He gives a small nod before tucking the flyer into his jacket pocket, mumbling a quick thanks before heading for the door.
The door swings shut behind him, letting in a sharp gust of winter air, and I exhale slowly, realizing I’d been holding my breath the entire time.
“Who wasthat?” Michael asks, appearing at my side with a broom in hand.
“I’m not sure,” I murmur, my eyes still locked on the door, as if expecting him to walk back in at any moment.
“Looked like he’d just stepped out of one of those Highland adventure novels,” he chuckles, leaning on the broom with a smirk. “You know, the ones with the brooding hero on the cover?”
A blush creeps up my neck, warmth spreading across my cheeks as I quickly turn away, pretending to be busy with wiping down the counter. “Oh, hush. He was just a customer.”
Even as I say it, I know it’s not true. There was…somethingabout him. Something in the way he carried himself, in the intensity of his gaze, that made him stand out.
I shake my head, trying to push the thoughts of him out of my mind. “How are we doing on pastries?”
“We’re running low on scones,” Michael replies, his eyesstill twinkling with that roguish amusement. “I’ll go grab some from the kitchen.”
I nod, but even as he walks away, I’m still replaying that brief, heart-skipping encounter. His stormy eyes, that low, gravelly voice…
I take a deep breath and straighten my shoulders. I’ve got a shop to run. What I don’t have is time to swoon over some guy with a killer jawline and a mysterious air. I grab a tray of pastries, forcing myself to stop thinking about the way he looked at me, the way he made everything else in the room feel a little…off. No more distractions. Just get back to work.
The afternoon rush hits like a wave, and I’m instantly pulled back into the familiar chaos of taking orders, steaming milk, and pouring lattes with the ease of muscle memory. My hands move faster than my brain can keep up, and before long, I’m floating in the rhythm of it all.
Thoughts of the gruff stranger are pushed to the back of my mind, tucked away where they won’t distract me. For now, anyway.
As the lastcustomer shuffles out and the café door clicks shut, I flip the sign toClosedand let out a tired sigh, the weight of the day settling on my shoulders. The café lights glow against the frosted windows, while outside the January sky is slipping toward night, all shadows and cold.
I wipe down the tables, stack a few mugs, and lock up. Routine. Easy. Then I tug my scarf tighter around my neck and push into the crisp air, cheeks instantly stinging from the chill. The walk home isn’t long, and I know every step by heart. Myflat’s just a few streets over, tucked into one of those new builds. Two bedrooms, nothing flashy. But it’s mine. It’s close enough that I can roll out of bed and into the café when I need to.
I reach my front door and fumble with the keys for a moment, the usual clumsiness of the end of a long day taking over. Finally, I push it open and am greeted by a rush of warmth, along with the faint scent of lavender lingering in the air. Dropping my bag by the door, I kick off my shoes and let out a deep sigh, already imagining how good it’s going to feel to sink into the sofa and let the day slip away.
I pause for a moment, staring at the empty space around me. I think I need to get a cat or something. The thought’s been nagging at me more and more lately, especially on nights like this when the silence in my flat feels louder than anything.
You’d think, after spending my entire day surrounded by people, chatting with regulars, greeting new faces, and hearing snippets of conversations, I’d crave the quiet. But it’s the opposite.
The emptiness of the place seems to echo. No sense of another presence here. Just me.
Lonely. There, I’ve said it. It’s the word I keep dodging, but it’s the truth. Maybe a little ball of fur with a penchant for getting into mischief is exactly what I need to fill the space, to add a little commotion to the quiet.
I shake the thought off, mentally rolling my eyes at myself, and head to the kitchen instead, hoping the task of making something to eat will distract me. I yank open the fridge, only to be greeted by the sad reality of leftovers and half-empty containers. My stomach grumbles in protest. I really need to go shopping.
Sighing, I pull out some cheese and bread, hoping I can atleast make it a decent snack. As the pan heats up, my phone buzzes from the counter. It’s a text from Callan.
Callan: Lou, you free this weekend? Thinking of having a family dinner.
I love it when we get everyone together. The café keeps me busy, but there’s never a good excuse to skip family time.
Me: Sounds great! I’ll be there. Need me to bring anything?
Callan: Just yourself. And cookies ;)
Me: As if I wasn’t going to already.
I can practically see his grin through the screen, and it makes me shake my head as I set my phone down. Classic Callan, always thinking about sweets. Not that I’m much different. I flip my sandwich in the pan, realizing I’m smiling, too. The weekend can’t come fast enough. Noise, commotion, family—it’s exactly what I need.
four
LUCY
