Georgia
Sunday morning came too fast. It's a little after ten, and I'm standing in line at my favorite neighborhood coffeeshop, desperate for caffeine. Being the youngest of four, I felt guilty about leaving my parents alone when choosing a university, so I stayed in Houston. It meant no full college experience, no dorm life—just me, still living at home.
And living at home means Sunday mornings aren't for sleeping in. They're for deep-cleaning marathons, my mom blasting her favorite music while scrubbing every surface. I woke up to the smell of lemon-scented disinfectant and the realization that I needed to escape.
And stress? The wedding is in a week, and I have so much todo.
Valentina asked me to be her maid of honor because I'm her best friend. She would have asked both of us if my sister Krystin were here, but Krystin is thousands of miles away in Australia. Valentina isn't just a friend—she's family. She spent most of her teenage years with our family, needing the love she never got from her own. When she married her ex, she wanted to build a family she never had, but that dream turned into heartbreak. And then she met Tom—a man who breathes and lives for her.
As much as Valentina insists she doesn't need a bridal party, I know better. She'd love one. And if she won't plan it for herself, then I will.
Coffee in hand, I make my way to my favorite table—only to find it occupied.
A very large, broad-shouldered man is sitting there, completely absorbed in a book. No coffee, no laptop, just him and the novel in his hands. His skin is golden as if he has been spending his days at the beach. Or maybe he tans. Who looks that sun-kissed in the middle of winter?
His shaved head contrasts with his nearly white blonde eyebrows, which catch the sunlight streaming through the windows. He's lounging back, one leg stretched out, the other bent beneath the chair—my chair. The book rests open against his chest, his hands holding it in place. He looks comfortable. He's completely at ease, totally unaware that he's stolen my spot.
And I'm staring.
I don't even realize how long I've been standing there, phone in one hand, coffee in the other until he looks up. And then—
I forget how to breathe.
His eyes are blue—not just any blue. They are ocean and sky colliding blue, with a golden fleck in his right eye, like the sun is shining from inside of him. His lips move, but I don't hear a thing.
And then he smiles.
Oh.
My heart does something stupid.
"What?" I blurt, startled back to reality.
"Ma'am," he says, his voice deep and smooth, laced with a thick Texas drawl "May I help you?"
"Okay, Texas," I mutter, rolling my eyes. "No need for formalities."
"Yes, ma'am," he says again, full-on smirking now. "May I help you?"
"You're sitting in my chair," I tell him, making my way to the table across from him. I set down my coffee, cross my legs, and pull out my phone, pretending I don't feel his eyes on me.
He closes his book, glancing up with an easy, lopsided grin that makes it clear he’s enjoying himself.
“Didn’t realize I was in VIP seating,”
he says, voice warm.
“My apologies, ma’am.”
He's teasing. I know he's teasing. And there's no way someone like him is flirting with someone like me. He's older. Absolutely perfect. And men like that don't notice girls like me.
I do what I do best—play unimpressed, sip my coffee, and scroll through my phone as if I'm not hyper-aware of him.
After a few moments, he chuckles—a deep, quiet sound. Then, out of the corner of my eye, I see him reopen his book and settle back in his chair—as if I never interrupted him at all.
My phone rings, and I glance down at the screen. Krystin.
"Hi!" I answer a little too enthusiastically. "Krystin, I'm so happy you called!"
I hear a low chuckle from across the table. I glance up, and he's looking at me again, smirking like he knows exactly what's happening. I immediately go deaf.
Krystin is still talking, but I can't hear a word.
"Wait, what?" I stammer. "Hold on, I didn't catch any of that."
"Do we have a bad connection?" Krystin asks.
No. I'm just entirely distracted by the ridiculously gorgeous man watching me like he's amused. He lifts his book, shaking it slightly, and suddenly, I get it.
Oh. I'm being too loud.
Of course. He's an ass.
With my phone still to my ear, I grab my drink and walk toward the exit. But at the last second, I pivot back toward him, stare at him, and say, "You know, this isn't a library. If you want to read silently, you can go somewhere else."
Smiling sweetly, I turn on my heel and walk out.
Krystin confirmed she won't make it to the wedding.
With two toddlers and a business to run, there's no way she can make an international trip in a week.
She's heartbroken, and Valentina is going to be crushed, but she is the best, and she agreed to help me get in contact with all of Valentina’s friends so we can surprise her with a little bridal shower.
"I can send you the contacts, and I can start a Facebook group to get a head count and see who would be in," she says. "Let me put you on speaker; I'll do it now. I talked to Tom earlier and he said he is planning a dinner for the closest friends to meet on Friday. You may want to talk to him to avoid overlapping his plans."
"I'll text him right now," I tell her, and my phone starts chirping.
"The girls are already on the chat," Krystin says with a smile. "I only added the ones I knew Valentina would want there. What do you have in mind?"
"I was thinking dinner, gifts, and maybe dancing after? She wouldn't want a stripper, would she?"
"No!" Krystin replies. "After all the strip clubs her ex visited, I think she's a little bit traumatized. Dancing sounds great. I am so jealous I can't come."
"There's this new Cuban place that opened up. They have live music on the weekends. I'll call to confirm and see if I can make a reservation."
"You do that," she says, tapping away on the phone screen.
“Let me know what to tell these girls, and I'll get them organized."
"You are the best," I say with a smile. "I'm going to let you go for now. I have to go online and order a few things for this party."
"Let me know what you find," she says, excitedly. Don't forget to text Tom."
"I'll text him right now. I love you."
"Love you, too, ," she says and hangs up.
I walk back into the coffee shop, my cup still in hand, and head straight to James, my favorite barista.
"Could you put this in the microwave for a minute?" I ask, holding up my drink.
He takes the cup from me, frowning. "What happened?"
"Krystin called, and I got distracted," I say with a smile.
James has been working at The Daily Brew since we were both in high school. He’s ridiculously talented—he can draw, paint, sculpt, you name it. One of those annoyingly creative people who can turn a napkin doodle into something you'd want to frame. He’s also been my coffee savior more times than I can count, always knowing when I need an extra shot of espresso… or a smile.
He glances at the label. "Caffè Mocha, nonfat milk, extra caramel drizzle, two pumps of caramel sauce." He looks up at me in mock horror. "There's no way I'm heating this up. Gross." And with that, he tosses my drink into the trash.
"James!" I gasp.
"I'm making you a fresh one," he smirks. "Give me two minutes."
I shake my head but smile, and I walk from the register to the pickup counter. While I wait, I pull out my phone and type a message to Tom.