Maybe try not sneaking up on people.”
“Seriously?” Finn yells over the espresso machine, grinning. “This is the most exciting thing that’s happened all week. Do it again, but this time with the caramel lattes.”
I yank the towel from my apron and scrub at my fingers, movements too sharp, breath too fast.
“I’ve got it,” I mutter, crouching to scoop up the larger ceramic shards.
Axel crouches across from me, his knee almost brushing mine. The air between us narrows. His forearms flex, veins tracking beneath skin, hands so big I’m stupidly aware of how easily they could close around my wrist, or pin both my wrists above my head. He moves with a kind of unbothered confidence, but every time his fingers brush the floor near mine, my whole body tightens, low and hot and wrong.
I should look away.
His knee is so close, I could close the gap with a twitch. The heat rolling from him messes with my head, my pulse thudding hard between my thighs. I tell myself to move away but I don’t.
My throat goes dry. I hate that he does this to me. I hate that he's been in my café for four minutes and my nervous system has already staged a full revolt.
"Let me help," he says.
I glare up at him, ready to bite his head off, but I catch Mateo at the register instead, expression neutral, attention razor-sharp. Watching.
The floor tilts a little under my feet.
“I’m sorry,” I say, voice low and tighter than I want. “I… shouldn’t have snapped at you.”
“No harm done.” Axel drops shards into the trash bin. “Well, maybe harm to my dignity and this shirt, but both have survived worse.”
He lets silence stretch, something rough and unreadable in his face. He doesn’t push, but it’s not softness—it’s control. Like he’s choosing to hold back for my sake, and I can’t decide if I want him to or not. The tight band in my chest eases just enough to breathe.
"I’ll get you a new shirt," I tell him, the words coming out stiff. "We’ve got Pike’s Perk crew necks in the back."
"Keep it." He stands, unhurried, and offers me a hand.
I pretend not to see it. Push to my feet using the counter instead, which he also notices.
"Consider it a fashion statement," he says, looking down at his shirt. "Gives me that bumbling idiot charm, don’t ya think?”
"You seemed to have plenty already." The words are out before I can stop them.
