The clatter of cups and hum of the espresso machine was my usual soundtrack, but today it felt extra loud—like every noise was poking at my nerves. I was halfway through a double shift, muscles tired and mind foggy from thinking about that stupid scholarship again.
Just as I reached for a clean mug, I heard a familiar voice cutting through the buzz.
"Ermelinda!" Elias called out from the door, his grin already lighting up the room.
Great. Just what I needed.
I turned around to see him swaggering in, hands shoved in his jacket pockets like he owned the place.
"Elias, seriously, not now," I muttered, trying to stay focused.
But he wasn't having it. "I'm here to test your barista skills," he said, eyes twinkling with mischief.
Before I could stop him, he grabbed the menu and flipped it upside down.
"Okay, what'll it be? The 'Mystery Special'?" he teased.
I rolled my eyes but played along. "Fine. What's your 'order'?"
He smirked. "Make me something that'll make my heart skip a beat."
I shot him a look. "Don't you dare."
He laughed, leaning over the counter. Then, with a sly grin, he added, "Or… can I order your lips?"
I blinked, caught off guard. "Get lost," I said, shaking my head.
He just grinned wider. "That's not how you treat your customer, you know."
As I prepared his coffee, he kept throwing playful jabs — moving the sugar jar, switching up the napkins, pretending to confuse the cashier.
By the time he got his drink, the whole café was watching us, amused by the usual chaos Elias brought.
I handed him the cup, smiling despite myself.
"Alright, Mr. Heartbreaker, enjoy."
He took a sip, grinned, and said, "Best. Coffee. Ever."
For a moment, everything else faded — the scholarship, the exhaustion — replaced by the easy comfort of a friend who just knew how to make me smile.