14. Blake
FOURTEEN
Blake
The week leading up to The Guardian Grind’s grand opening flies by in a blur of anticipation and routine. Each morning, I walk Sophia to work, our hands intertwined as we navigate the bustling streets of Guardian HQ.
The air grows cooler with each passing day, autumn subtly making its presence known along the Northern California coast. The scent of salty ocean breeze mingles with the earthy aroma of damp soil and coastal flora, creating a serene, refreshing atmosphere.
Sophia’s excitement builds with each step closer to opening day. Her chatter becomes more animated, her gestures more expansive as she describes the progress at the café.
I’m swept up in her enthusiasm, marveling at the transformation not just of the space but of Sophia herself.
“You should see the espresso machine.” Sophia’s eyes light up one morning, her breath fogging in the cool air. “It’s like something out of a sci-fi movie. All gleaming chrome and flashing lights.”
I chuckle, squeezing her hand. “Sounds impressive. Are you getting the hang of it? ”
“Malia’s a great teacher. I think I’ve finally mastered the perfect foam for cappuccinos.” She nods vigorously, her ponytail bouncing.
“That’s my girl.” Pride swells in my chest.
As we approach the café, the sounds of final preparations reach us. The whine of power tools and the shouts of workers create a feeling of anticipation. Sophia’s steps quicken, her eagerness palpable.
“I’ll see you tonight.” She rises on tiptoe to plant a quick kiss on my cheek. The scent of her shampoo, floral and fresh, lingers as she pulls away.
I catch her hand, pulling her back for a proper kiss. Her lips are soft against mine, tasting faintly of the mint toothpaste we share. When we part, her cheeks are flushed, and not just from the chill in the air.
“Tonight,” I agree, my voice husky. “Have a great day, sweetheart.”
This routine repeats itself, with slight variations, each day. By the end of the week, Sophia’s nervous energy is tangible. That morning, she’s practically vibrating as we walk, her fingers drumming an erratic rhythm against my palm.
“Hey.” I tug her to a stop. We’re a block away from the café, the morning crowd parting around us like a stream around a boulder. “You okay?”
Sophia takes a deep breath, her shoulders rising and falling with the motion. “Just nervous. What if I mess up? What if I can’t handle the pressure?”
I cup her face in my hands, my thumbs stroking her cheekbones. Her skin is cool from the morning air, but the warmth of her blush rises beneath my touch.
“You’ve got this.” My voice is firm, filled with conviction. “You’ve been working hard all week. Jenna and Malia believe in you, and so do I.”
She leans into my touch, her eyes closing briefly. When she opens them, there’s a new resolve in their depths.
“You’re right. I can do this. ”
“Damn straight.” I lean in to press a kiss on her forehead. “Now go show that espresso machine who’s boss.”
Her bright and clear laughter follows me as I head to work.
Saturday dawns clear and crisp, the autumn day that begs for warm drinks and cozy conversations. Perfect weather for a coffee café opening. The team and I agreed to meet at the café at 10 AM, an hour after the official opening. We want to give them time to work out any initial kinks before descending en masse.
As we approach, the first thing that strikes me is the transformation of the exterior. Gone is the chaotic construction site of the past week. In its place stands a welcoming storefront, all warm wood and gleaming glass. A hand-painted sign proclaims “The Guardian Grind” in elegant script, with “Grand Opening Today!” written on a chalkboard easel below.
The scent of fresh coffee and baked goods wafts out each time the door opens, mingling with the crisp autumn air. The sidewalk is bustling with people, some leaving with steaming cups, others queuing to enter.
“Looks like Jenna and Malia have a hit on their hands,” Gabe comments as we join the line.
I nod, a mixture of pride and nervousness churning in my gut. “Let’s hope so.”
The line moves quickly, and soon, we step into a warm cocoon of aromatic bliss. The café’s interior is even more impressive than the outside.
Exposed brick walls are softened by local artwork and lush plants. Edison bulbs hang from the ceiling in artistic clusters, casting a warm glow over the space. The countertops are polished wood, their rich grain complementing the industrial-chic aesthetic of the metal and leather chairs.
But it’s not just the visual aspects that captivate. The café is a melody of sensory experiences. The hiss and gurgle of the espresso machine provide a bass line to the melody of quiet conversations and the occasional burst of laughter.
Fingers tap against ceramic mugs, spoons clink against saucers, and the rustle of pages turning from those lost in books or newspapers add texture to the auditory landscape.
The air is thick with the rich aroma of freshly ground coffee beans, underscored by the sweet scent of baked goods. As we approach the counter, I catch whiffs of cinnamon, chocolate, and something citrusy.
And there, in the midst of it all, is Sophia. She wears a forest green apron over a white button-down shirt and her hair pulled back in a neat bun. Her cheeks are flushed from the heat and activity, but her movements are sure as she crafts drink after drink.
Our eyes meet across the crowded space, and her face lights up with a smile that steals my breath. She says something to Malia, who nods and takes over her station.
“Hey, stranger,” Sophia greets us as she approaches the register. A smudge of flour dusts her cheek that I ache to brush away. “What can I get for you guys?”
The team places their orders—a variety of coffees and pastries that will let us sample a good portion of the menu. When it’s my turn, I lean in, pitching my voice low. “Surprise me.”
“You got it, boss.” Sophia’s eyes sparkle with the challenge.
As she rings us up, I marvel at the change in her. The nervous energy of yesterday is gone, replaced by quiet confidence. She moves with purpose, her interactions with customers warm and professional.
We find a table large enough to accommodate the team, positioned perfectly for me to watch Sophia as she works. The chairs are surprisingly comfortable, and the leather is supple against my back.
“What do we think?” Ethan leans back in his chair. “Did Jenna and Malia pull it off?”
“I’ll reserve judgment until I taste the coffee.” Rigel glances around, taking in the exposed brick and steel beams. “But I have to admit, the place looks great.”
Walt drums his fingers against the polished wood of the table, a satisfied smile spreading across his face. “It’s got a good vibe. Cozy, but not cramped.”
We continue to chat, our conversation a mix of work talk and casual observations about the café. My attention is divided, half engaged with the team and half watching Sophia as she navigates the busy morning rush.
Finally, Malia appears with a tray laden with our orders. The pastries look divine: flaky croissants and scones studded with berries. No muffins.
The drink she sets in front of me captures my full attention. It’s served in a large, hand-thrown ceramic mug with a deep blue glaze that reminds me of the ocean. A delicate design—a stylized guardian angel—is traced in the foam on top.
The aroma that wafts up holds complex notes of chocolate and something spicy, mingling with the rich coffee scent.
“Sophia’s special creation.” Malia winks, then flashes the prettiest smile at Walt. “She’s been working on it all week.”
I lift the mug, the warmth seeping into my palms. The first sip is... surprising. There’s the expected bite of espresso, but it’s smoothed out by what I think is dark chocolate. Then a hint of heat blooms on my tongue—chili, maybe? It’s followed by a subtle sweetness that balances everything perfectly.
“Damn.” I take another sip. “This is good.”
The team’s reactions to their drinks are similarly positive. We dig into the pastries, which are just as delicious as they look.
The croissant practically melts in my mouth, buttery layers giving way with a satisfying crackle. Walt and Gabe argue over the scones.
As we enjoy our treats, the café continues to buzz around us. I keep one eye on Sophia, watching as she efficiently manages the steady stream of customers. Her movements are graceful, almost choreographed, as she pulls espresso shots and steams milk.
Then, amid the pleasant hum of activity, a voice rises above the rest. “This is unacceptable. I asked for soy milk.”
I tense, my hand automatically moving to where my weapon would be if I were on duty. A middle-aged man’s face turns red as he gestures with his cup.
Malia moves toward him, but Sophia beats her to it. I half-rise, ready to intervene, but Ethan’s hand on my arm stops me .
He gives me a reassuring nod. “Let her handle it. She’s got this.”
Reluctantly, I sink back into my chair, every muscle coiled tight as the scene unfolds.
Sophia approaches the man, her posture open and calm. “I’m so sorry for the mix-up, sir.” Her voice is rock steady. “Let me remake that for you right away.” She takes the cup from him and lightly touches his arm with a flutter of her fingers.
The man continues to bluster, but Sophia doesn’t flinch. She listens attentively, nodding at appropriate moments. Her hands are relaxed at her sides, not fidgeting or clenched.
“I completely understand your frustration.” Sophia’s voice is smooth and soothing as she steps closer to the man. “We pride ourselves on getting orders right and failed you this time. Please allow me to remake your drink and offer you a complimentary pastry for the inconvenience.” Her eyes meet his, radiating empathy and calm.
The change in the man is almost comical. His anger immediately dissipates, replaced by a sheepish expression. “Oh, well, that’s very kind of you. Thank you.”
“It’s our pleasure.” Sophia smiles, genuine and warm. “What kind of pastry would you like?”
She expertly navigates the interaction, using every skill she’s honed to diffuse the situation. Trained to please men and manipulate them if needed, she sways him effortlessly with a touch and a few kind words. It’s unsettling to see how easily she controls the exchange.
Her ability to handle the situation gracefully is a harsh reminder of what she’s endured and the skills she developed. My admiration for her strength is mixed with a protective instinct that surges to the forefront, making me want to shield her from ever having to use those skills again.
As she leads the now-placated customer to the pastry case, a swell of pride surges within me, so intense it’s almost painful. The Sophia I first met would have crumbled under such confrontation. Sophia handled this gracefully and professionally, which I wouldn’t have thought possible a few weeks ago .
“Well, I’ll be damned,” Gabe mutters beside me. “Girl’s got skills.”
The rest of the team shares similar sentiments. The rest of our visit passes without incident. We linger over our drinks, savoring the excellent coffee and the warm atmosphere. I catch Sophia’s eye a few times, exchanging smiles across the busy space.
As the morning rush tapers off, Sophia finally comes over to our table. She looks tired but happy, and a light sheen of sweat on her brow attests to her hard work.
“So,” she says, a hint of nervousness creeping into her voice, “what’s the verdict?”
The team doesn’t hold back, showering her with genuine praise. Sophia blushes at the attention, but I can see how much it means to her.
When the others have had their say, Sophia turns to me, her eyes seeking mine. “And you? What did you think of your drink?”
I finally indulge my earlier impulse to brush the smudge of flour from her cheek. Her skin is warm beneath my fingers, and I let my touch linger.
“It was perfect,” I tell her, my voice low and sincere. “Just like you.”
Her answering smile is radiant, lighting up her entire face.
As the team gathers their things, preparing to return to work, I pull Sophia aside. We find a quiet corner, partially hidden by a large potted plant.
“I’m so proud of you.” My hands rest on her hips. “The way you handled that customer… You were amazing.”
“Thanks.” She ducks her head, a pleased smile playing on her lips. “It was nothing.”
I tilt her chin up, meeting her gaze. “You did that all on your own. Don’t sell yourself short.”
Sophia leans into me, her body fitting against mine in a way that feels like coming home.
I press a kiss to her forehead, then to her lips. It’s brief, mindful of her still being on the clock, but filled with all the emotions I can’t put into words .
“I’ll see you at home later?” I ask as we part.
“I can’t wait.” Her smile is soft.
Back at HQ, my mind is still in the café. The taste of Sophia’s exceptional coffee lingers on my tongue, a reminder of the morning’s sweet success.
Sophia is flourishing, growing into herself in ways I never could have predicted, and I—lucky bastard that I am—get to witness it all.
More importantly, I’ll be damned if I let anyone take it away.