Chapter Fourteen Sadie
Taking on the early shift at the café is always a gamble, especially a week before school starts. With everyone returning to campus, it’s hit-or-miss how busy five-to-nine mornings will be.
Thankfully—for the sake of my slight headache and the pinch of anxiety at the top of my spine—this morning is a slow one. I serve a few regulars—the summer crowd of town locals that will make themselves scarce again once the semester fills the warm brown paneled walls with drowsy students.
At half past ten, I start another roast of the new but popular Ethiopian blend, dumping a bag into the grinder while I have an empty moment at the register.
“Here,” Luis, our main—and really only—chef, calls from the slot of the kitchen window.
He sets down a plate of crunchy avocado toast with two poached eggs and extra chili flakes, with a drizzle of honey in the shape of a heart that I know will be spicy when it hits my tongue.
As if on cue, my stomach growls, and I offer him a big smile.
“Thank you,” I say as emphatically as I can, because I’m starving to the point I’m almost dizzy. My hair is a mess of semi-straight tangles and I’ve lost my trusty wrist elastic, so I can only tuck both sides behind my ears and hike my shoulders up to keep the strands from interrupting my meal.
Luis smirks and leans through the window on his forearms while I sit on the countertop to easily balance my plate in my lap and eat, while still having a view of the entire café.
George, a local writer, sips coffee that I know has gone cold by now, while a trio—parents and a freshman girl—enjoys a full spread because the mom was too excited about moving her daughter into her alma mater not to order everything on the menu to sample.
Only one table has emptied in the last few minutes, the tabletop scattered with a blueberry-dotted ceramic mug and a few empty sugar packets.
“I was planning on trying my cilbir recipe on Ro.”
I smile, swallowing down another too-big bite of messy toast. “She’ll love that; especially knowing she doesn’t have to fly all the way to her mom to get good Turkish food.”
Luis nods, wiping down the steel top of the window again.
I’m quite sure he has a slight crush on Ro, but he’s gentle about it.
If Ro knew, even for a moment, that he felt that way for her, she’d probably never show up for work again; not because of him, or even really the fact that he’s a lovestruck high schooler, but because for all her sunshine personality, she is suddenly a clam when it comes to real-life romance.
The girl can read chapter-long filthy sex scenes without a flinch, but tell her a boy thinks she’s pretty and she turns into a tomato.
The chime of the door sounds just as I stuff the last bite of my toast into my mouth and slide the plate into Luis’s outstretched, callused hand. My gaze flicks over to the two patrons approaching the cash register while my churning stomach takes a free dive off a cliff somewhere.
Of course it’s him.
Of course it’s Rhys, looking like a goddamn wet dream in gray sweatpants and a navy Dri-FIT long-sleeve shirt that hugs every single inch of his tight upper body.
His smile is soft and a little sleepy as he continues to speak to his very large friend waiting patiently at the counter.
His hair looks damp, like he popped out of the shower just before this—which is a dangerous thought because now I’m picturing him beneath the spray of some high-end rain shower, washing his abs and thick thighs.
My eyes trail down his body again before someone clears their throat and I start choking on the bite I didn’t even chew, too struck by the absolute karmic punch of seeing him.
Rhys is looking at me now, his eyes like burning fires that scald my skin as I gulp down water and hop down from the counter.
“Morning,” I offer, smoothing a hand over the black half-apron tied around my black jeans.
I feel that little pinch of anxiety growing as Rhys peruses me just as I did him, his eyes clocking my tight gray short-sleeve shirt that’s most likely littered with coffee stains and, yep, crumbs of sourdough.
I tuck my hair behind my ears again, wiping the back of my hand over my mouth and finding a stain of yellow from the corner of my lips on my hand.
Jesus .
“Not the get-coffee-together kind of girl, huh?” Rhys teases, no hint of his hesitation or unease from last night present in his expression now.
“Just the serve-it-with-a-smile kind,” I quip.
He smiles more genuinely, the indent of one dimple showing. “For some reason, I doubt the ‘smile’ part. I don’t remember that from the last time you served me coffee.”
My mouth splits wide into an over-exaggerated, all-teeth grin as I offer to take their order.
Bantering with him brings my anxiety down, calming me in an almost unsettling way, where I crave the next little interaction between us.
Maybe it’s the quickness of it, the permanent deep well of sadness in his eyes, or the fact that he’s distractingly gorgeous like some old Grecian marble statue of male beauty .
“Have a seat and I’ll bring it out to you,” I say, spinning the iPad toward them with the total. Rhys tries to grab for his wallet, but the large, surly-looking man beside him is quicker, tapping his heavy metal card against the system before leaving the counter without another word.
Rhys leans in over the counter and I mimic his movement, watching a light flush paint his cheeks.
“I, uh… I had my first practice back this morning.”
“Yeah?” I have the urge to grab his hand and hold it. “And? All good?”
The idea of him panicked and alone makes my stomach hurt. I can’t explain it, but I feel an intense protectiveness over his pain.
“All good. I listened to that song. The one from the locker room, with the weird band name?”
My throat feels clogged. “Rainbow Kitten Surprise.”
“Yeah.” He smiles; dimples.
I freeze, because if I move, I will kiss him.
Grab his usually shaking hands. Tuck my fists against his neck until the heat of his skin releases them from their tight hold.
Splay him across the counter and mold my entire body to his.
See if the golden boy captain can release his tight control for me.
“Anyway, I’ll wait over there. Thanks, Sadie, for everything.” Rhys lingers for a moment, locking me in his gaze again before ducking away and following his friend to a clean table close by.
I study them while making their orders: an iced black coffee with three tablespoons of almond milk for the grumpy one—Bennett Reiner, going by the name on the order—and a cold brew special, which means maple syrup, toffee nut, and a splash of condensed milk, for Rhys.
I nearly swallowed my tongue as I listened to him order my go-to drink.
They’re both speaking quietly, both on their phones as much as they are off them, and despite the constant discussion flowing easily between them, they both have a tightness in their shoulders, while Rhys bounces his leg beneath the table.
I’ve never seen Bennett Reiner before, but I’ll never miss him after this—his height alone is like a calling card.
He’s got to be pushing 6'6", which is daunting to me, sitting as a solid 5'2". Rhys is tall, but Bennett is like a mountain with his broad shoulders and tree-trunk thighs. He doesn’t look like a college student, really—not only from his size, but from his hyper-masculine features that make him look like he might be leading stuffy board meetings and climbing mountain faces in his spare time.
His light brown hair is a mop of messy waves and curls, and he has a well-maintained scruff of a beard, thin enough to see the masculine squareness of his jaw.
His eyes are slanted beneath thick brows like a permanent furrow, even with a smile on his face as he speaks quietly with Rhys.
“Here,” I try to announce myself as I step up to their table, holding their drinks out carefully.
Bennett swipes his immediately, sliding a coaster under the plastic and a foam holder over the sweating cup. Rhys takes his from my hand directly, smiling up at me. It’s gentler this time, less fake than I’ve seen from him, with that lightly bleeding sadness like invisible tears on his cheeks.
“Thanks.” He takes a quick sip. “By the way, this is Bennett. Ben, this is Sadie.”
“The figure skater.” Ben nods to me, not quite meeting my eyes.
“And coffee maker, apparently,” Rhys supplies.
“A good coffee maker, you mean.” I smirk. “The best cup of coffee you’ll ever have.”
“Should I stand and announce it for everyone? Best coffee in Waterfell?”
The door chimes and I barely have a moment to straighten from where I’ve leaned forward, a hand on the back of Rhys’s wooden chair, before a little body rocks into my legs with a delighted giggle-scream.
“You almost knocked me over, nugget,” I scold, but a happy grin solidifies on my face as I lean down and ruffle Liam’s hair.
He’s got half of a Darth Vader mask painted on his face, which I know is thanks to Ro’s artistic abilities.
Said artist is speaking lightly to Oliver as they walk into the café at a more normal pace.
The black paint has smudged a bit now, some of it across his arm where he must’ve been rubbing at it earlier, but the kid adores Star Wars.
I firmly believe it started because Oliver loved the movies first, and Liam was desperate to be just like his big brother.
Now, I see the same thing happening with hockey.
“Sorry, Sissy.” Liam doesn’t rest for a moment before launching into the entire story of their very normal morning as if he’s telling a daring adventure story. He ends the quick tale with a rushed, “Are you making pancakes?”
Before I can answer, he suddenly freezes, before breaking into a howl so loud I have to slip my hand over his mouth. He’s babbling through my hand, pointing frantically at Rhys.
Oliver reaches my side. He nods lightly, hefting his bag farther up on his shoulder.