I flicked on the kitchen lights.
The fluorescents buzzed to life over stainless steel, stacked containers, and Mari’s prep lists taped to the shelf with aggressively straight edges. I went to the espresso machine by the tiny office nook, because some emergencies required caffeine before strategy.
Nico set the last crate exactly where I pointed.
Then he stood there, bare chest half-visible through damp linen, and waited.
My fingers slowed on the espresso cup.
“Espresso?” I asked.
His eyebrows lifted. “You’re offering me coffee?”
“I’m offering you a tiny cup of civilization so nobody gets bitten before lunch.”
His attention dipped to my mouth for half a second.
Heat moved through my face.
“Don’t,” I said.
“I didn’t say anything.”
“Your face did.”
“My face is becoming a problem.”
“Your face has been a problem since yesterday.”
I poured the espresso and shoved one cup toward him. He took it, careful not to touch my fingers.
The space between our hands felt louder than it needed to.
We drank standing in the kitchen while dawn pressed against the back windows and the bar stayed closed around us. The espresso was hot, bitter, and exactly what kept me from spiraling into a family group text titled Nella Accidentally Borrowed Money From Jaws.
Nico finished his first. “I’ll call for the limes.”
“Do it where I can hear you.”
His eyes came back to mine. “Good.”
“You’re not offended by surveillance?”
“I’m relieved by it.”
“That’s weird.”
“That’s smart.”
He put the call on speaker, because apparently he had a survival instinct after all.
A sleepy voice answered on the third ring. “Marlowe Produce.”
“This is Nico Torretti,” he said. “I need one case of limes delivered to Bite Me Boardwalk Bar & Bites this morning.”
The man on the phone yawned. “We don’t usually add single cases after the route goes out.”
“You have another truck near Ocean Drive in forty minutes.”
