Chapter 3
The espresso machine hisses like an angry cat, and I fight the urge to hiss right back at it.
It's been one of those mornings at The Grind Stone – the kind where every customer wants their coffee "extra hot" and their bagel "lightly toasted, but not too light.
" As if that means anything. I picked up this extra shift because I can’t stand all the work piling up from the firm.
Plus, Mr. Robinson gave me the morning to work from home.
Instead, I picked up this extra shift to help my mental health.
This is supposed to be my fun job, and I never work mornings.
Now I know why I should keep it that way.
I'm in the middle of creating latte art that looks more like a blob than a heart when Jen nudges me. Hard.
“What?” I snap, nearly ruining Mr. Pretentious' seven-dollar coffee.
“Look who just walked in,” Jen whispers, her eyes wide.
I glance up, ready to tell her I don't have time for her boy-watching shenanigans when I see him. Matthew freaking Pearson. And he's not alone.
Matt and his friend are both wearing shirts with the Honey Badger logo – the University’s hockey team.
It hits me then: Matt used to play for our high school team.
He was good, too. Not that I'd ever watch him play, but I did consider sabotaging one of his games. I didn’t follow through with it because I decided I wasn’t that petty.
I have gone to one game in secret to see what the fuss was all about.
That’s when I saw Matt and Grey throwing punches on the ice, their gloves discarded like litter.
I remember cheering on Grey to kick his stepbrother’s ass, even though he was a dick too. I was happy to witness the moment.
Jen's still staring at me, waiting for a reaction.
“You take care of him,” I mutter, focusing on the latte again.
“He has his eyes on you,” Jen says, a hint of amusement in her voice. “I don't think he wants to order from me.”
I look up to see Matt's eyes fixed on me, a smirk playing on his lips. Shit.
“Jen, please,” I whisper, desperation creeping into my voice. “I have three briefs to review for the firm, a mountain of emails to answer, and I still need to prep for my LSATs. I don't have time for Matthew Pearson's bullshit today.”
I don’t.
“But–”
“Take one for the team. Please?”
As Matt and his friend approach the counter, I physically push Jen towards the register. She stumbles, nearly knocking over a display of biscotti.
“Welcome to The Grind Stone,” Jen says, her voice unnaturally high. “What can I get for you?”
Matt's eyes never leave me. “I'll have my regular,” he says, his voice dripping with arrogance.
I can't help myself as I turn to him. “I told you to stop coming here.”
He grins, all teeth and no warmth. “Where's the fun in that?”
Then he throws something at me. It hits my side as he says, “You can have your raisin back.”
I look at the ground where the raisin is now, and I swear I feel steam rolling out of my nose, ears, and mouth. Matt grins again.
That’s when I notice his friend, who is looking between us, confusion written all over his face. He seems nice enough, so I decide to appeal to him instead.
“Will you tell your friend to stop coming in here when I'm working?”
The guy nods, turning to Matt. “This worker would like to inform you to stop coming here when she’s working.”
Matt chuckles. “Tell her that if she can't handle a little customer service, maybe she should find a new job. Preferably one that doesn't involve interacting with the public.”
I grit my teeth, snatching the order pad from Jen's hands. “I'll take your orders,” I growl.
As I jot down Matt's usual, I turn to his friend. “And for you?”
“Okay, she knows your order.” His friend says to Matt. “Okay, I won’t ask.” He looks at me and says, “Me? The same sandwich but with a black coffee, please.”
“Name?”
“Harvey.”
“Hardy?” I ask, pen poised over the cup.
“V. It's with a V,” he clarifies.
Before I can stop myself, I blurt out, “Your friend here has a V too.”
Matt's jaw clenches, his eyes narrowing. Harvey shifts his weight, clearly wishing he was anywhere else.
As they walk away to find a table, I realize they're planning to eat here. Great. Just great.
When their order is ready, I walk up to Jen. “Jen, you need to give this to them.”
“Me?” she asks, staring down at their order.
“Yes.” I force the bag into her hand and walk away.
I get back to work, relieved she’s handing their order over.
I’m utterly annoyed as the time passes and I keep catching Jen glancing at their table in the corner.
I think someone has a crush. I glance over once to find Matt and Harvey with their heads bent over a notebook, scribbling something down.
“Amber,” Jen hisses. “Go see what they’re writing.”
I glance over my shoulder. “No, thanks.”
She rolls her eyes and then she walks over to wipe down a nearby table. When she returns, she shrugs. “Just looks like a bunch of lines to me.”
I nod, understanding immediately. Hockey plays.
The rest of my shift drags on, Matt's presence a constant irritation in the corner of my eye. When I finally clock out, I practically run to my car, eager to escape the penalty box Matthew has me trapped in. He has some nerve.
At home, I dive into my mountain of work. My inbox is overflowing with emails from the law firm where I work, each one marked urgent. I'm halfway through a particularly dense brief when my phone buzzes.
It's a TikTok from Jen. I don’t have time for this, but she labels it as urgent as a joke, so I open it, curious despite myself.
And there he is. Matthew Pearson, lifting his shirt to show his abs, skating backward on the ice as he lip-syncs to some pop song. The camera cuts to Harvey, then to a few other guys I don't recognize, all of them hamming it up for the camera.
Jen: Wow, right? He is smoking hot.
I roll my eyes, tossing my phone aside. I've got a mountain of work to do and exactly zero time to waste thinking about douchecanoe Matthew Pearson and his cocky smirk while flexing.
I shake my head, forcing myself to focus on the brief in front of me.
My phone buzzes again. Another TikTok from Jen.
I ignore it this time. I don't need to see Matthew Pearson in skates, or out of them for that matter. I just don’t need to see him at all.
It’s an ugly reminder of who I once was.
Frankly, I’m embarrassed by how Matt makes me feel: angry, out of control, and like I’m a teen again.
The next morning, I'm power walking through the law office, my heels clicking against the polished floor. I've got a stack of files tucked under one arm and a lukewarm coffee in the other.
“Amber!” Mr. Robinson's voice booms from his office. “I need those Daniels divorce papers on my desk in ten.”
I nod, even though he can't see me. “On it, sir!”
I duck into my cubicle, dropping the files onto my already cluttered desk. The Daniels case is a mess – husband cheating with the nanny, wife retaliating by maxing out his credit cards. It's like a soap opera, only with more paperwork.
By the time lunch rolls around, my stomach is growling louder than Mr. Robinson yells at opposing counsel. I grab my purse and head out, desperate for something that isn't microwaved or from a vending machine.
There's a little cafe a block from the office that makes an amazing club sandwich. As I push open the door, the smell of fresh bread and roasted turkey hits me. Heaven.
I'm standing in line, mentally rehearsing my to-do list, when the bell above the door chimes. I glance back out of habit and nearly choke on the air.
Again?
I huff, turning away quickly, hoping Matt doesn't recognize me. I'm in my suit, hair pulled back in a tight bun. I look nothing like the messy-haired barista he's used to tormenting.
I place my order without incident, breathing a sigh of relief as I step to the side to wait. But then I hear his voice, way too close for comfort.
“What's with the suit? Shouldn't you be behind the counter at the Grind Stone?”
I turn slowly, meeting his annoyingly smug gaze. “I’m sorry do I know you?”
He stares at me. The suit has caught his full attention as his expression hardens.
“I don’t think we do know each other,” he mutters, looking up at the person receiving their sandwich. I believe I’m two orders after her.
“What’s with the stalking?” I meet his eyes, challenging him.
He glances down at his hands with a straight face. “What’s with the suit?”
“My real job.”
He chuckles. “And what would you call working at the Grind Stone?”
I stare at him, wondering why he thinks it’s okay to talk to me in public. Have I not made it clear that I want nothing to do with him? I answer, “My fun job. Or it was until you ruined it.”
His eyes widen slightly at that, but before he can respond, the barista calls my name. I grab my sandwich and brush past him, my heels echoing on the floor as I make my escape.
As I push open the door, I hear him call out, “See you around.”
I grit my teeth and keep walking, wondering why he’s even saying anything at all other than to piss me off.
Grow up, Pearson. I don’t dare to glance through the glass, keeping my eyes forward.
Why is the universe suddenly throwing me Matthew Pearson left and right?
I have to text my best friend from high school to let her know that this boy is still torturing me years later.
Amber: Do you remember that kid I tackled right before graduation?
Riley: (Laughing emoji) How could I forget that? Do you remember that I was there? I saw the whole thing.
Amber: Right
Riley: I was a key witness. You got mad at me for being a rat
Amber: Yeah, I told you I was sorry.
Riley: The truth is always important.
Amber: It is
Riley: What about him?
Amber: (Sends link to the Hockey Badger TikTok)
Riley: Oh
Riley: That’s him?
Riley: Now?
Riley: Wow
Riley: How did you find him?
Amber: He’s been coming into the Grind Stone.