12 | ☕Anya vs Atlas The Coffee Showdown ☕ #2
The man who made coffee like it was an art form, like it was woven into the very fabric of his being? The man who was always calm, always controlled, and who had perfected the craft to a point where he probably didn't even have to think about it anymore?
Her throat went dry, but it was too late to back out now. She'd issued the challenge, and she'd be damned if she didn't see it through.
She could feel her pulse racing as she cracked her knuckles, her mind running through every coffee-making technique she knew.
Focus. She had worked in this café long enough to know the ins and outs of a good cup of coffee.
She knew how to grind beans to just the right coarseness, how to steam milk to the perfect frothy consistency, and how to pour the coffee with just enough flair to make it look like she actually knew what she was doing.
She was ready.
At least, she should have been. But the moment she glanced across the counter, everything inside her screeched to a halt.
He was already in motion. Casual. Effortless.
His sleeves were rolled up, exposing his lean arms.
He wasn't rushing, not even the slightest bit.
His every movement was calculated, like he'd been doing this in his sleep for the past century.
He moved with the kind of precision that could only come from years of practice.
His hands were steady as he took a coffee bean scoop, and his gaze—his piercing gaze—never left what he was doing, even as his body exuded that unnerving air of dominance.
It wasn't fair.
Anya scowled. How was he making it look so easy? It was like he had been born to do this, as though he was one with the coffee beans and the espresso machine, as if there were some kind of secret recipe that only he knew. He wasn't even sweating, wasn't even blinking too much.
Anya? She felt like she might implode. The pressure of it all, the fact that everyone was watching them, the fact that she had thrown herself headfirst into this stupid, ridiculous competition—it was almost too much to handle.
But no. No, she wasn't going to let herself be distracted by how ridiculously attractive and annoyingly composed Atlas was. Focus.
She had made her choice, and she wasn't going to let him get into her head now.
With determination, Anya shook off her nerves and grabbed the coffee beans.
She grounded them with a quick, precise motion, trying to get into the groove.
She poured the shots smoothly, making sure she didn't make any rookie mistakes.
Her hands were working quickly now—grabbing the milk, steaming it just right, making sure it was frothy but not too thick. She was in the zone.
But then, her eyes betrayed her.
Against her better judgment, she glanced up—just for a second.
She couldn't help it. Atlas was so damn focused, his movements smooth like a well-rehearsed dance.
His hands barely faltered as he measured and poured, as if everything was second nature to him.
And the worst part? He was barely even looking at his coffee. He was looking at her.
The intensity of his gaze sent a jolt through her chest. She couldn't tell if it was the sheer confidence in his eyes or the smugness of knowing she had already lost, but it rattled her. Just a little.
Big mistake.
She blinked and immediately regretted it. The moment she glanced at him, her hands lost their rhythm. The frother made a strange, high-pitched squeal as the milk over frothed, and her perfectly poured espresso shot went slightly off-centre. A few droplets splashed out of the cup.
Her stomach dropped.
She felt the heat rise in her cheeks. She could hear the low murmurs of the customers around her, their eyes now on her, witnessing her momentary slip-up. The pressure was mounting.
But what was worse?
Atlas hadn't missed it.
He didn't even smile. His lips barely twitched. But his eyes flickered with something that could only be described as a quiet, knowing amusement. He hadn't even broken a sweat, hadn't even rushed his movements. He had, in that single, fleeting glance, reminded her just how out of her depth she was.
Focus. Focus. Focus.
Anya's mind screamed the words like a mantra, her hands shaking slightly as she tried to regain her composure.
She could feel the heat from the steam wand as she frothed the milk, the small hiss of the machine a constant reminder that every second counted.
She couldn't afford another slip-up, couldn't afford to let the tension and the eyes of the entire café break her rhythm.
But Atlas.
She couldn't stop glancing at him. The way his hands moved was mesmerizing.
He wasn't just making coffee; it was as though he was channelling the very essence of coffee itself.
His movements were measured, deliberate—graceful.
Every step of the process looked so easy for him.
It was like watching a master sculptor at work, his every motion leaving behind something beautiful and perfected.
His focus was complete. His brow furrowed just slightly in concentration as he poured the milk into his cup, the foam swirling in perfect harmony with the dark, velvety espresso. It was beautiful, flawless.
It felt like a silent challenge.
Anya squeezed her eyes shut for a moment, trying to shut out the mental image of Atlas's composed, unflappable grace. She needed to focus. Her coffee was just as important as his. She had to remember that. She could do this.
Her heart thudded loudly in her chest. The moment of weakness passed, but a lingering feeling of defeat gnawed at her. She had to block out the rising sense of inadequacy. She had to stop comparing herself to him.
She grabbed the milk again, but this time her hands were unsteady.
She could hear the sound of her heartbeat in her ears. The frother hissed angrily as the milk bubbled too much, and the air smelled like burnt foam.
Dammit. She had overdone it.
But she wasn't going to let it break her. Not now. She worked quickly, trying to salvage it. She poured the milk, forcing her hand to be steady, but it wasn't perfect. Her movements felt clumsy in comparison to Atlas's effortless flow.
And then, like a magnet pulling her gaze, she looked.
It wasn't a conscious decision. It was almost like her body knew she shouldn't, but it couldn't stop.
And then it hit her. The weight of it all.
Atlas had done this. He had perfected his craft. He was one with coffee. It was his world, and she was just a bystander, struggling to keep up.
Her heart sank. She couldn't help it.
And that was the moment when her entire rhythm faltered. Her hand wavered, the espresso shot veering a bit off-centre as she finished assembling the cup. The milk, which she had so carefully steamed, didn't sit the way she wanted it to. The foam was too thin, the pour uneven.
It wasn't a disaster, but it wasn't good. Not by her standards, and definitely not by Atlas's.
God, why couldn't she stop looking at him?
She glanced over again, and this time, she saw the faintest trace of a smile playing at the corners of his lips. It wasn't a mocking smile. No, it was something else—almost imperceptible. A small, knowing smirk that made her stomach flip.
Was he pleased with her? Amused by her struggle? Or was it something else entirely?
Was he secretly enjoying this? Watching her squirm?
She wanted to slap herself. What had happened to her earlier confidence? She was supposed to be making coffee, not contemplating her lack of skill next to some impossibly perfect CEO.
But it didn't matter. Atlas had already won. She could feel it.
Kaia, of course, was no help. She had positioned herself as an unofficial commentator to the whole ordeal, standing at the side with her arms crossed, leaning forward like she was watching a movie.
"Ooooh, Anya, you're looking a little... wobbly there," Kaia teased with a grin, her voice loud enough for the whole café to hear.
Anya could feel her cheeks flush with frustration. The last thing she needed was Kaia's commentary right now. She was already dealing with the quiet, unnerving weight of Atlas's gaze—and the growing realization that she was losing.
No, she wasn't going to let this happen. Not like this.
Anya took a steadying breath, refusing to be outdone. She could still turn this around. She had to. Even if it meant making the ugliest cup of coffee in her life.
Kaia, unable to suppress her excitement any longer, clapped her hands together like she was watching the finale of a reality TV show. "Alright, folks, the moment of truth has arrived! Let's see how these two brave contestants did!"
She picked up Anya's cup first, her eyes sparkling with anticipation.