"I'm good," I muttered, though my cup was nearly empty.
She took a sip of her drink and sighed contentedly. "It's nights like these that make all the hard work worth it."
I nodded again, not trusting myself to say anything. My hands fidgeted with an empty cookie wrapper, trying to keep busy.
"You know," she began softly, "this place could use a good mechanic's touch now and then."
I looked up at her, puzzled. "What do you mean?"
"Well," she said, leaning in a bit closer, "the espresso machine's been acting up. And some of the lights flicker when it rains."
A smile tugged at my lips despite myself. "You're saying you want me to fix your coffee machine?"
"If you have time," she said with a shrug that seemed almost playful. "I can pay you for it."
"I don't need the money," I replied gruffly, though the idea of spending more time here didn't seem so bad.
"Oh, I'm sorry, that's not what I—" She stopped herself, a pretty blush on her cheeks.
I noticed the notebook on the table, pages slightly worn and edges curled. "Do you like to write poems?" The words slipped out before I could stop them, nodding towards it.
Beth's eyes widened, and her cheeks turned a deeper shade of pink. "Uh, well, they're lyrics." She brushed a strand of hair behind her ear, the gesture almost timid. "I feel like it's the only way I can really express myself which sounds so dramatic but…"
"They're good," I murmured, surprising myself with the admission.
Her brows lifted in surprise. "You really think so?"
"I mean, I don't know nothing about lyrics," I replied, feeling a bit out of my depth. "But yeah."
She laughed, a soft sound that made her eyes sparkle. "Thanks, Daryl."
I shifted in my chair, feeling the wood creak beneath me. The café was almost empty now, the buzz of conversation replaced by the soft hum of the espresso machine and the occasional clink of dishes being cleared away.
Beth stood and began gathering mugs and plates from the tables, her movements efficient and practiced. I watched her for a moment, unsure what to do with myself. My hands rested on my knees, fingers drumming an anxious rhythm.
The truth was, I didn't want to leave. Sitting here felt... nice, even if I couldn't quite put my finger on why. But staying put made me feel awkward too, like I should be helping or at least not just sitting there like a lump.
She glanced over at me, her eyes warm. "You don't have to stay if you don't want to," she said, her voice gentle but firm.
"I know," I replied, my voice gruffer than I intended. "I just—" I trailed off, unsure how to finish that sentence.
She smiled softly. "It's okay, Daryl. Really."
I stood up then, my legs feeling stiff from sitting so long. "Here," I said, stepping forward and taking a stack of plates from her hands. "Let me help."
Her eyes widened slightly in surprise but then softened in gratitude. "Thanks."
We moved around the café in a comfortable silence, cleaning up the remnants of the evening's festivities. Beth hummed softly as she worked, a tune that sounded vaguely familiar but that I couldn't quite place.
As we finished up and I set the last stack of plates on the counter, Beth turned to me with a smile that reached her eyes. "You know," she said quietly, "you didn't have to help."
"I know," I replied simply.
Her smile widened just a fraction before she turned back to wiping down the counter. I felt a strange warmth in my chest at that smile—a feeling both unfamiliar and not entirely unwelcome.
When the last table was cleared and the chairs were stacked neatly, Beth leaned against the counter and looked at me with a curious expression. "So," she said slowly, "what's next for you tonight?"
I shrugged, not really having an answer for her. "Probably head home," I said after a moment's thought.
