Chapter 5
The morning rush at Miss Loretta’s felt like standing in the ocean—quiet one second, slammed by a wave the next. Elowyn wasn’t built for early mornings, but Miss Loretta had begged her to cover the first few hours.
“You’ll be great, doll,” the older woman had said, patting her hand. “People behave better when they’re still half-asleep.”
Which turned out to be only partially true.
Elowyn stood behind the espresso machine, light brown hair tied in a low messy bun, sleeves pushed up, trying to pretend she was not dying inside from the amount of caffeine smells and human voices surrounding her.
“Two lattes! Extra hot!” Miss Loretta called.
“I got it!” Elowyn called back, though she definitely did not “got it.”
Still—she tried.
Pour, steam, wipe, breathe. She liked the rhythm, the warmth on her hands and doing something that didn’t require talking.
That was why she didn’t notice who had just walked in.
Not at first.
Not until Miss Loretta murmured, “Well, don’t you look fancy this morning,” in a voice she only used when interesting customers walked in.
Elowyn didn’t look up. Didn’t need to. Something in the air shifted—in a quiet, subtle way.
She kept making the lattes. She was fine. She was totally—
“Sunshine,” Miss Loretta said suddenly, “I need to run to the back. Take the register?”
Oh no.
Elowyn froze mid-pour. “B-but I’m—”
“You’ll be fine,” Miss Loretta said, already halfway to the kitchen. “Just ring ’em up. Deep breath, baby.”
The lattes wobbled slightly in her hands as she set them down.
She turned.
And of course—
Of course—
Ms. Monroe was next in line.
Not in a coat this time, but in a brown pencil skirt and a cream blouse rolled to her elbows, the fabric so clean and crisp it made Elowyn’s wrinkled apron feel personally attacked.
Her dark hair was swept into a low twist, a few loose strands framing her face in that effortless way that absolutely wasn’t accidental.
A slim gold watch rested on her wrist—simple, understated, and expensive in the quiet way only truly expensive things ever are.
Small gold earrings caught the morning light when she moved, delicate but unmistakably real.
Even her makeup was impossibly polished: soft, neutral tones that made her look awake without looking painted, the kind of routine that probably took ten minutes but looked like it cost money.
Her nails were just as composed—short, neatly manicured, bare of polish, the sort of natural elegance that somehow made the whole look feel even more intentional.
Even at eight in the morning, she looked like someone who had already conquered the first half of her day.
Her eyes lifted and met Elowyn’s.
“Good morning,” Ms. Monroe said, voice low and calm.
Elowyn made a noise that was almost a greeting but mostly just air.
She stepped to the register, hands suddenly aware of themselves.
“Um—hi. What can I—what would you—” She inhaled. “Hi.”
A tiny smile flickered across the woman's mouth. “Just a black coffee. Medium.”
Easy. Simple. Normal.
Elowyn could do that. She could be normal.
She moved to the machine, trying not to overthink the fact that Ms. Monroe was watching her work—actually watching.
The steam wand screeched for half a second.
She winced.
The woman hid a laugh behind her hand.
Fantastic. She was entertainment now.
Elowyn finished the drink, set it aside, and reached for a lid.
The first one immediately shot out of her hand like it had somewhere better to be—pinging off the counter, ricocheting off the register, and skittering across the floor with the loudest plastic betrayal imaginable.
Mortified, she grabbed a second lid… which she then managed to drop directly onto the drink, sending a warm splash onto her wrist. She hissed under her breath, fumbled for a napkin, and only then—moving with the trembling caution of someone disarming a live explosive—placed a third lid on top.
It clicked into place. Finally.
Her cheeks were burning so hard she was pretty sure she could fry an egg on her face.
When she lifted her eyes, Ms. Monroe was already watching her—one brow gently arched, lips curved in the kind of small, knowing smile people wore when they’d absolutely witnessed every single humiliating second.
Elowyn wished the floor would open up and swallow her whole.
The floor, unfortunately, was selfish.
She carefully handed the cup to Ms. Monroe, as if the coffee might explode any second.
The woman took the cup—but didn’t walk away. “The mornings are quite busy here, hm?”
“Uh—I, well—I don’t usually work mornings, so…”
Her voice cracked like a pubescent boy. Excellent.
Elowyn quickly rang up the drink, trying not to drop the receipt.
Ms. Monroe accepted it, fingers brushing Elowyn’s by accident, then stepped back.
“Have a good day,” the green-eyed beauty said softly.
Then she left.
Quietly. No slow-motion dramatic coat. Just… gone.
Elowyn stared at the door for a full ten seconds before realizing someone else was waiting to order.
Her phone buzzed in her apron pocket.
Will: DID SHE SHOW UP AGAIN? I FELT A DISTURBANCE IN THE GAY FORCE!
She smacked the phone on the counter and set her forehead down.
She was doomed.
?
By the time her shift ended, Elowyn felt like someone had unplugged her and left her on low-battery mode.
Her feet hurt, her head buzzed, and her brain kept replaying Have a good day in the exact voice Ms. Monroe had said it… which was unfair, unnecessary, and honestly rude of her neurons.
She trudged home in the late afternoon chill, shoes squelching slightly from a puddle she stepped in without looking. The moment she got inside, she kicked her shoes off, dropped her bag by the couch, and collapsed face-first onto the cushions.
Silence.
Blessed, merciful silence.
She stayed there for a long moment, cheek squished, breaths slow, the faint smell of fabric softener grounding her. Her brain finally started to settle. The buzzing eased. The tight coil under her ribs unwound just enough for her shoulders to drop.
Eventually, she pushed herself upright and dragged herself into the shower—because there was absolutely no universe in which she was letting her outside clothes touch her bed.
The warm water felt so good she nearly dozed off standing up, forehead gently bonking the tiled wall before she forced herself to stay conscious.
Reluctantly, she stepped out, pulled on the warmest clothes she owned, and didn’t even pretend she was going to blow-dry her hair.
Instead, she shuffled to her bedroom, grabbed a blanket, wrapped herself into a sluggish, defeated little burrito, and collapsed onto a bed already crowded with plushies who all looked more put-together than she felt.
She lay there and let the quiet soften everything.
?
By the time her dad came home, the sun was dropping and the house was lit in warm gold. He kicked the door shut behind him and dropped his tool bag with a grunt.
“You okay, fairy?” he asked, poking his head into her room.
She peeked at him from under the blanket. “Long shift.”
“Oh.” He nodded, understanding instantly. “Lots of people?”
She made a sound that basically meant: Yes, father. Imagine every loud noise in the world happening at once.
He chuckled. “Alright. I’ll keep things quiet.”
He disappeared for a moment, then returned with a glass of water and a small plate of cut pineapple, setting them on her nightstand like he’d done it a thousand times—which he had.
“Thanks,” she murmured, pulling one hand free to grab a piece of fruit.
He hesitated at her doorway, rubbing the back of his neck. “Hey, uh… I’ve got a few repair calls later this week. Big building. Lots of office stuff. Thought I’d check if you wanted to tag along. Only if you’re up for it. No pressure.”
Elowyn perked slightly.
She liked going with him sometimes. She liked watching how he worked, liked the dependable rhythm of it. After a day full of strangers and espresso steam, the promise of quiet hallways and familiar routines sounded soothing.
“Yeah,” she said softly. “I’ll go.”
He smiled. “Good. It’ll be an easy day. And maybe afterward we can grab ice cream.”
“Cookie dough?” she asked.
“You know it.”
He winked and went to start dinner.
Elowyn sank back into her pillow, pineapple sweetness lingering on her tongue.
She had no idea that “big building with office stuff” meant walking straight toward her next collision with the woman whose voice still lingered in the corners of her mind.
But that was a problem for future Elowyn—a version of her who hopefully had more social battery than a dying houseplant.
For now, she let her eyes close.
Let the house be safe.
Let the day finally end.