Then I walk past him without correcting it.

Maybe tomorrow’s shift won’t start with tension.

It will begin with quiet.

And maybe, if I let it, something like forgiveness.

Morning comes too quickly.

I wake before my alarm, staring at the ceiling, replaying yesterday in fragments   the contest, the almost-apology, the way he said Sunshine like it wasn’t a joke anymore.

I check my phone.

One notification.

Blake:

Don’t be late. Jay already thinks he’s the responsible one.

I stare at the message longer than necessary.

Me:

You’re the one who’s late. Chronically.

Three dots appear immediately.

Rude. See you at school, Sunshine.

I roll my eyes at my screen.

I don’t correct him.

First through fourth hour pass in a blur of fluorescent lighting and half-absorbed lectures. Blake sits two rows behind me in English. I can feel his gaze occasionally, even when I don’t turn around.

At one point, I do.

He’s not even pretending to take notes.

Just spinning a pen between his fingers, watching me with an expression that is far too relaxed for someone who has calculus next period.

“What?” I mouth.

He just grins.

I turn back around before my face betrays me.

Lunch.

We don’t eat at school on weekdays.

We work.

Jay’s car smells faintly like espresso grounds permanently ground into the upholstery. Lia is in the passenger seat, adjusting her lip gloss in the mirror. Blake sits beside me in the back, knee pressed lightly against mine because there isn’t enough room not to.

No one comments on it.

The café comes into view, sunlight catching on the windows.

“Forty-five minutes,” Jay says, checking the dashboard clock. “We leave at 1:35 sharp. I am not getting detention because you two decide to have a staring contest.”

“We do not ” I start.

Lia turns around slowly. “You absolutely do.”

Blake just laughs.

The bell above the café door rings as we enter, shedding backpacks and slipping into aprons with practiced efficiency.

Jenna is already there, leaning against the counter with a clipboard.

She takes one look at us and sighs like she’s been waiting.

“Ah. The children have arrived.”

“We’re not children,” Blake says, tying his apron.

“Yesterday says otherwise.”

My spine stiffens.

Her eyes flick between us   sharp, observant.

Nothing escapes Jenna Morales.

She jerks her chin toward the register. “Rush starts in five. Try not to emotionally implode this time.”

Blake coughs to hide a laugh.

I glare at him.

“Clock’s ticking,” Jenna adds. “Both kinds.”

The lunch rush is different from Saturday mornings.

It’s faster.

Tighter.

Students flooding in between classes, teachers ordering ahead, everyone impatient because time is measured in bells.

Blake and I fall into sync almost instantly.

“Two iced caramel lattes!” he calls.

“Got it.”

“Add a turkey panini.”

“Already warming.”

We don’t look at each other when we move   we don’t need to. It’s muscle memory now. Hand off. Turn. Reach. Spin. Slide.

But between orders, there are glances.

Quick ones.

Checking.

Measuring.

There’s something softer in them today.

The clock on the wall reads 12:52.

Forty-three minutes left.

Blake catches me looking at it.

“Relax,” he murmurs. “We’re fine.”

“I am relaxed.”

“You look like you’re diffusing a bomb.”

“Time management is important.”

He leans closer as he punches in an order. “You’d make a great supervillain.”

I blink. “What?”

“Meticulous. Calm. Slightly terrifying.”

“Get back to work.”

He grins like that was the entire goal.

A customer interrupts before I can respond.

The line moves.

The clock shifts to 1:07.

Jay nearly collides with Lia behind the counter. “We’re going to make it. Probably.”

“‘Probably’ is not comforting,” I mutter.

Blake bumps my shoulder lightly. “You stress too much.”

“And you don’t stress enough.”

“Balance,” he says simply.

The word lingers.

Balance.

Lavender honey latte.

Mocha Valencia.

I glance at him again without meaning to.

He’s already looking at me.

This time neither of us looks away immediately.

There’s no competition in it.

No sharpness.

Just something quiet.

Jenna clears her throat loudly from near the pastry case.

“If you two are going to flirt,” she says dryly, “at least do it while restocking.”

I nearly drop the receipt in my hand.

“We are not ” I begin.

Blake, traitor that he is, just shrugs. “Multitasking.”

Jay chokes on nothing.

Lia gasps dramatically. “It’s a workplace romance. I knew it.”

“It is not a romance,” I say, heat flooding my face.

Jenna arches a brow. “Mhm. And I’m a ballerina.”

She steps closer, lowering her voice just enough that only we can hear. “Whatever this is   keep it functional. You’ve got twenty-five minutes.”

Then she walks away like she didn’t just dismantle my entire nervous system with one sentence.

Blake leans toward me slightly. “She likes us.”

“There is no ‘us.’”

“Right,” he says mildly. “Of course.”

The clock reads 1:19.

Panic flickers briefly.

We move faster.

Orders fly.

Blake covers the register while I finish a complicated custom drink. He slides in seamlessly when I have to grab more lids. When the receipt printer jams, he fixes it without comment.

At 1:34, Jay calls it. “Close it up!”

We move like a practiced unit   wiping counters, clocking out, tossing aprons into the bin.

Blake grabs his backpack and slings it over one shoulder.

For a split second, it’s just the two of us near the door.

He hesitates.

“So,” he says casually, “we good?”

There it is again.

The space for an apology.

I feel it rise.

I feel it press against my pride.

I should say I’m sorry.

I should tell him I didn’t mean it like that.

I should admit that when he wrapped his arms around me, it didn’t feel wrong   it felt familiar.

Safe.

Instead, I adjust my bag strap.

“We’re fine.”

He studies my face for a moment.

Then he nods.

“Okay.”

Outside, the afternoon sun is bright and unforgiving. We pile back into Jay’s car.

As we pull away, Jenna steps out onto the sidewalk, arms crossed.

She watches us go with a knowing look.

“Clock it before it clocks you,” she calls after us.

Blake laughs from the backseat.

I stare straight ahead.

But I can feel him beside me.

Close.

Warm.

And I realize something unsettling.

The tension is fading.

Not because we resolved it.

But because it’s turning into something else.

Something quieter.

Something that feels dangerously like the beginning of a habit.