5
MADDY
I wish I could teleport
“Double espresso to-go will be two dollars sir.”
The man hands over the cash with a polite smile, and I ring him up, already reaching for the espresso machine.
The café is quiet for a Saturday, the kind of calm lull that makes wiping down the coffee machine in Dad’s place feel almost therapeutic. Dad’s been splitting his time between here and the new cafe he’s opening a couple towns over, which means I’ve been picking up more shifts lately.
I press the “receipt” button on the register. The printer spits out a slip with the littleHazel & Beanlogo at the top. I hand over the receipt and the freshly poured double espresso with a smile. “Have a great weekend.”
“You too,” he replies easily, voice warm, already halfway toward the door. I turn around and grab a cloth to start cleaning the counter.
“Who was that?” Dawn’s voice cuts through the air laced with curiosity and caffeine.
She leans against the counter beside me in her Hazel & Bean shirt, dark blue with the logo stretched across her back, apron tied loosely at her waist, eyes wide with interest.
“I don’t know,” I mutter, not looking up as I wipe down the counter. “Never seen him.”
She fans herself dramatically. “Geez. Is it always that hot in here, or is it just him?”
I shoot her a look, biting back a laugh. “You need help.”
“I need his number.”
I shake my head. I’ve known Dawn forever—her, me, Tess, and Daphne were best friends growing up, but different high schools pulled us in separate directions. We still FaceTime a lot, send voice notes at stupid hours, and plan reunions as much as we can.
These days Dawn helps out at the café whenever Dad needs extra hands, which definitely keeps things interesting. She heads to the back room. Probably to fill up the milk in the fridges or something. I look around to see if any customer needs anything else. But everyone seems to be satisfied. An elderly couple is sitting in their regular seats. Every weekend, without fail. Black coffee for both—one milk, one sugar—and a slice of our homemade apple pie they split down the middle. Sometimes he lifts his camera when he thinks she’s not looking and snaps a picture of her anyway. It’s the sweetest thing.
Near the windows, a group of moms has settled in after dropping their sons off at football practice. They call itcatching up. But really, it’s Baylin’s most reliable source of gossip. A couple more tables are filled, students working on their laptop, others just chatting or enjoying our great sandwiches.
The bell over the café door rings again, so I look up, and see Jacob walking in. My brain immediately forgets how words work.
He strolls up to the counter, his blonde hair neat and in place perfectly, expensive sunglasses perched between it. “Hey, Mads.”
I straighten, knocking my elbow lightly against the espresso machine in the process. “Hey,” I say too quickly. “What can I—what do you—what would you like?”
He smirks. “Still working here, huh?”
“Yes,” I say. “I mean, it’s my dad’s café. Obviously. You know that.”
He leans his elbows on the counter. “Relax. I’m just saying hi.”
“Cool,” I say immediately and he just chuckles, clearly enjoying himself. “You always this tense?”
“Nope,” I lie. “Super chill. Thriving, actually.”
Jacob raises an eyebrow. “You sure?”
“Yes,” I say, already reaching for a cup. “What do you want?”
He tilts his head, giving me that stupid smirk of him. “You remember.”
God, if I could just rip that off his face and shove it up his—no, just calm down Maddy.
“Flat white,” I mutter to myself. “You donotget latte art today.”
