Wednesday mornings were supposed to be simple.
Lia Henderson had clearly forgotten the meaning of "simple" the moment she started working at The Daily Grind.
Today, she had a plan: survive the rush, avoid spilled coffee, and—most importantly—avoid Ethan Cruz.
Step one: enter the café before him.
Step two: act busy enough that he couldn't talk to her.
Step three: somehow, miraculously, leave unscathed.
She was halfway to step two when the door jingled.
"…Of course," she muttered under her breath.
Ethan Cruz strolled in, casually flipping his laptop bag over one shoulder, grin fully in place, like he owned the morning.
"…Morning," he said, as if she hadn't just spent five minutes plotting how to avoid him.
"…Morning," she said carefully, trying to sound indifferent.
He took his usual corner seat and watched her work.
"…You really like that corner," she muttered to herself, wiping a latte spill that hadn't even happened yet.
"Corner's strategic," he said, catching her glance. "…And it lets me observe chaos up close."
"…Observation is not a personality trait," she muttered under her breath.
"…Yet here I am," he said softly. "…Personality traits can be charming."
Her heart… betrayed her. Again.
The morning unfolded with escalating chaos.
A man dropped a stack of napkins in slow motion. A child shrieked near the pastry display. And, of course, Lia's espresso machine decided it was the perfect time to sputter a dramatic hiss.
Ethan leapt to help, but his "help" involved leaning too close, causing her to flinch and spill—of course—her carefully balanced latte.
"…You're impossible," she muttered, dabbing at the counter with a towel.
"And yet," he said, leaning in slightly, "…you can't stop looking at me."
"…I can stop looking at you," she said, though her voice faltered.
"Maybe later," he said, grinning. "…After the chaos settles."
By late morning, the café had quieted.
Mia appeared behind the counter with a knowing smirk. "So, Lia… about Mr. Not-A-Date?"
"…He's not a date," Lia said firmly, pouring a cup of coffee. "…He's… a… friend? A… very infuriating friend."
Mia rolled her eyes. "…Sure. That's what all girls say before they realize they're in love."
"…I am not in love!" Lia snapped. "…I just… deal with his chaos."
"Uh-huh," Mia said, leaning closer. "…And yet, you think about him all the time. Admit it."
"…Maybe. Slightly," Lia admitted, reluctantly.
"Bingo," Mia said, triumphant. "…You're in the middle of a very classic Not-A-Date dilemma."
"…Not-a-date dilemma?" Lia asked, narrowing her eyes.
"Exactly," Mia said, grinning. "…He's charming. You're stubborn. The universe is testing you. And, of course, coffee is involved."
"…I hate this," Lia muttered, though she secretly didn't.
Later, Ethan approached her counter. "…Hey, Lia," he said casually, like he hadn't spent the last thirty minutes making her heart do gymnastics.
"…Hi," she muttered, focusing on arranging pastries with exaggerated precision.
"Busy?" he asked.
"…Yes," she said, sharply. "…Very busy."
"And yet," he said, leaning just slightly too close, "…you noticed me."
"…I did not," she said automatically. "…I'm just… paying attention to work."
He grinned. "…Right. Work. Always work."
She groaned internally. "…You're ridiculous."
"…And yet," he said softly, "…you secretly like it."
"…I do not like it," she muttered, though the blush creeping up her cheeks suggested otherwise.
By afternoon, the café had quieted, leaving them alone.
"…Why are you still here?" she asked, exasperated.
"Observing chaos," he said casually, picking up a muffin. "…And maybe talking to you."
"…Talking to me?" she echoed, frowning. "…We're not dating."
"Nope," he said with a smile. "…Not a date. Totally platonic. Just… coffee companions."
"…Right," she muttered, rolling her eyes. "…Coffee companions."
And then came the real disaster.
A customer—clearly unaware of the fragile emotional state of Lia Henderson—spilled a drink all over the counter. Lia groaned, grabbing napkins. Ethan jumped in to help, and naturally… their hands touched.
"…Stop touching me!" she yelled, flustered.
"…I'm not touching," he said, though his grin betrayed him.
"…You are touching!" she snapped. "…And it's… infuriating!"
He leaned closer, voice low. "…And yet, charming, yes?"
"…No!" she shouted, cheeks blazing. "…Completely unacceptable!"
By the end of the day, Lia walked home, exhausted, caffeinated, and completely aware that she was in way over her head.
She muttered to herself:
Not-a-date? Right. Totally platonic. Nothing to think about. Stop thinking about him.
But of course, she did think about him.
The smile. The hands. The impossible charm. The chaos.
…and she knew, deep down, that her not-a-date dilemma was only going to get worse.