one
WILLOW
The espresso machine screamed at me with personal grudge energy.
I slammed the portafilter against the knock box harder than necessary, sending spent grounds flying. Three years of operating this temperamental beast, and it still picked the worst moments to throw tantrums. The morning rush pressed against the counter in a wall of impatient bodies and caffeine desperation.
"Willow, I need two cappuccinos and a flat white!" Mika called from the register, her braids swinging as she rang up another order.
"On it."
I tamped the grounds with the muscle memory I'd perfected through thousands of repetitions, locked the portafilter into place, and watched dark liquid gold stream into the cup. The familiar ritual steadied mynerves. This—the hiss of steam, the rich aroma of fresh-ground beans, the satisfaction of crafting a perfect cup—this was mine.
The bell above the door chimed.
I didn't need to look up to know who'd walked in. My traitorous body registered his presence before my brain caught up—that stupid flutter low in my belly I'd been ignoring for almost a year.
"Your usual disaster of a rosetta," Callum said, appearing at the pickup counter with the timing that suggested he'd been watching me work. “As usual, please refrain from any of that frou-frou cream gunk.”
I finished pouring the milk, creating a foam leaf that was, objectively, flawless. "Good morning to you too, sunshine. Did you wake up extra charming today, or is this your attempt at leveling up?”
“Your customer service skills would give an HR manager an aneurysm.”
“It’s good thing we don’t have one of those, then.”
He wore another one of those suits that looked ridiculously pricey—charcoal today, with a crisp white shirt that made his silver-streaked dark hair look even more unfairly attractive. At forty, he had no business looking that good.
And it was my job to take him down a peg or two. “Your tie is crooked."
His hand moved to his collar before he caught himself. "It's not."
"Made you check, though." I slid the cappuccinos across the counter to their waiting customers, then started on his black coffee. No sugar, no cream, no joy. Just the same as the man himself.
He watched me with those unsettling gray eyes that looked like the ocean right before a storm, passing judgement, “Sounds like you’re in a mood.”
"I'm in a perfectly pleasant mood. You're the one bringing bad ju-ju in here with your sour grapes attitude.”
“Sour grapes? I do no such thing.”
I poured his coffee, resisting the urge to make it extra hot just to spite him. He'd know. He knew everything, apparently. "Here's your liquid disappointment, served with a smile."
"That's not a smile. That's a grimace disguised as customer service." He accepted the cup, fingers brushing mine for half a second. I pulled back too quickly. His mouth twitched. “I promise I don’t have germs.”
I covered my reaction with a quip. “Ha! Exactly what someone would say who is crawling with them. Has anyone told you’re exhausting?”
"Daily. Usually by you." He took a sip, and I hated that I waited for his verdict. "Adequate."
"High praise from the coffee overlord."
"Try not to poison anyone's drink."
"No promises."
He took a seat by the window with that almost-smile playing at his lips, and my gaze absolutely did not linger on his trim backside for a moment longer than necessary. The man was a menace. An attractive, well-dressed menace who wore expensive cologne and made my pulse race in ways I refused to examine, but still…a fucking menace.
Do I have latent daddy-issues trying to surface? Oof. Best not to examine that too closely.
"You two are ridiculous," Mika whispered conspiratorially, appearing beside me with empty cups to refill. "Just sleep with him already."
