Chapter 7
CHAPTER
SEVEN
TESSA
“How’s our favorite girl doing today?” Joyce steps up beside me, slides an arm around my waist, and pulls me into a side hug.
I grin. “You’re lucky Layla isn’t here, or a couple of egos would take a hit.”
“We’re allowed to have two favorite girls.” Joyce smiles back. She and her husband, Bob, just returned from vacation, and it’s good to see them again.
Joyce makes a show of looking around the shop. “Well, everything looks like it ran smoothly while we were gone, but I had no doubts that it would.”
Between Layla and me, we could run this place in our sleep. We started working here around the same time and learned every aspect of the business together. I’m glad she and Bob were finally able to take a vacation, something they’ve rarely done in the three years I’ve been here.
“Well,” I say, “there was that one kid whose coffee we accidentally dumped arsenic into. He almost died, but he pulled through at the last minute. Although I’d expect a lawsuit any day now.”
Joyce laughs, shaking her head. “Aren’t you the funny one this morning?”
“So how was the cruise?” I ask, leaning against the counter. “Did you and Bob have a good time?”
Joyce’s face lights up. “Oh, Tessa, it was wonderful. We did the Mediterranean—Greece, Italy, Croatia. The food alone was worth the trip.”
“That sounds amazing.”
“It was,” she says, then laughs. “Although Bob almost caused an international incident at the buffet in Naples.”
My eyebrows shoot up. “What? How?”
“Well,” Joyce leans in conspiratorially, “you know how Bob gets around food. We’re at this gorgeous outdoor lunch buffet at the port, and he sees this beautiful plate of pasta sitting on the counter—fresh lobster ravioli in this creamy sauce, garnished perfectly.”
“Okay…”
“So naturally, Bob assumes it’s part of the buffet display and just picks it up and sits down with it.
Starts eating. I’m across the way getting my own food, and I hear this commotion.
I turn around, and there’s Bob, halfway through this plate, and this Italian couple is standing there absolutely furious, yelling at him in Italian. ”
I cover my mouth, already laughing.
“Turns out, they’d special-ordered it from the chef—paid extra for it and everything—and it was sitting there waiting for them to come back from getting drinks.
But Bob thought it was just a fancy buffet presentation.
” She shakes her head, grinning. “The couple doesn’t speak any English.
Bob doesn’t speak any Italian. So he’s just sitting there with a fork in his hand, lobster ravioli in his mouth, trying to mime an apology while they’re gesturing wildly at him. ”
“Oh my God,” I gasp.
“Finally, a cruise employee had to come over and translate. Bob offered to pay for a replacement order, but the couple was so insulted they refused and stormed off. The employee had to escort Bob away from the buffet, and we got a formal warning from the cruise director that evening about respecting other passengers’ meals. ”
“You did not,” I say, wiping tears from my eyes.
“I know. Can you believe it? Four thousand miles from home and Bob is still causing a commotion.”
“He can’t help it.” I chuckle.
Her eyes soften and a smile spreads across her face. “Yes, his childlike behavior is part of his charm. Fifty-two years of marriage and the man still finds new ways to embarrass me.” She smiles fondly. “But I wouldn’t trade him for anything.”
“Well, I’m glad you had fun and didn’t have more than one incident of food theft.”
“We did, and me too.” She chuckles, then holds my stare, studying my face for a beat. “You know, you look happy.”
“Do I? More so than normal?”
She squints, considering. “Yeah. There’s something different about you. What happened while I was gone?”
I lift one shoulder. “Nothing that I know of.”
“Well, happiness looks good on you,” she says before giving me a wink. “Alright, I’m going to head back. I’ll be in my office if you need me.”
“Got it.”
The bell chimes, and my gaze snaps toward the door. Brief disappointment washes through me when I don’t recognize the person walking in.
I have to admit that I look at the door expecting him every time that bell rings. I can lie to myself all I want, but I know the truth—I’m waiting to see him. His daily visit and single question have become a highlight, something I look forward to even though I know I shouldn’t.
I’ve been fortunate so far. Preston normally comes in toward the end of my shift, while Logan tends to show up earlier. Usually, when he arrives, his hair is still damp, like he just stepped out of the shower.
I’m grateful that the two paths haven’t crossed, because Preston would definitely recognize him—he’s a huge Cranes fan.
The customer orders a simple black coffee. I pour it, take his payment, and hand it over with a smile. He thanks me and heads to a corner table with his laptop.
I turn back to wipe down the espresso machine, and the bell chimes again.
My heart kicks up a beat.
Logan walks in, and just like every other time, something in my chest loosens. He’s wearing a fitted gray T-shirt that shows off his arms, and sure enough, his dark hair is still damp at the ends.
I shouldn’t notice these things.
But I do.
“Hey, Tessa,” he says, that easy grin spreading across his face as he approaches the counter.
“Hi,” I manage, and I hate how breathless I sound.
“Busy morning?”
“Not too bad.” I grab a cup, already anticipating his order. He’s been sticking with the same iced latte for a couple of days now. “The usual?”
“You know it.”
I start making his honey cinnamon oat latte, hyperaware of him watching me. The silence stretches, but it’s not uncomfortable. Oddly, it feels... familiar. Safe, even.
“So,” he says, leaning against the counter, “it’s question time.”
I glance over my shoulder at him, fighting a smile. I finish his latte and slide it across the counter. “Okay, what’s your question?”
He takes a sip of his drink, eyes never leaving mine. “What do you do before you come here every day? Like, what’s your morning routine?”
It’s such a simple question, but something about it feels intimate. Like he’s trying to picture my life outside of this counter.
“Um, well,” I start, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear, “I wake up early. Make breakfast. Study for a bit if I have reading to do for class. Then I come here.”
“That’s it?” He tilts his head. “No morning workout? No meditation? No elaborate skincare routine?”
I laugh. “No. Nothing that exciting.”
“I don’t know,” he says. “Sounds pretty peaceful to me.”
“What about you?” I ask before I can stop myself. “What do you do before your daily coffee run?”
His grin widens. “Is that your question for today?”
“I guess it is.”
“Well,” he leans in slightly, “I lift with the guys from the team. We hit the gym early, put in a couple of hours of work. Then I shower and head here.”
“That makes sense,” I say, nodding.
“Does it?”
“Yeah. I mean, your—” I stop myself, realizing what I’m about to say.
His eyebrows lift, amusement dancing in his eyes. “I’m what?”
My face heats. “Nothing.”
“Tessa.”
“It’s nothing.”
“You were going to say something.” He’s full-on grinning now, clearly enjoying this. “Come on. What were you going to say?”
I blow out a breath. “Fine. Your hair is always still wet when you come in. So I figured you’d just gotten out of the shower.”
His grin turns downright smug. “Oh really?”
“Don’t,” I warn.
“You’ve been noticing my wet hair?”
“I notice a lot of things about a lot of people. It’s not a big deal.”
“It’s a little bit of a big deal,” he teases. “You’ve been checking out my hair.”
“I have not been checking out your hair.”
“You literally just admitted you notice it every time I come in.”
My cheeks are on fire now. “Can we move past this?”
“Absolutely not.” He takes another sip of his latte, clearly savoring this moment. “This is the best part of my day.”
“Making me uncomfortable?”
“No,” he says, his voice softening just slightly. “Talking to you.”
The air between us shifts. Something heavier settles in, something I don’t know how to name.
“I should get back to work,” I say quietly.
“Yeah.” He doesn’t move right away. Just stands there, holding my gaze. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Tessa.”
“See you tomorrow, Logan.”
He grabs his coffee and heads for the door. But before he steps outside, he glances back over his shoulder, catching me watching him.
That stupid grin returns.
I look away fast, busying myself with wiping down the already clean counter.
But I’m smiling.
And for the first time in a long time, I feel something close to alive.