Latte for My Mate

Chapter 1

Ben

The first thing I do when I open Stillwater Café is turn on the lights and immediately regret it.

Fluorescents hum like they’ve got something to prove, spotlighting the bare counters. There’s something mildly offensive about a place being too clean, but I can’t help it. I like things in order. Predictable. Quiet.

I move through the opening routine with the kind of muscle memory that comes from years of being too good at something you don’t particularly love.

Grind the beans. Load the hoppers. Check the pastry case—nothing’s missing, because I closed last night and triple-checked inventory. But still. I check again.

There’s comfort in this. Solitude in motion. Once I'm done, I make myself a flat white, lean against the counter, and let the silence do what it does best—wrap around me like a too-warm blanket I pretend not to need.

I could have retired. I did retire, technically. Walked away from a high-paying city job, a long-term relationship, and a burnout spiral that left me halfway to a cardiac event. Moved to this sleepy lakeside town with nothing but a grudge and the unshakable belief that people ruin everything.

The café is just something to do. Three mornings a week. Early shifts, unless Elaine needs me to close. No fuss. No drama.

So of course, the universe decides to send me drama at 4:56 a.m. in the form of a text from the owner:

EM: New hire starts today—Felix something. Show him the ropes? ??

I stare at the screen like it just insulted my mother.

I specifically said I don’t do training. I don’t have the patience or the smile for it. But Elaine is in her late sixties, forgetful, and too nice for confrontation, so instead of replying no, I sigh and sip my coffee. Guess I have to accept my fate here.

New hires are always the same—eager, loud, terminally optimistic. Wide-eyed twenty-somethings who treat latte art like religion and think oat milk solves everything.

Fuck, this is going to be a long morning…

I take another sip of my flat white and pray this “Felix” has at least one functioning brain cell and a basic grasp of steam wand etiquette.

The bell over the door jingles at 4:59, because of course he’s barely on time. I glance up, fully prepared to deliver a withering stare and possibly a warning about personal space.

And then I see him.

Tall. Slender. Early twenties. Slight bedhead that looks aggressively natural. Hoodie sleeves pushed up over toned forearms. He blinks at me like I’ve caught him mid-dream, then grins. Wide. Crooked. Devastating.

“Morning, boss.”

I blink. Once. Twice.

No one’s called me boss since 2012, and even then, it was ironic.

“Ben,” I correct. “I’m not your boss. Just here to keep you from poisoning anyone.”

He laughs like I’ve told a joke, which I haven’t.

“Felix.” He holds out a hand, like we’re meeting at a job fair and not in the cold gray stillness of pre-dawn caffeine prep.

I stare at it, then sigh and shake. His hand is warm. Solid. He smells like fresh air and cinnamon and something else I can’t place, but it hits me in the chest like a warm wave. It’s… distracting.

“Right,” I say, pulling my hand back too fast. “Aprons are over there. You’ve worked in a café before?”

“Couple times,” he says, already moving toward the counter like he belongs there. “Don’t worry, I’m a quick learner.”

Great. A confident one. Just what I need.

I rub at the back of my neck, trying to shake the weird tingle his scent left behind. It’s nothing. Just cologne. Or pheromones. Or whatever makes people too attractive for their own good.

Not that I noticed. Not like that.

Anyway. He’ll last a week. Maybe two. They always get bored when they realize this place isn’t a Pinterest board come to life. It’s early hours, burnt fingertips, and people who take their coffee too personally.

Felix hums as he washes his hands, some soft, lilting tune that I don’t recognize. It doesn’t stop. Through checking the dairy fridge, unboxing muffins, and fumbling with the espresso grinder, he just… hums. Unless I’m giving him directions, he hums.

Like it’s a soundtrack to his life and I’ve walked in halfway through.

I sip my coffee and watch him, quietly bracing myself for whatever chaos this kid’s about to unleash.

Because I’ve seen what happens when people like him walk into lives like mine.

And I’ve got a bad feeling mine’s about to get a lot less quiet.