CHAPTER SIX
The espresso machine hissed as though it was angry and orders piled up faster than April’s hands could move.
“Triple shot mocha, extra whip, for Ralph!” she called out, sliding the finished drink across the counter.
As three more orders appeared on the screen in front of her, she took a deep breath, centering herself.
The café was packed wall-to-wall with the lunch crowd—professionals from nearby offices, college students hunched over laptops, and tourists seeking refuge from the June heat.
April’s dark hair, pulled back in a practical ponytail, still managed to cling to her damp neck as she worked.
Her black Brick House Beanery T-shirt clung to her back, and her feet ached in her well-worn sneakers.
But after nearly a month of working in the café, she’d gotten used to the rhythm of these rushes.
She moved swiftly, grinding beans, tamping espresso, steaming milk.
The familiar routine anchored her amid the chaos.
A crash from her right broke her concentration. April looked up to see Darcy, the new hire, standing frozen beside an overturned cup, coffee spreading across the counter in a dark puddle. The girl’s eyes were wide with panic, her freckled face flushed red with embarrassment.
“I’m so sorry,” Darcy stammered, reaching for a towel. “I don’t know what—”
April glanced at the queue of drinks on Darcy’s screen—seven orders deep and climbing. The girl was drowning.
“Hey,” April said, quickly finishing the latte she was making. “It’s okay. Take a breath.”
Darcy tried, but her hands trembled as she mopped up the spill.
April looked at Molly, who was handling the register efficiently. Their eyes met for a moment and Molly gave a slight nod—she’d hold down the front while April helped the newbie.
“Let me jump in for a minute,” April said, moving to Darcy’s station. “Watch what I do, okay?”
Darcy stepped back, relief clear on her face. “Thanks. I just got overwhelmed and then everything started piling up and—”
“Happens to everyone,” April assured her, already scanning the backed-up orders.
She grabbed a cup and began preparing an iced caramel macchiato.
“The trick is to group similar drinks together. See these three iced coffees? Make them all at once. And don’t waste time between orders—while one espresso is pulling, you’re already prepping the next cup. ”
Darcy watched intently, her breathing slowing as April worked through the backlog with smooth, economical movements.
“And don’t be afraid to call for backup when you need it,” April continued, handing off two completed drinks to waiting customers. “We’re a team, right?”
“Right,” Darcy said with more confidence.
April guided her through the next three orders, offering quiet corrections and encouragement until Darcy’s station was back under control.
“You’ve got this,” April said, squeezing Darcy’s arm before returning to her own station. “Just remember—breathe.”
Back at her position, April found that her own orders had accumulated.
She dove back in, her hands moving almost automatically as she frothed milk for a cappuccino.
She called out names, handed off orders, and started the cycle again.
The rhythm was punishing but satisfying in its own way.
Here, at least, success was straightforward: make the drinks, make them well, keep the line moving.
After twenty straight minutes of non-stop drink making, the digital order screen finally showed just two pending orders. April allowed herself a moment to stretch her back, to release some tension. She glanced at the clock—1:13 p.m. The worst of the lunch rush would be over soon.
“I’m going to help Molly at the register,” she called to Darcy, who now seemed to have found her footing. “You okay here?”
Darcy gave a thumb-up, her earlier panic replaced by determination.
April wiped her hands on her apron and made her way to the front. The line had shortened somewhat, but still stretched to the door. Molly shot her a grateful look as April opened the second register.
“Next customer,” April called, forcing brightness into her voice despite her fatigue.
A middle-aged woman in a business suit stepped forward, rattling off a complicated order that April dutifully entered into the system. As the woman moved away, April looked up to greet the next person in line—and felt her heart stutter.
Two customers back, standing with his hands in his pockets and his gaze fixed on her, was Ethan.
What was he doing here—in the midst of the midday rush, of all times?
He’d gone to Philadelphia to visit his sick grandmother; had told April he’d text before heading back to Fredericksburg.
But she hadn’t heard a word from him in two days.
The sight of him stirred a complicated mix of emotions—relief that he was back, confusion about his unexpected appearance, and a distinct thread of anger that he hadn’t bothered to let her know he was returning.
April forced herself to focus on the customer in front of her, an older man ordering a simple black coffee.
Her voice sounded strange in her own ears as she processed his payment, her awareness split between the task at hand and Ethan’s approaching presence.
Behind her, she could hear the clatter of Darcy dropping something again, followed by Molly’s gentle coaching.
Then the older man moved away, and suddenly Ethan was there, standing before her, his dark hair falling across his forehead in that typical careless way that she found so attractive, but she couldn’t quite read his expression. Embarrassment? Shame? Something deeper?
“Hey,” he said, his voice soft enough that she had to lean forward slightly to hear him over the café noise.
“Hey yourself,” April replied, trying to keep her tone neutral. “I didn’t know you were back in town.”
Ethan shifted his weight, his amber eyes not quite meeting hers. “Just got back this morning.”
A customer at the pickup counter called out, asking about their order. Molly hurried over to help, leaving April and Ethan in their awkward bubble amidst the chaos.
“How’s your grandmother?” April asked. Despite her annoyance, genuine concern colored her question. Ethan had told her how his grandmother had raised him after his parents died, how she’d worked multiple jobs to support them
“Better,” Ethan said, something like relief crossing his features. “The doctors adjusted her medication. She’s more stable now.”
April was glad for that at least. But the question she really wanted to ask pressed against her lips. Behind her, the espresso machine shrieked as Darcy steamed milk, and someone dropped a metal spoon with a clatter that made April flinch.
“You didn’t text,” she finally. “You told me that you would.”
Ethan’s expression fell. “I know. I’m sorry about that.”
“Why?” April pressed, aware that this wasn’t the time or place for this conversation, but unable to stop herself. The past two days, she’d checked her phone constantly, worried about him, worried about his grandmother, wondering if something had happened.
“It’s complicated,” Ethan said, his voice low.
Complicated. What was so complicated about sending a simple text?
“That’s it? It’s complicated?” Heat rose in her cheeks, anger displacing the worry she’d felt. “I was worried about you.”
Ethan’s face contorted with what looked like genuine regret. “April, I—”
“Do you want to order something?” she cut him off, suddenly very aware of the line forming behind him and the activity buzzing around her.
Ethan glanced around, noticing the crowd, the busy staff, and the impatient customers. “No,” he said after a moment. “I just wanted to see you. Maybe we can talk later? When you’re off work?”
Part of her wanted to say yes, to give him a chance to explain. Another part—the part that remembered sitting up late checking her phone, wondering if he was okay—wanted to tell him to leave and not come back.
“I don’t know, Ethan. I’m pretty busy.” The words came out colder than she’d intended.
He accepted the rebuff. “I understand. I’ll—I’ll go. Call me if you want to talk.”
Without waiting for her response, Ethan turned and walked out.
April stared after him, then she called mechanically, “Next customer.”
For the next fifteen minutes, she moved through orders on autopilot, her mind replaying Ethan’s appearance and their brief, unsatisfying exchange. Their relationship was still new, fragile. Was she expecting too much?
Or maybe not. If he couldn’t even send a text when he said he would, what did that say about his reliability?
Gradually, the café began to empty as the lunch crowd returned to work and classes. The frantic pace slowed to something more manageable, and April found herself with a moment to breathe. She leaned against the counter, the adrenaline of the rush hour fading and leaving her tired.
“Wow, you really gave Ethan the brush-off,” Molly said, sidling up beside her. “Trouble in paradise already?”
April hesitated, unsure how much she wanted to share.
“He went to Philadelphia to see his sick grandmother,” she explained finally. “He promised to text when he got there, but...” She shrugged. “Radio silence for two days, and then he just shows up here. In the middle of a rush, when there was no time to talk.”
Molly made a sympathetic noise. “Maybe his phone died? Or he was just so worried about his grandmother, he forgot?”
“For two whole days?” April shook her head. “And ‘it’s complicated’ isn’t exactly a reassuring explanation.”
Darcy approached with a tray of clean mugs, and April lowered her voice. “I don’t know. Maybe I’m overreacting.”
“Look,” Molly said, “the guy’s dealing with a sick grandma. That’s heavy stuff. Maybe you should cut him some slack.”
April wiped down the espresso machine, considering Molly’s words. “Maybe,” she conceded. “But it wouldn’t have taken much to send a quick text.”
“True,” Molly acknowledged. “But people get weird when families involved. Especially family that’s, you know, not doing well.” She paused, studying April’s face. “You like him, right?”
“Yeah,” April admitted. “I do.”
And she did. There was something about Ethan that had drawn her in from the start—his quiet intensity, the way he listened when she talked, really listened.
The warmth in his eyes when he looked at her.
But there was also something guarded about him.
April had attributed it to the trauma of losing his parents young, caring for his aging grandmother.
Now she wondered if there was more to it.
“Then hear him out,” Molly advised, patting April’s arm. “Let him explain when you’re not in the middle of rush hour with a line of caffeine-deprived zombies waiting.”
April smiled despite herself. “When did you get so wise about relationships?”
“Honey, I’ve dated enough train wrecks to recognize the warning signs,” Molly replied with a laugh. “And from what little I just saw, your boy isn’t one of those. Just a guy who messed up.”
The café had settled into its post-lunch lull, just a few customers lingering at tables with their laptops or books. Through the large front windows, April could see people passing on the sidewalk, going about their day in the summer heat. No sign of Ethan.
Should she text him? Call him? Or wait for him to make the next move?
April pulled her phone from her pocket, checking for messages out of habit.
Nothing. She slipped it back, still undecided.
Part of being her mother’s daughter meant being cautious, looking for inconsistencies, questioning things that didn’t add up.
But another part of her—the part that remembered the look in Ethan’s eyes when he’d told her about his grandmother, the genuine distress on his face today—wanted to believe there was a reasonable explanation.
“I guess I’ll talk to him later,” April said finally. “Hear what he has to say.”
Molly approved. “That’s my girl. And if his explanation is garbage, then you can dump his ass.”
April laughed. Whatever was going on with Ethan, it would have to wait until after her shift. For now, there were coffees to make, customers to serve, and a new employee to mentor. The rest of her complicated life would still be there later when she clocked out for the day.