Chapter 3
3
on the house
“Is it weird that I’m basically living off your mac and cheese this semester? Asking for a friend.”
I grinned, sliding the bowl across the counter with a flourish that suggested this was haute cuisine and not, you know, tubby elbow noodles drowning in cheesy goodness.
“Not weird at all. In fact, I’d argue it’s the peak of academic self-care.” I tapped the side of the bowl like I was presenting fine china. “Also, tell your friend they have excellent taste. If I had to live off one meal, it’d be this one for sure.”
Madison was a regular at my coffee shop, and with her messy bun, oversized hoodie, and the kind of under-eye circles that screamed “prepping for midterms” louder than her open psych textbook, she was the perfect picture of what I imagined college life to be like.
I wouldn’t know since school wasn’t exactly my jam back in the day, but hey—I did all right.
She laughed, nudging her laptop aside so she could dig into her meal. “Good, because at this point, I think I’m fifty percent human, fifty percent mac and cheese.”
“The perfect ratio,” I said, patting my hands dry on the eccentric towel tucked into my apron, a relic from the 70s with psychedelic swirls of color. “Enjoy, babe.”
I stepped away to let her eat as Wilde Brew buzzed around us—mismatched mugs clinking, conversations overlapping, and the espresso machine hissing out dramatic sighs like it, too, was overworked.
Mood .
The low murmur of the news playing from the small TV in the corner snagged my attention, and I looked up automatically. “Authorities are investigating what they’re calling a disturbing crime scene discovered late last night in Old Town. The victims, a man and a woman, were found positioned together with?—”
I clicked the power button on my remote and wrinkled my nose.
Morning coffee should not include homicide.
And in other crime-related news, it had been three days since Chris and I got caught in that bank robbery gone wrong, and yeah, I was still losing a bit of sleep over it.
It wasn’t that I was traumatized, exactly. Though, my inability to take the situation seriously while it was happening was a decent clue that I’d been scared out of my mind when those guys with guns appeared.
No, what kept me up at night was the thought of what could’ve happened if The Blade hadn’t shown up when he did.
Or, worse, if he ever decided to clock out for good.
Some people thought he was dangerous. They wanted him gone, and they wanted him to let the cops do their job.
But I wasn’t here for that. Slate Harbor felt a little less hopeless with him in it, like maybe the bad guys had to think twice. In fact, thanks to the media coverage from the other day’s events, I’d bet good money there would be a break in attempted bank robberies for a while.
Scanning the nook under my side of the counter, I glanced over the dozen or so sticky notes with my tasks scrawled on them in erasable pen.
Restock oat milk.
Fix that wobbly chair
before someone sues us.
Work on Valentine’s Day specials.
To anyone else, my collection of to-do’s would probably look like a minefield—and no way to run a business. Looking at you, Caffeine Fiend.
But to me? This wasn’t mayhem. It was my beautifully messy roadmap to keeping Wilde Brew from collapsing in on itself.
“Tell me why this mac is curing all my problems.”
I glanced back up at Madison, who was fork-deep in cheesy bliss, her notes abandoned. “Because it’s the best study sustenance ever.”
“Why is it even on the menu? Not that I’m mad about it, but it’s the one thing here that doesn’t match the whole coffee-and-pastries aesthetic. Feels kinda random.”
“It’s my favorite. Perks of being the owner.” I punctuated my statement with a wink, and as Madison laughed and looked more relaxed than she had when she’d walked in here today, the shop felt a little warmer.
Not sweaty warm, but the kind of warm that reminded me why I’d worked myself to the bone to open Wilde Brew in the first place.
I’d dreamed people would come here for more than just the coffee and baked goods. And yeah, maybe that was another reason for having the ultimate comfort food on the menu.
Truly, Wilde Brew was designed to be a sanctuary. A place where people could leave their worries at the door and find solace in the aroma of freshly brewed coffee and old books.
I eyed a few familiar faces browsing the packed shelves—donated paperbacks, thrift store rescues, and a few from my own collection I’d stashed here instead of my tiny apartment upstairs.
People were free to borrow or swap, an honor system that somehow worked despite downtown Slate Harbor’s crime rate not exactly being suburban-level.
But, see? Another reason that it made sense that I was all for The Blade.
Having someone out there fighting back against the people who wanted to wreak havoc in our city? Priceless .
As I wiped down the counter, I paused to rearrange the lineup of colorful mugs. No boring corporate cups here. One had a grumpy cat flipping off the world, and another—a favorite of mine—proudly declared, Caffeine and Chaos.
The bell over the door chimed, its familiar jingle pulling my gaze up.
I grinned as Chris slid onto his usual stool at the counter, flipping open his laptop like he was about to cure world hunger.
With a nod, I grabbed the mug I always reserved for him—the one with I Turn Coffee into Code slapped across it in bold letters—and filled it with dark roast before he even asked.
I was a good cousin like that.
Plus, it wasn’t like I had to guess. Chris was nothing if not a creature of habit. Coffee, black. The more bitter, the better.
Except...
I glanced at the clock. “You’re late,” I said, sliding the mug to him. “Good thing I lost track of time this morning, or I might’ve called in a search party.”
“You? Lose track of time? Impossible,” he shot back with a grin.
I gave him my best withering glare, which he met with an exaggerated yawn.
“Busy day in the thrilling world of hacktivism?” I asked.
Chris snorted, sipping his coffee like it was the elixir of life. “New project. Was up all night working on it.”
“Ah, so that’s why you immediately responded to that 3 AM meme I sent you. Couldn’t believe you were still up.”
“I couldn’t believe you thought that raccoon in a birthday hat was worth sending.”
I chuckled. “At 3 AM, many things feel epically funny that probably aren’t. Hang on,” I added, stepping over to the register to take a mug for a customer’s refill.
I filled his cup, handed it off, and then returned to Chris, but not before letting my gaze scan the street outside the shop.
“Busted,” he said, peeking over the rim of his mug.
“Doing what?”
“That thing where you pretend you’re not looking for him .”
My cheeks warmed. Not because he was right—though he was—but because the thought of seeing a certain regular customer always hit me like that.
Straightening my spine, I looked down my nose at him. “I was monitoring customer flow.”
“Sure, sure, sure. Or maybe just hoping for a chance to monitor Jax .”
I grabbed my towel and wiped an already clean spot on the counter. “You’re imagining things,” I said, my eyes definitely not drifting toward the door.
Chris leaned back with his hands behind his head, grinning like the smug little gremlin he was.
I kinda wanted to punch him.
“So, the fact that Jax usually shows up around this time has nothing to do with your sudden interest in door-watching?”
I threw the towel at him.
He caught it mid-air and tossed it back. “Between Jax and The Blade, I’m seriously questioning your taste in men.”
I opened my mouth to tell him to bite me, but the bell above the door chimed again, cutting me off.
I didn’t mean to react. Really, I didn’t.
Chris’s grin spread even wider. “Customer flow,” he whispered, the picture of smugness.
I ignored him.
Because there he was—Mr. Tall, Dark, and Brooding—as if he’d been summoned by Chris’s relentless teasing.
Jax Thorne paused in the doorway, and just like that, the whole room felt smaller—like it couldn’t contain both him and my sanity at the same time.
Chris was right.
Between Jax and The Blade, my secret crush situation was getting ridiculous.
But if you saw this guy, you wouldn’t blame me.
His usual black hoodie hugged his frame, sleeves pushed up just enough to reveal forearms that looked like they could handle the weight of both me and my espresso machine.
His hair was adorably messy, like he’d rolled out of bed, decided against a mirror, and just accepted his fate. It was the only thing soft about him.
Not that I knew from touching him in any way, of course.
It just looked really soft.
And his face? Same as always—a blank slate that gave absolutely nothing away. If stoicism were an Olympic sport, Jax would take the gold without breaking a sweat.
I watched as he crossed the space with that purposeful stride. No hesitation, no awkward glances around the room like he wasn’t sure if he belonged.
Why?
Because that man belonged anywhere he wanted to belong, simply because he said so.
He headed to his usual corner table, half-hidden behind a tangle of plants and packed bookshelves. Our eyes met for half a second as he passed the counter.
And then, he gave me a nod—quick, polite, and paired with a tiny half-smile that absolutely melted me.
“Honestly? I don’t get the appeal,” Chris deadpanned.
I choked back a laugh. We both knew he got it.
It wasn’t just that Jax was hot—though, obviously, he was. It was the way he carried himself, like he had secrets stitched into the seams of his hoodie.
Like he’d seen things, done things, and survived them all without feeling the need to brag about it.
And from the day he walked into this shop a few months ago, I’d been hooked.
The fact that he didn’t seem to feel the same way was a nonissue.
I watched Jax set up at his table, pulling his battered laptop, a notebook, and a pen from his black, tactical-style backpack. He always did that before he ordered his coffee, like he had to stake his claim on his favorite table.
I liked that he felt comfortable enough to leave his stuff unattended. Kind of a strange thing to care about, but that was par for the course with me. Some customers packed up their stuff just to use the restroom, but my favorites left theirs sprawled around like my second home was their second home, too.
“You should just talk to him,” Chris said, as if it were that simple. “When he comes up here, I mean. Don’t just take his order. Try to… I don’t know. Get a word out of him other than his coffee order.”
“We’ve talked about more than his coffee order.”
“Try for more.”
I lifted a brow. “Why would I do that?”
“Maybe because it makes more sense to be obsessed with a regular dude than a masked vigilante?”
“ Chill ,” I hissed, looking around to make sure no one was listening to us. “That’s how rumors get started.”
“Luna, you’ve spent the last few months alternating between avoiding looking at the guy and staring at him like he’s the last cup of coffee on earth. You guys have made plenty of small talk, but if you’re this into him, ya gotta do better. Ask him out. Step into your power.”
I opened my mouth to argue, but the words never made it out because, instead of the man in question coming over for his coffee like he usually did, he was already hunched over his laptop with a deep groove between his brows.
And then, against my better judgment, my feet were moving.
I had absolutely no plan—just this dumb, magnetic pull like he was gravity and I was the world’s most awkward satellite.
Bury me now.
But Chris was right. It wasn’t like I had a shot with The Blade, so why not see if I could turn my crush on Jax into something more?
Mid-stride, I spun around and went back for a mug, filling it with black coffee before resuming my mission.
Showing up empty-handed would be weird, right?
“Morning,” I chirped, setting the mug on Jax’s table with what I hoped was casual indifference. “Forget something?”
He looked up, dark eyes flicking from the mug to me, as if assessing my motive for this random act of kindness.
As he very well should.
“I would’ve gotten there eventually,” he said in a voice that could make a TikTok crime doc go viral thanks to his husky narration.
I lifted one shoulder in an oh-so-casual shrug. “Consider it a favor. On the house.”
“Thanks,” he replied, apparently rationing syllables.
I lingered, trying to think of something witty to say. Something that didn’t scream, I think about you more than is socially acceptable for this stage in our non-relationship .
I failed, opting for word vomit instead. “You’re welcome. But since I know you’ll be here for hours and will want at least two refills, maybe order a cookie or something to pay me back? Um. Or don’t. On the house is on the house, right? No subsequent purchase necessary.”
Jax pursed his lips… and was I dreaming, or was he trying to fight off a smile?
Then he gave the faintest nod, barely more than a tilt of his chin, and somehow, that tiny movement felt like a seismic event.
Without waiting to find out if any words would follow those gestures, I spun on my heel, retreating like I hadn’t just embarrassed the crap out of myself.
When I made it behind the counter with all the grace of a malfunctioning Roomba, desperately trying to look unfazed, Chris didn’t even try to pretend he hadn’t been watching.
“Well,” he said. “That was... something.”
“Hush,” I grumbled. “It was awkward, sure, but I just gave him coffee. That’s literally my job.”
“Ah, yes,” Chris nodded solemnly. “But you gave it with your heart, Luna. With your whole heart.”
I threw my ‘70s towel at him again, and instead of throwing it back, he draped it over his shoulder like an octogenarian star of a cooking show.
“Seriously, though,” he said, leaning in slightly. “What do you think he’s always working on? He doesn’t look like a college kid, and he’s not really the work-from-home stockbroker type.”
I shrugged, sneaking another glance. Jax was back to his typing, laser-focused, like my coffee gift had barely registered.
“Maybe he’s a white hat like me,” Chris suggested with a lift of his chin. “Saving the world one suspicious IP address at a time.”
“Yeah, sure,” I said, rolling my eyes.
My cousin loved his life as a hacktivist—a hacker who was also an activist. But bless his dorky little heart if he really thought his internet hacking was the digital version of the sexy vigilante that stalked the streets of Slate Harbor.
Don’t get me wrong, helping people in any way was great, but The Blade?
Chris’s internet ninja skills had nothing on The Blade’s real-life ninja skills.
“Maybe he’s a professional survey taker,” Chris went on, unaware that I’d internally squirreled away. “Or a fashion blogger.”
I snorted. “Somehow, I doubt that.”
But the thing was, all of these suggestions were off the mark.
There was something about Jax—something more .
Whatever he was working on felt important, and I honestly didn’t even want to know what it was.
What if it was something bad?
Maybe he wasn’t a white hat hacker like Chris, but a black hat—the very internet boogiemen that Chris worked so tirelessly to out-code.
If so, the magic of my one-sided crush on him would surely be ruined.
Yeah, sticking to the surface-level stuff was a much safer plan than getting to know him for real.
After all, he was very nice to look at. And I knew that because—unlike with The Blade—I could actually see his face.