His mouth curved. Not quite a smile—more of a crack in the wall he was staring down. I'd take it.
I got to Brew & Bean by ten, a full hour before Elena was due. Mika was already behind the counter, handling the late-morning crowd with her usual effortless energy.
"You look stressed," she said. "What happened?"
"Callum's daughter is coming by. In an hour. Alone. To hang out with me. Without Callum."
"Oh. So this is a vibe check."
"It's a vibe check."
"You'll be fine."
"You don't know that."
"Willow, you defended her father to her face at dinner and she liked you more for it. The hard part isover. This is a victory lap." Mika nudged a latte toward me. "Drink. Breathe. Stop spiraling."
I drank. I did not stop spiraling.
At eleven-oh-three, Elena pushed through the door.
She wore the same leather jacket from last night, paired with an oversized hoodie and sneakers that were fashionable but not overly trendy. Her dark hair swung at her chin. She scanned the shop the way her father scanned buildings—taking inventory, cataloging details, forming opinions she'd share when she was good and ready.
"Hey," she said, sliding onto a stool at the counter. "This place is cute."
"Thanks. It's held together by willpower and prayer, but we make it work." I grabbed a cup. "What can I get you?"
"Oat milk latte. Extra shot." She paused. "No judgment if that's a crime in a real coffee shop."
"No crime. Your dad's the coffee snob, not me." I started pulling the shot, grateful to have a task for my hands. "How's the hotel?"
"Bougie. The pillows are insane. I slept for ten hours." She propped her chin on her fist. "My flight's at four, so I figured I'd come bother you before I go."
"I'm honored."
"You should be. I skipped a museum for this."
I set the latte in front of her. She took a sip, nodded—the Hayes nod of approval, restrained and non-verbal. I was learning to read the family dialect.
"So," Elena said. "How long have you worked here?"
"Three years. Started right after I bailed on a really good physical therapy program.”
"No shit? Why’d you bail?”
"It wasn't for me. Or I wasn't for it. Either way, I ended up here and it stuck."
"And you manage the place?"
"I run it, basically. Pete and Linda own it—they're great, older couple, semi-retired. I handle the day-to-day." I wiped down the counter, a reflex, filling the quiet with motion. "It's the thing I'm best at. Which sounds sad when I say it out loud, but it's true."
"That's not sad. Knowing what you're good at is half the battle. Most people at Stanford are faking it." Elena took another sip. "I'm very much including myself in that."
I laughed. I hadn't expected to, but there it was—a real laugh, warm and easy. Elena was sharp and self-aware and had a knack for defusing her own intensity with honesty. It was jarring how much I enjoyed talking to her. And jarring how aware I was of the math. Three years apart. Same generation. Different seats on the same rollercoaster.
"Can I ask you a random question?" she said.
"Go for it."
