Chapter 2
The morning rush was finally thinning, the line at the counter shrinking from a chaotic snake to a manageable trickle.
Kelsey wiped her hands on her apron, the fabric damp with spilled milk and the faint, sweet stickiness of caramel syrup.
The café hummed around her. Steam hissed from the espresso machine, mixing with the low murmur of conversations.
The occasional clink of a spoon against ceramic filled the space.
She liked this part of the shift, when the worst of the chaos had passed, but the place still buzzed with energy.
The door chimed, and her gaze flicked up automatically, her pulse giving that stupid little jump it always did when someone walked in. Not that she was waiting for anyone in particular.
A guy in a rumpled suit, his tie already loosened like he’d given up on the day before it even started. Kelsey smiled, already reaching for a to-go cup. “Usual, Dan?”
He grunted something that might’ve been a yes, and she got to work, her movements quick and practiced. The door chimed again. Her eyes darted up before she could stop herself.
Not her.
Hailey sidled up beside her, hip bumping Kelsey’s as she leaned in to grab a clean rag. “You’re hopeless,” she murmured, her voice just loud enough for Kelsey to hear over the grind of the espresso machine. “Still holding out hope?”
Kelsey’s cheeks warmed, but she kept her voice steady. “Shut up.”
Hailey smirked, tossing the rag over her shoulder. “She’s not coming today, Kel. It’s almost nine. Face it. Your lawyer’s ghosting you.”
“She’s not my lawyer,” Kelsey muttered, but her stomach still twisted a little at the words. She turned back to the machine, leveling the grounds and pressing the tamper down “And she’s not ghosting me. She’s probably just… busy.”
Kelsey tried to focus on the task at hand, but the heat in her face didn’t fade.
She was ridiculous. She knew that. Five months of this.
Five months of watching the door, of memorizing the exact way Elizabeth ordered her coffee (single-shot, extra-dry cappuccino with almond milk, no sugar, like she was afraid of indulging in anything), of noticing the way her blazer always looked like it had been tailored specifically to make the rest of the world feel underdressed.
Five months of stealing glances at the way her dark hair always fell just so over her shoulders and the cool gray-blue of her eyes that made Kelsey’s stomach do that stupid little flip every single time.
And for what? Elizabeth had never once given her a second look. Not really. Not in that way.
The door chimed again.
Kelsey’s fingers stilled on the steam wand. Her breath hitched just for a second before she forced herself to keep moving, to finish frothing the milk. Like her heart wasn’t suddenly pounding just a little too hard.
Elizabeth walked in like she owned the place, which, okay, fair.
She did look like she owned places. Today’s blazer was a deep navy, crisp and structured, the kind of fabric that probably cost more than Kelsey’s rent.
Her hair was down, those loose waves Kelsey had memorized the shape of, and her expression was its usual mix of focused and slightly distant, like she was already three steps ahead of whatever was happening in front of her.
Kelsey’s mouth went dry.
She turned away before Elizabeth could catch her staring, busying herself with wiping down the counter, her movements quick and precise. Act normal. She’s just a customer. A really, really hot customer who you have absolutely no chance with, but still. Just a customer.
“Good morning,” Elizabeth said as she reached the counter.
The sound of Elizabeth’s voice—low, smooth, just a little rough around the edges, like she hadn’t used it much yet today—sent a shiver down Kelsey’s spine. She turned, forcing a smile that felt too bright, too eager. “Hey. You’re late today.”
Elizabeth’s lips quirked, just slightly. “Keeping tabs on me?”
Kelsey’s face heated, but she didn’t look away. “Uh, well, you’re usually here at eight. That’s all.”
“Observant.” Elizabeth’s gaze flicked to the menu board, then back to Kelsey, even though she always ordered the exact same thing.
“The usual?”
“Please.”
And Kelsey got to work.
Kelsey risked a glance up as she poured the milk, catching the way Elizabeth’s eyes tracked the movement, just for a second, before flicking back to her phone.
Kelsey finished the drink, sliding it across the counter. “Here you go.”
Elizabeth’s fingers brushed hers as she took the cup, just the barest graze of skin against skin, but it was enough to send a jolt through Kelsey’s system. She told herself it was static. Just static.
“Thanks,” Elizabeth said as she paid. Her voice was distracted, her attention already half on whatever was happening on her screen. She turned toward the door, like she always did, like she was already mentally halfway out of the café and onto whatever came next in her day.
Kelsey’s stomach sank, just a little. Of course. She was used to it. Elizabeth was a woman who moved through the world as if it were a series of items to check off a list, and Kelsey was just another stop along the way.
But then Elizabeth hesitated.
Kelsey watched as Elizabeth’s shoulders tensed, just slightly, before she turned back toward the seating area. Not toward the door.
Kelsey’s pulse kicked up, her fingers tightening around the rag she was holding. Elizabeth never stayed. She grabbed her coffee and left, every single time. But today, she was walking toward the window, setting her bag down on the table before sitting.
Kelsey told herself to look away. To stop staring. To act normal.
She failed.
Her eyes kept flicking over, tracking Elizabeth as she pulled out her phone again, this time pressing it to her ear. Her expression was unreadable, her free hand tapping once, twice against the side of her cup before stilling.
Kelsey forced herself to turn back to the counter, to the next customer waiting patiently, but her focus was shot.
Her fingers moved on autopilot, her mind still stuck on the way Elizabeth’s blazer pulled just slightly across her shoulders, the way her hair caught the light from the window, the way her lips moved as she spoke into the phone, her voice too low to hear.
Hailey bumped her hip again, this time harder. “Earth to Kelsey.”
Kelsey blinked, shaking her head slightly. “What?”
Hailey’s eyes flicked toward Elizabeth, then back to Kelsey, her smirk knowing. “You’re such a goner.”
Kelsey didn’t deny it. She didn’t have to. They both knew.
And anyway, it wasn’t like it mattered. Elizabeth was a woman who lived in a different world, one of high-stakes cases and power lunches and whatever else it was that filled her days. Kelsey was just the barista who made her coffee.
But god, she wished she wasn’t.
She really wished she wasn’t. The thought was a familiar, dull ache, one she usually pushed away with the next order, the next joke with Hailey, the next task that needed doing.
But today, with Elizabeth sitting there, a solid, tangible presence in Kelsey’s space, it was impossible to ignore that wish.
It was funny, really. Five months of Elizabeth walking through that door like clockwork and yet Kelsey knew next to nothing about her.
She knew her name was Elizabeth from busy mornings when she had to give her name with her order, and Kelsey knew that order by heart.
She’d pieced together from half-overheard phone calls that Elizabeth was a lawyer, probably high-powered given the sharpness of her tone when discussing cases. But beyond that? Nothing.
Kelsey didn’t know if Elizabeth was married or divorced or single.
She didn’t know if she had kids tucked away in some Upper West Side apartment or if she preferred cats to dogs or if she ever let herself sleep in on weekends.
She didn’t know if Elizabeth loved her job or just tolerated it, if she followed baseball or football, or if she preferred wine or beer.
All Kelsey knew was that Elizabeth was the most breathtaking woman she’d ever seen. The kind of woman who made the air feel thinner just by existing in the same room. And that was dangerous, because wanting someone that far out of reach was a special kind of torture.
But here she was anyway. Tortured. Every damn morning.
Hailey tapped her on the arm. “Break time. Try not to spontaneously combust while I’m gone.” She winked and disappeared into the back before Kelsey could form a reply.
The lull settled in. No line, just a few lingering customers lost in laptops or books.
Kelsey grabbed a damp rag and moved from behind the counter.
Wiping down tables gave her something to do with her hands.
She started with the table furthest from Elizabeth, her movements methodical.
Spray, wipe, stack the abandoned sugar packets.
Her pulse thudded against her ribs, quiet but insistent, and she could map every shift Elizabeth made—the crisp rustle of fabric as she adjusted her blazer, the faint tap of her fingers against the table, the quiet inhale before she spoke again.
Kelsey’s skin prickled with the awareness of her, as if her entire body had tuned itself to that single frequency.
She moved to the next table. Closer now. Just two empty tables between them. She could hear the low murmur of Elizabeth’s voice, a smooth, private melody against the café’s hum. Kelsey kept her back to her, focusing on a sticky patch of dried coffee on the tabletop.
“Paula, stop laughing. This isn’t remotely funny.”
Kelsey’s rag stilled. The words were clipped, tight with a strain she had never heard in Elizabeth’s voice before. Kelsey scrubbed at the coffee stain, her ears burning. She should not be listening. She should walk away.
She stayed. She wiped.
A pause. Then, quieter, laced with something that sounded like horrified self-assessment, “I lied to my ex-wife’s face about seeing someone.”