Coffee, Dates, and Other Terrible Ideas
Cohen
Morning light filters through the tall windows of Voss’s villa with the precision of a divine punishment.
I have no idea what time it is, but my brain informs me it’s way too early to be conscious.
At least the day isn’t starting off completely awful. I managed to call my little sister and we had a good chat. She sounds happy—and more importantly, far from home. She’s staying in the dorms for now, which makes me feel a hell of a lot better.
I head downstairs, bare feet on parquet that seems engineered not to make a sound.
The silence is broken only by a metallic clink.
I find Dominic in the kitchen. Gray T-shirt, perfect hair, the haunted look of someone who’s lived too many lives before eight a.m. He’s stirring an espresso like he plans to dissolve all his sins in it.
“You gonna stare at that cup until it evaporates?” I mumble.
Dom shoots me a look that could set me on fire if physics allowed it.
“You gonna talk until I throw you out?”
“Wow, good morning to you too,” I mutter, opening a cabinet.
Everything is tidy, aligned, perfectly symmetrical. Even the sugar and flour jars look like they were placed with surgical precision.
I’ve been staying here a while, but this is the first morning I’ve actually come down for breakfast. Usually I spend the entire day in Dominic’s home gym.
Yes, Dominic has a home gym.
Yes, all I do is think about training.
Getting kicked off the team has left me with too much energy and nowhere acceptable to put it.
And of course I don’t feel like showing my face around town and triggering some small-town meltdown.
“Don’t touch anything,” Dom adds, eyes glued to his laptop.
Nate walks in a minute later, hair a mess, looking like he regrets every decision he’s made in the last decade.
“Please tell me there’s coffee,” he whines.
“On the counter,” Dom replies.
And that’s when it hits me.
There’s enough coffee for all three of us.
Dominic Voss… made breakfast for us?
Wow.
“Brotherly love. What a beautiful way to start the day,” I mutter, grabbing a mug.
I set my phone next to the coffee.
A notification lights up on the screen.
From: Cupid’s Agency ??
Subject: Initial Program — Project Becker
Does that woman ever relax?
She was still working at nine last night and now… seven a.m. and she’s already emailing me.
I open the message.
Read.
Almost laugh.
Almost—because then I realize she’s dead serious.
CUPID’S AGENCY PROGRAM – PROJECT BECKER
Coordinator: S. Heart
September 23 – 8:30 AM
?? Yoga & Breathwork (private session)
Supervised by Agent Heart. Objective: stress management and emotional openness.
September 23 – 2:30 PM
?? Introductory Compatibility Session
In-person meeting with Agent S. Heart for profile review and aptitude testing.
September 29 – 4:00 PM → 6:30 PM
?? Speed Dating Simulator
Group event with 5 compatible candidates (30 minutes each).
Attendance mandatory.
October 4 – 6:00 PM
?? Date Lab #1 – The Art of Small Talk
Basic date simulation at Cupid’s Office Lounge.
Objective: hold a 10-minute conversation without sarcasm.
October 7 – 3:30 PM
?? Compatibility Session – Love Languages
Test results analysis + guided discussion with Agent Heart.
October 9 – 8:00 PM
?? Date Test – Supervised Dinner
Partner chosen by Cupid’s Agency.
Mutual feedback at end of evening.
I rub my forehead.
The thought of Sloane Heart in yoga leggings is the scientific definition of a problem.
And she knows it.
I’m convinced she knows it.
She plans. She controls. She orchestrates.
Meanwhile, all I want to do is curse my life for signing off on this circus.
I sip my coffee.
“What’re you looking at?” Nate asks, noticing me staring at the email.
“My downfall,” I say. “Signed, stamped, and approved by Cupid’s Agency.”
I pull on a hoodie and stretch my shoulders.
Yoga at eight-thirty.
I’m expecting hell.
But a part of me…
A small, stupid part…
Already wants to see how far she’ll push me before she finally loses her patience too.
Sloane
I walk downstairs trying to convince myself it’s going to be a peaceful day.
Yoga, a little work, zero drama.
No stubborn men, no lingering sexy memories, everything will be fine.
Just peace.
The smell of coffee almost backs me up.
Almost.
When I step into the kitchen, my parents are talking in low voices.
Mom looks serious, Dad has his chin propped on his hand like he’s deep in thought.
The moment they see me, they both fall silent.
At the same time.
Okay… weird. They have literally never done that in front of me.
“Good morning,” I say, trying to hide my skepticism under a smile.
Mom straightens, flipping a pancake with suspicious enthusiasm. “Morning, sweetheart! Sleep well?”
“Not bad,” I answer, pouring myself coffee. “And you two? Talking about anything interesting by chance?”
“Oh, nothing at all,” Dad says way too quickly.
I raise an eyebrow.
Uh-huh.
But then I see the table set, the stack of chocolate-chip pancakes, the melted butter, the smell of coffee that feels like home—and I melt.
Dad lets out a low laugh, and the sound fills me with that soft kind of nostalgia.
He’s already left and come back twice since bringing Cohen Becker into my agency.
Which is practically a miracle considering it’s the middle of the season.
Having him here—relaxed, no locker-room tension, no meetings—is a small blessing. He pulls his chair closer and drapes an arm around my shoulders.
The loving dad I grew up worshipping. The one I’ve always adored.
Mom sets the last pancake on the plate and joins us. She’s smiling too. It’s nice seeing her happy. I think Dad’s thinking the same thing because he kisses my temple, then hers.
“Got anything planned today?” Dad asks, handing me the maple syrup.
“Pretty full day. A couple new clients and… the first session of the program with your athlete.” I finish the sentence reluctantly. I refuse to think about him before my coffee.
He doesn’t exist.
“Ah, Becker,” Dad says casually, as if he didn’t just drop a landmine into my life.
“Yeah. Becker.”
“He’s a talented kid,” Dad adds. “A little… complicated, but I think you can help him.”
I appreciate that he isn’t putting pressure on me even though we’re still on session one. He’s never been that kind of father. He expects perfection from his players on the field, but at home… he’s only ever wanted my happiness.
When I told him I wanted to drop my degree and focus on Mom’s company and become co-director… he looked at me and laughed. His only comment was: “I’ve been wondering how long it would take you to figure it out… you’re exactly like your mother, of course that’s where you belong.”
And he was right. I’ve always loved Cupid’s Agency.
When I was little, my favorite game was pretending I was the CEO. I had a pink folder with hearts on it and a glittery purple pen. I begged for a tiny desk for my birthday and spent my days matching my stuffed animals.
“Oh, I’m sure she’ll just adore him,” Mom says with that ironic little smile that snaps me right back to the present.
“Mom.” I try to sound horrified. Actually—I am horrified.
HORRIFIED, Sloane. Remember that.
Dad simultaneously rolls his eyes and, like the good, jealous dad he is, gently scolds Mom. “Kat…”
“What? I think it’s a lovely assignment.”
“It’s a professional assignment. Period. Don’t put ideas in her head.”
My heart drops.
If only Dad knew the truth…
Would he still see me as his sweet little girl?
I shove pancakes in my mouth out of pure stress.
Not the ideal move considering I have a yoga class coming up…
But hey, I’m Sloane. What were you expecting? Wisdom?
I just want to be that little girl with pigtails sitting on her dad’s broad shoulders again…
“I think it’s time she moves on after Joe,” Mom says, eternally optimistic.
“I never liked that guy,” Dad growls.
I know.
Oh, I know how much he hated him—and how badly he wanted to kill him after finding out how he treated me.
I sigh, swallow my breakfast, and try to redirect before they spend their rare free time worrying about my trainwreck of a love life.
I plaster a bright smile on my face. “What about you two? Mom, you took the day off, right?”
Mom and Dad exchange a look. Dad places a hand on her arm. They still seem weird.
Mom nods, and they answer in unison—way too awkwardly:
“We… uh… have plans.”
Fantastic.
I don’t have time to unpack their suspicious behavior because my phone vibrates.
Cohen-pain-in-my-ass: Can’t wait to see you in your little yoga outfit ??
May I be struck by lightning.