The corner of his lips twitches slightly, turning up into the smallest smirk. I can feel the blush begin to creep up my neck so I quickly turn back to face the espresso machine.
“I’ll remake your order. On the house.”
“Make it two,” he says. “One for the road, one for my shirt. It’s thirsty.”
The corner of my mouth also twitches before I can stop it, accompanied by a tickle low in my belly that I refuse to acknowledge. Saul watches from the other end of the bar, still frowning like a guard dog. Finn practically vibrates behind the machine.
“Coming right up,” I say, turning to the counter.
“Hey.” His tone drops lower, heat and humor gone. Just quiet. For me. “Really, it’s fine. We all have off days.”
The simple acceptance hits harder than any lecture. No edge. No pity. Just fact.
I glance back at him. Really look. Broad shoulders relaxed. No tension around his mouth.
“Thanks,” I murmur. “I appreciate that.”
The hiss of the steam wand fills the space between us. I fall into the routine, grind, tamp, pull, steam, movements automatic even though every nerve knows he’s there, forearms propped on the counter, presence settled instead of looming.
A minute later, I slide two cups across to him.
“There you go. Sorry again about before.”
“Worth it for the extra coffee.” He lifts both cups. “See you tomorrow, Sadie?”
The way he says it… like he’s asking permission to show up. Like my answer matters.
“We’re open every day,” I say. It’s safer than yes.
His grin widens. “Good to know.” He heads for the door, then pauses, one hand on the frame. “For what it’s worth, your coffee’s worth getting soaked for.”
The bell jingles as he steps out. Noise rushes back in, clinking mugs, the murmur of conversations, Finn’s snicker from the register. Mateo still watches from the side, quiet and thoughtful.
“You okay?” Saul asks at my elbow, his voice dropping.
“Fine.” The word snaps out on instinct as I turn back to the espresso machine. “Just a spill.”
I scrub the wand harder than necessary, muscles tight. Axel Slade looked right through all the sharp edges I threw at him… and didn’t even blink.
I’m wiping down the counter, trying to pretend my hands aren’t still unsteady, when I realize Axel hasn’t actually left. He’s near the pickup counter, phone in one hand, both coffees balanced in the other.
“Did you forget something?” I ask, keeping my attention on a coffee ring that doesn’t really need cleaning.
“Just giving the chaos a minute to settle,” he says, easy. “Figured you might want a second to breathe before I add any more excitement to your day.”
I glance up, ready for amusement at my expense. Or irritation. Instead, that relaxed half smile rests there like none of my earlier temper stuck to him.
“I really am sorry,” I say, the admission surprising me more than him. “It’s been a morning.”
He shrugs, shoulders loose. “We all have those.”
He doesn’t lean in. Doesn’t fish for reasons. Just lets it sit.
The knot between my shoulder blades loosens a notch.
The baby monitor on the counter crackles. A soft whimper filters through, then spikes into a sharp, panicked cry. My head snaps toward it. Every muscle goes rigid.
Poppy isn’t supposed to be up for at least another thirty minutes. If she’s awake now, the midmorning rush is screwed.
