Wednesday at The Daily Grind had the usual rhythm: frantic customers, hissing espresso machines, and Lia Henderson juggling trays like a caffeinated circus performer.
But today… today felt different.
Ethan Cruz was there. Of course he was there. Smiling in his usual infuriatingly perfect way, watching her like she was the star of a show he'd been waiting for all week.
"…You're early," Lia muttered, balancing a tray of scones.
"Early?" he asked, leaning casually against his corner table. "…I thought I'd get a front-row seat to the chaos."
"…You mean you thought you'd annoy me," she muttered, cheeks heating.
"Annoying you is part of my charm," he said softly. "…And clearly effective."
"…Stop saying that," she muttered, pretending to arrange pastries with exaggerated precision.
"Never," he whispered, leaning slightly closer.
The morning chaos began almost immediately:
A toddler barreled through the café, almost colliding with a display of muffins.
"…Seriously?!" Lia exclaimed, flustered.
By mid-morning, the café quieted. Lia sat at the counter, exhausted, cleaning tables. Ethan appeared beside her with a tray of hot chocolate.
"…For you," he said softly, sliding it across. "…Extra marshmallows. For the… not-a-date."
"…Not-a-date," she muttered, rolling her eyes. "…Right. Totally platonic."
He grinned. "…Platonic. Sure. I can live with that—for now."
"…For now?" she echoed, heart skipping.
"Yes," he said softly. "…For now."
Later, a delivery arrived: a box of pastries. Lia bent to pick one up, only for Ethan to reach for the same pastry. Their hands touched.
"…Stop touching me!" she exclaimed, flustered.
"…I'm not touching," he said, smiling.
By afternoon, the café had quieted. Ethan suggested a walk to the park nearby—a brief break from espresso fumes and pastry chaos.
"…Why the park?" Lia asked skeptically. "…It's just wet grass and pigeons."
"Wet grass, pigeons, and you," he said softly. "…And I like that combination."
"…Stop," she muttered, but her heart betrayed her again.
Halfway through, Lia tripped on a slick patch of grass. Ethan caught her instantly, holding her close. Their faces were inches apart.
"…Ethan," she whispered, breath shaky. "…We… we shouldn't…"
"…For now," he whispered again, smirking. "…But not forever."
By evening, as Lia trudged home, she muttered to herself:
Stop thinking about him… oh, who am I kidding?
Because deep down, she knew the truth: Ethan Cruz wasn't just chaos in her life anymore.
And she liked it.