He took it without meeting my eyes but muttered something that might have been thanks.
I watched as he took a sip, his expression softening slightly at the taste. Maybe this was how I’d crack his shell—one small gesture at a time.
“Do you like it?” I asked, biting my lip as soon as the words left my mouth.
He looked up then, and for a moment our eyes met. There was something there—something that made me feel like maybe this wasn’t all one-sided.
“It’s good,” he said gruffly before taking another sip.
I let out a breath I didn’t know I was holding.
I barely had time to enjoy the rare moment of connection before a couple of customers waved me over from the other side of the café.
"Excuse me," I said, squeezing Daryl's hand gently. "I'll be right back, okay?"
He nodded, his gaze already shifting back to the mug in front of him. I took a deep breath and turned away, my mind buzzing with the thought that I might have made a tiny crack in his armor.
As I approached the customers, my usual smile slipped easily back into place. They were regulars—an elderly couple who came in every Wednesday for our live music nights.
"Hey there! What can I get you two today?" I asked, grabbing a couple of menus from the counter and handing them over.
"Oh, just our usuals," the woman replied with a warm smile. "And could we get some extra napkins?"
"Of course! Be right back with those," I said, jotting down their order on my notepad.
I moved swiftly behind the counter, grabbing a handful of napkins and setting them on a tray along with their drinks—one peppermint mocha and one chai latte. The steam curled up from the cups as I carried them back over, careful not to spill anything.
"Here you go," I said, setting everything down in front of them. "Enjoy!"
They thanked me, and I turned to check on a few other tables. A group of teenagers needed more sugar packets for their hot chocolates, and a young mom asked for a lid for her toddler’s juice. Each request kept me busy for a few more minutes, but my thoughts kept drifting back to Daryl.
When everything seemed under control again, I made my way back to his table. He was still there, surprisingly, nursing his hot chocolate like he had nowhere else to be. Maybe he didn’t.
I slid into the seat across from him once more. "Sorry about that."
"No problem." He shrugged, but there was something softer in his eyes this time. "You’re busy.”
"Always," I said with a smile. "But I love it. This place is my dream come true."
He raised an eyebrow, and I could tell he was curious despite himself.
"I’ve always wanted to own a café," I continued, leaning back in my chair. "A cozy spot where people could come together, share stories, and enjoy good coffee. It’s been a lot of hard work, but every moment has been worth it."
He nodded, taking another sip of his hot chocolate.
"Actually," I said, reaching into my bag and pulling out my notebook, "I carry this around with me everywhere. It’s filled with ideas for the café—designs, menu items, everything."
I flipped it open to a page with a sketch of a new layout for the seating area. "I was thinking about adding more tables over here and maybe putting up some fairy lights to give it a warmer feel."
Daryl leaned in slightly to look at the drawings. He examined them for a moment before looking back at me.
"You’re a terrible artist," he said bluntly.
"Daryl Walker," I exclaimed, trying to sound offended but failing miserably as laughter bubbled up inside me. "That’s rude—even if it’s true."
His lips quirked up into the smallest of smiles, and my heart skipped a beat. It was rare to see him smile, and when he did, it felt like I’d won some small victory.
"Yeah," he said after a moment. "But you have good ideas."
