Page 100 of Blades Out
"Large black, two sugars."
"Got it." Cup. Coffee. Sugar packets. Lid. Done. Next.
The chaos felt good. Grounding. Every completed order was proof I existed beyond last night's tears, beyond Rhys's retreating footsteps echoing in my skull.
A rookie I vaguely recognized leaned against the counter, flashing what he probably thought was a charming grin. "Hey, you're new, right? I'm?—"
"Medium latte?" I cut him off smoothly, already reaching for the espresso portafilter.
He blinked, thrown. "Uh, yeah. How'd you?—"
"You ordered it yesterday. Same time." I pulled the shot, watching the crema form with the same focus I'd watched Jenna demonstrate two weeks ago. "Anything else?"
"I—no. Thanks."
I handed him the cup without meeting his eyes. Professional. Efficient. Exactly what Jenna had drilled into me: be polite, be quick, don't engage.
The line kept moving. I kept working. Steam hissed. The register beeped. Conversation buzzed around me like white noise I'd learned to filter.
Ben arrived for his shift, all easy energy and bright smiles. He bumped my shoulder companionably while tying his apron. "Morning. You seem focused today."
"Busy morning." Not a lie.
"Want me to take over the register so you can restock?"
"I'm good." The register gave me something to do with my hands. Something to concentrate on besides the empty hallway beyond the café entrance where Rhys might?—
No.
Not thinking about him.
“No, thanks. I appreciate it, though.” I turned to the next customer. "What can I get you?"
The rhythm continued. Order, pour, serve. Order, pour, serve. My movements sharpened with each transaction, confidence building in small increments I hadn't noticed until now. I wasn't the terrified girl who'd spilled coffee everywhere her first day. Wasn't the one who apologized for existing.
I was good at this.
And that mattered more than any man who couldn't decide if I was worth staying for.
Ben worked quietly beside me for a few minutes, restocking cups and checking milk levels. But I felt his gaze land on me more than once, assessing in a way that made my shoulders tense.
"Everything okay?" he asked finally, voice careful. Concerned.
I paused mid-wipe; the rag bunched in my fist. My pulse kicked once, hard. The question hung there, heavier than it should've been. Weighted with everything I couldn't say.
No. Nothing's okay. I kissed a man who can't decide if he wants me or regrets me. Who touches me like I matter and leaves like I don't. Who makes me feel safe and terrified in the same breath.
But I didn't say any of that.
Instead, I turned to face him. Straightened my spine. Met his eyes directly. "Is that dinner offer still open?"
Ben blinked, surprise flickering across his features before his whole face brightened. The transformation was immediate—eyes lighting up, smile spreading wide and genuine.
"Yeah. Of course."
"Great." I forced my voice to stay calm. Even. Normal. "It's a date."
The words left my mouth steady, confident, like I meant them completely. Like my stomach wasn't twisting itself into knots. Like some part of me wasn't screaming that this was wrong, wrong, wrong.
