Chapter 3 Sadie
Sadie
The tray slips from my grasp. Coffee mugs collide, tilt forward, then slam into Axel’s chest. Ceramic cracks, and shards skitter across the floor. Hot coffee splashes his shirt, dark rings blooming through the fabric.
“Jesus Christ!” The words slice out of me, too loud. “Why would you— Don’t you look where you’re walking?”
The whole café goes quiet. My hands shake around the empty tray.
Axel doesn’t even flinch. He glances at his soaked shirt, but it’s like nothing touches him. Then those green eyes lock on mine, not even blinking, and it isn’t calm, it’s a challenge. Like he’s daring me to look away first.
“Totally my fault,” he says, palms lifted in mock surrender. “I should’ve announced myself with a warning siren.”
“Watch it, man,” Saul calls from behind the counter, tone clipped. “Maybe try not sneaking up on people.”
“Seriously?” Finn yells over the espresso machine, grinning. “This is the most exciting thing that’s happened all week. Do it again, but this time with the caramel lattes.”
I yank the towel from my apron and scrub at my fingers, movements too sharp, breath too fast.
“I’ve got it,” I mutter, crouching to scoop up the larger ceramic shards.
Axel crouches across from me, his knee almost brushing mine.
The air between us narrows. His forearms flex, veins tracking beneath skin, hands so big I’m stupidly aware of how easily they could close around my wrist, or pin both my wrists above my head.
He moves with a kind of unbothered confidence, but every time his fingers brush the floor near mine, my whole body tightens, low and hot and wrong.
I should look away.
His knee is so close, I could close the gap with a twitch. The heat rolling from him messes with my head, my pulse thudding hard between my thighs. I tell myself to move away but I don’t.
My throat goes dry. I hate that he does this to me. I hate that he's been in my café for four minutes and my nervous system has already staged a full revolt.
"Let me help," he says.
I glare up at him, ready to bite his head off, but I catch Mateo at the register instead, expression neutral, attention razor-sharp. Watching.
The floor tilts a little under my feet.
“I’m sorry,” I say, voice low and tighter than I want. “I… shouldn’t have snapped at you.”
“No harm done.” Axel drops shards into the trash bin. “Well, maybe harm to my dignity and this shirt, but both have survived worse.”
He lets silence stretch, something rough and unreadable in his face. He doesn’t push, but it’s not softness—it’s control. Like he’s choosing to hold back for my sake, and I can’t decide if I want him to or not. The tight band in my chest eases just enough to breathe.
"I’ll get you a new shirt," I tell him, the words coming out stiff. "We’ve got Pike’s Perk crew necks in the back."
"Keep it." He stands, unhurried, and offers me a hand.
I pretend not to see it. Push to my feet using the counter instead, which he also notices.
"Consider it a fashion statement," he says, looking down at his shirt. "Gives me that bumbling idiot charm, don’t ya think?”
"You seemed to have plenty already." The words are out before I can stop them.
The corner of his lips twitches slightly, turning up into the smallest smirk. I can feel the blush begin to creep up my neck so I quickly turn back to face the espresso machine.
“I’ll remake your order. On the house.”
“Make it two,” he says. “One for the road, one for my shirt. It’s thirsty.”
The corner of my mouth also twitches before I can stop it, accompanied by a tickle low in my belly that I refuse to acknowledge. Saul watches from the other end of the bar, still frowning like a guard dog. Finn practically vibrates behind the machine.
“Coming right up,” I say, turning to the counter.
“Hey.” His tone drops lower, heat and humor gone. Just quiet. For me. “Really, it’s fine. We all have off days.”
The simple acceptance hits harder than any lecture. No edge. No pity. Just fact.
I glance back at him. Really look. Broad shoulders relaxed. No tension around his mouth.
“Thanks,” I murmur. “I appreciate that.”
The hiss of the steam wand fills the space between us. I fall into the routine, grind, tamp, pull, steam, movements automatic even though every nerve knows he’s there, forearms propped on the counter, presence settled instead of looming.
A minute later, I slide two cups across to him.
“There you go. Sorry again about before.”
“Worth it for the extra coffee.” He lifts both cups. “See you tomorrow, Sadie?”
The way he says it… like he’s asking permission to show up. Like my answer matters.
“We’re open every day,” I say. It’s safer than yes.
His grin widens. “Good to know.” He heads for the door, then pauses, one hand on the frame. “For what it’s worth, your coffee’s worth getting soaked for.”
The bell jingles as he steps out. Noise rushes back in, clinking mugs, the murmur of conversations, Finn’s snicker from the register. Mateo still watches from the side, quiet and thoughtful.
“You okay?” Saul asks at my elbow, his voice dropping.
“Fine.” The word snaps out on instinct as I turn back to the espresso machine. “Just a spill.”
I scrub the wand harder than necessary, muscles tight. Axel Slade looked right through all the sharp edges I threw at him… and didn’t even blink.
I’m wiping down the counter, trying to pretend my hands aren’t still unsteady, when I realize Axel hasn’t actually left. He’s near the pickup counter, phone in one hand, both coffees balanced in the other.
“Did you forget something?” I ask, keeping my attention on a coffee ring that doesn’t really need cleaning.
“Just giving the chaos a minute to settle,” he says, easy. “Figured you might want a second to breathe before I add any more excitement to your day.”
I glance up, ready for amusement at my expense. Or irritation. Instead, that relaxed half smile rests there like none of my earlier temper stuck to him.
“I really am sorry,” I say, the admission surprising me more than him. “It’s been a morning.”
He shrugs, shoulders loose. “We all have those.”
He doesn’t lean in. Doesn’t fish for reasons. Just lets it sit.
The knot between my shoulder blades loosens a notch.
The baby monitor on the counter crackles. A soft whimper filters through, then spikes into a sharp, panicked cry. My head snaps toward it. Every muscle goes rigid.
Poppy isn’t supposed to be up for at least another thirty minutes. If she’s awake now, the midmorning rush is screwed.
Another wail blasts through, higher, more insistent. My stomach clenches like a fist.
“I need to…” I start, already counting the customers in line, the tickets on the rail, the fact that there’s only Rowan in the kitchen and Finn out front.
“You’re good,” Axel cuts in, nodding toward the back. “I’ve got it.”
I blink at him. “Got what?”
He gestures to the counter, the remaining shards, the damp floor. “This. The mess. I can wait.”
The monitor spits out another cry, raw and furious. Heat crawls up my neck, a hot, prickling flush. That familiar dread pushes against my ribs, the one that whispers everyone’s judging, everyone’s tallying every time your kid loses it in public.
Axel doesn’t look away. No flinch. No tight mouth. Just steady.
“Seriously.” He sets his coffees down, palms open. “Go do what you need to do. I’ll just hang out. No rush.”
I hover for half a breath, throat tight, caught between instinct to protect Poppy and the reflex to keep my life hidden. Letting him see this part of me feels like unbuttoning something I’ve kept sealed.
“Thanks,” I say, the word clipped but honest. I turn toward the back office, then pause and look over my shoulder. “I won’t be long.”
“Take your time,” he calls. Same easy confidence. “I’m not going anywhere.”
In the office, Poppy stands in her travel crib, fists clenched around the mesh side, face blotchy and wet. The second she sees me, her scream fractures into hiccuping sobs.
“Hey, sweet girl,” I murmur, scooping her up. Her damp cheeks press into my neck. “What’s all this about, huh?”
She burrows close, small body shuddering with leftover cries. I sway with her, my fingers moving on autopilot as I check her diaper, smooth curls off her forehead, and press the back of my hand there. No fever. No diaper disaster. Just an interrupted nap and the terror of waking up alone.
“You’re okay,” I whisper into her hair. “Mama’s here. I’ve got you.”
She clutches my shirt, little fingers twisting the fabric, breaths evening out.
In my head, the to-do list scrolls like a frantic ticker.
Finish cleaning the spill. Handle the line.
Restock the pastry case. Fix the stupid grinder that’s been sticking.
Keep Poppy from melting down again. Pretend I have it all under control with a stranger standing out front, seeing more than I want him to.
By the time I step back into the café with Poppy on my hip, my shoulders are set, voice ready for whatever awkward comment is waiting.
Except there isn’t one.
Axel still leans near the counter, but the broken ceramic is gone. The floor’s dry. He’s mid-conversation with Mrs. Halpern, one of our elderly regulars, nodding along as she complains about the late frost and her rosebushes.
His gaze finds me. It drops briefly to Poppy, then comes right back to my face. No widened eyes. No pity. Just a small, acknowledging nod, like we’re picking up a conversation we never finished.
“All good?” he asks.
“Yeah.” I hitch Poppy higher on my hip when she reaches for my earring. “Thanks for… waiting.”
“No problem.” He picks up his coffees. “I should probably get back before my brothers send out a search party anyway.”
I nod, unable to think of anything that doesn’t sound either too grateful or too defensive. Poppy rests her head on my shoulder, drool damp against my collarbone, completely over her earlier meltdown.
“See you around, Sadie,” he says, heading for the door. He waggles his fingers at Poppy. “Bye, little one.”
She gives him a solemn stare like she’s actually considering him. My chest gives a strange, unsteady thump.
I watch him step outside, the tension in the room thinning with every stride. The air feels… clearer. My shoulders sink away from my ears before I even realize I’ve let them go.
It shouldn’t be like this. A man like Axel, loud family, big presence, eyes that see too much, should set off every alarm I have.
Instead, as the door swings shut behind him and the bell settles, a quiet steadiness hums under my skin. I don’t know what to do with that.
Axel’s broad shoulders disappear down the sidewalk. I keep staring at the glass until a low whistle snaps me out of it.
“Well, well, well…”
I jump and spin around. Rowan stands behind me, one brow arched, arms crossed, gaze still fixed on the door like she can summon him back.
“What?” I hike Poppy higher and fuss with her wild post-nap curls, fingers a little too busy.
“Nothing.” Rowan steps closer, eyes gleaming. “Just admiring the local wildlife. That was Axel Slade, right?”
“I don’t know. Maybe.” I shrug, aiming for bored. The lie tastes ridiculous even as my brain offers up flashes I didn’t ask for: the solid weight of his hand on the counter this morning, how everything inside me went on pause for half a second. I clamp down on it.
“Just a customer.”
Rowan snorts. “Right. And I’m casually contemplating lifelong celibacy.”
She slides behind the register and nudges me aside to help the next customer, hands moving automatically as she rings up a latte and a blueberry muffin.
“He cleaned up that spill for you?” she asks once the customer wanders away.
“It wasn’t a big deal.”
“Uh-huh.” She keys in another order, then cuts me a look. “And the way he looked at you before he left, also not a big deal?”
Heat crawls up my neck again, humming just under my skin. “He didn’t look at me any particular way.”
“Sadie.” Rowan shifts into full big-sister mode. “I’ve seen less intense eye contact in every sappy rom-com ever made. He’ll be back tomorrow, same time, same order.”
“Don’t be ridiculous.” I bounce Poppy lightly, trying to calm her fidgeting and my own frayed nerves. Another unwanted image flickers, his quiet presence while I made his drinks, unhurried and solid. I shove it down.
“He was just being polite.”
“Sure, polite.” Rowan wipes down the counter in slow, exaggerated circles. “But that’s not what that was.”
“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” I blurt. “I’m not looking for… that. And even if I was, Axel Slade is the last person I’d consider, he’s too—” I wave my free hand, words tangling in the air.
“Too what? Too handsome? Too considerate? Too good with kids?” Rowan ticks off points on her fingers. “Yeah, total deal-breakers.”
“Too complicated,” I manage. “Too noticeable. Too…” My mind skips back to the way he’d stepped aside for Poppy’s meltdown without turning it into a spectacle. No pity. No savior complex. Just room.
“Too much of exactly what you need?” Rowan’s voice softens at the edges.
I glare at her. “I need to focus on Poppy. And the café. And a thousand things that aren’t tall, charming men with zero boundaries.”
Rowan lifts a shoulder, that knowing smile glued to her face. “Fine. But I’m calling it now, he’ll be back. And not just for the coffee.”
“You’re delusional,” I mutter.
Poppy twists toward the muffin display, little hand stretching out like she can grab one through the glass. I pivot to block her reach, grateful for the distraction, even as Rowan’s prediction burrows under my skin and stays there, buzzing.
Every time he gets too close, I feel it all the way down my body. I’m angry, embarrassed, and still, somehow wanting more.