CC’s is mercifullyquiet for a Monday morning. Most students have already fled for summer break, which is probably why we’re even in this mess to begin with. If campus hadn’t been so empty that night... if Alfie hadn’t started talking about the universe in that stupidly passionate way of his…
I shake the thought off as Alfie steps up to the counter, already pulling out his wallet.
“What do you want?” he asks.
“I can get my own coffee,” I mutter, rummaging through my bag.
It’s a disaster zone in there—half a granola bar, a stray pen, receipts from places I don’t remember going. Where is my wallet? My brain flashes to the mess I left behind in my rush this morning. Great. Probably buried under my laundry.
Alfie just watches me. Waiting.
Then he sighs and turns to the barista. “Black coffee. And she’ll have a peppermint tea.”
“And a muffin!” I blurt.
He raises an eyebrow at me. The muffin judgment is palpable.
I glare. “Yes, fun sponge, a muffin at ten a.m.”
He doesn’t say anything, but I swear I see a flicker of amusement as he hands over his card before I can protest.
And that’s when it hits me.
He didn’t just guess my order.
He knows it.
Not only the tea—because coffee makes me bounce off the walls after noon—but the fact that peppermint is my default when I’m stressed.
A slow, traitorous warmth spreads up my neck.
I wrap my hands around the cup, letting the heat soak in. “You remember my order,” I say, aiming for casual and landing somewhere around breathless.
Alfie shrugs. “You’re at our house enough.”
His fingers twitch against his own coffee cup. It’s subtle—barely a movement—but I see it.
Right. Einstein’s. Their house. The safest, least romantic place imaginable.
Einstein’s, as I’ve nicknamed it, thanks to the ridiculous poster of Einstein sticking his tongue out in their living room like some kind of physics department fever dream.
Home to four guys who’ve become fixtures in my life these past two years at UMS. My brother Troy (resident mother hen with his perfect golden-boy looks that match mine a little too well - thanks, genetics), my best friend Alex’s boyfriend Freddie (gym bro with a heart of gold), the human golden retriever Ethan who is typically sprawled across their couch, his 6’1” frame taking up way too much space, strawberry blonde hair standing out against the dull colors in the room.
And, of course, Alfie.
Alfie, who is still watching me over the rim of his coffee.
We grab a table by the window, and I try to ignore how quiet campus feels now. How empty.
Alex is in California, living her dream. Freddie’s stillhere, pretending he’s fine, but I know he checks his phone every five minutes for her texts. They make long-distance look easy, but I already know from Alex that it’s not.
I take a sip, watching Alfie over the rim of my cup. “You don’t even like tea,” I comment, narrowing my eyes.
He shifts slightly. “What?”
“You always make a face when Alex orders anything herbal. You called chamomile ‘sad grass juice’ last semester.”
He huffs out a reluctant chuckle. “It is sad.”
