I grabbed a small tray, set the glass on it, then added a couple of napkins and a paper straw before sliding everything neatly across the counter toward him.
“Iced green tea with passionfruit,” I said, flashing him a smile that felt just a little tighter than usual.
Dane reached for the tray. “Thanks.”
Then he hesitated, just for a second. I frowned, wondering if I’d messed up his drink.
“And… thanks for listening,” he added.
“Oh. Yeah.” I shrugged lightly. “Anytime.”
He nodded, like that settled something, then turned and headed toward the back of the café. I watched him pick a table near a corner, a little more tucked away than the others.
After a moment, he reached into his jacket and pulled out an e-reader, settling back into his seat like he planned to stay a while.
My gaze lingered a second too long before I caught myself and turned away. There were still orders to fill, and a mess of my own making to deal with.
Guilt settled low in my chest. I hadn’t really listened, not properly at least.
I was the one who’d asked what was wrong, and the second he actually answered, I’d checked out halfway through.
He’d looked like he needed to get something off his mind. Maybe that was why he came in today, to sit somewhere quiet and just breathe for a bit. And instead, I…
“Excuse me. Can I order?”
The voice snapped me back, and I straightened, turning toward the counter with a quick apology.
“Sorry. What can I get you?”
Work picked up again after that. Orders came in one after another, the steady rhythm of the café carried me along.
But even as I worked, my attention kept drifting back to his corner.
Dane was still there, sitting where I’d last seen him. Every so often, he’d take a sip of his drink, but mostly he was just quiet. Out of the way, like he was trying not to be noticed.
People came and went, the line thinned, built up again, then thinned out once more. Time passed, but he didn’t leave.
Somewhere in the middle of it all, a thought started to form, slowly at first, then a little louder, until it settled in a way I couldn’t ignore.
It was a bad idea, definitely a bad idea. I knew that much.
If I asked and it went wrong, if he looked at me like I had completely misread everything, then that would be it.
At worst, he would stop coming in and find another café, and I would lose a regular who tipped well. That was all it would amount to.
That was all we were anyway, a customer and a barista, nothing more.
The thought should have ended there, but it didn’t. It lingered instead, heavier than it should have been, because it pushed against everything I tried to keep simple.
The way his smile came so easily when he saw me, the way talking to him never felt like work, and how my day always seemed to settle into a better rhythm when he walked in like that was just part of routine now.
I did not want to mess this up, whatever this was, even if I still could not really define it.
Yet I found myself reaching into the display case and grabbing the last slice of brownie. I hesitated for half a second, then put it on a plate and warmed it in the oven.
This was a terrible idea. Absolutely terrible.
The timer beeped, and I pulled it out, the chocolate just beginning to melt at the edges. I added a fork, then picked it up before I could think better of it.
