Epilogue
Ben
The first time Felix finds a note, he thinks it’s a receipt.
Which is fair. I did write it on receipt paper.
But instead of a tip-out log or a reminder to check the oat milk stock, it says:
Don’t forget to eat something today. You get spacey when you’re hungry. (Also, you’re cute when you hum.) —B
I leave it in the register, where I know he’ll find it. I don’t say anything when he does.
But he smiles all morning.
The second note is filthier.
It goes in his apron pocket.
He finds it halfway through the shift, reads it, turns red, and spends the next hour knocking things over.
Totally worth it.
He retaliates by renaming the cinnamon rolls.
“Mate Buns,” the chalkboard sign says in curlicue lettering.
There’s even a little paw print doodle.
I glare at it for a full thirty seconds.
“This is your fault,” I tell him.
“Is it?” he says, all false innocence.
“Completely.”
“Want to spank me about it?”
I do.
I don’t. Because customers.
But I do drag him into the back once the rush is over and kiss him until he forgets what sarcasm is.
***
Everything is soft now. Familiar. Easy.
He sleeps in my bed. Steals my socks. Rearranges the spice cabinet alphabetically and then forgets he did it. I call him a menace. He calls me darling in front of customers and pretends not to see me blush.
We still work the morning shift together.
He still hums.
And I don’t just let him… I wait for it.