Not literally  but it might as well be. The espresso machines hiss and grind like they’re angry at the world, steam wailing out in sharp bursts that echo off the tiled walls. The smell of coffee is thick enough to taste before I even step fully behind the counter, bitter, burnt, sweet, all tangled together into something that should be comforting but isn’t when it’s this early and this busy.

Saturday mornings always hit like this.

A kind of controlled chaos pretending to be routine.

The bell above the door won’t stop ringing. Customers spill in faster than we can breathe. Someone is already complaining about wait times. Someone else is waving a phone like it’s going to summon their order faster. The register is flashing too many orders at once, and I’m already two steps behind what I should be.

“Lia  hot latte, extra foam!” I call out without looking away from the screen.

“On it!” she yells back from the pastry station.

“Jay, where's the iced batch? We’re out in three minutes!”

“I know!” he shouts, voice muffled by the sound of the blender. “Do I look like I’m relaxing back here?”

I don’t answer him. I don’t have time to.

My fingers move fast over the register keys, punching in orders, apologizing without meaning it, nodding at customers I’m not really seeing. My head is already starting to throb not pain exactly, more like pressure building behind my eyes, like my brain is trying to expand but the café is too small to hold it.

“Next!” I call.

A woman steps up immediately, coffee already in hand, eyes sharp like she’s waiting for me to mess up.

I don’t.

Barely.

Somewhere behind me, something drops. A tray, maybe. Jay curses loudly. Lia laughs like it’s funny instead of stressful. The sound blends into everything else until I can’t tell what’s real and what’s just noise anymore.

And still  

No Blake.

Of course.

That thought lands heavier than it should.

I shouldn’t even be thinking about him right now. Not when the line is stretching toward the door. Not when I’m trying to keep orders from collapsing into each other. Not when my shift is already running on fumes.

But it’s impossible not to notice when someone is always missing exactly when things are at their worst.

“Adrian!”

Jay’s voice cuts through the noise.

I glance up. “What?”

He leans over the pastry counter, flour dusting his apron, eyebrows raised in exaggerated annoyance. “Where is your boyfriend at?”

I freeze for half a second.

Then I grab the nearest object, a pen and throw it at him without thinking.

It bounces off his shoulder.

“Stop calling him that,” I snap. “And he’s not my boyfriend.”

Jay laughs like I just told a joke. “Right. Sure. And the last six years of you two acting like a married couple is just coincidence?”

Lia snorts from behind him, not even trying to hide it.

My grip tightens on the register.

“He’s late,” I say flatly. “As usual.”

“Uh-huh,” Jay hums. “And that sun pendant around your neck is just fashion, right?”

My hand instinctively goes to my collar.

The small pendant sits warm against my skin. I hate that I notice it. I hate more that I never take it off.

“It’s nothing,” I mutter.

“Yeah,” Jay says, dragging out the word. “Nothing.”

I didn't respond after that.

Because if I do, I might actually scream.

The line moves again. Another customer steps forward. I force myself back into rhythm, scan, take order, confirm, repeat. My voice becomes automatic. My face becomes something I wear instead of something I feel through.

But even as I work, there’s a small, stubborn part of my mind counting the seconds.

Blake is never just “late.”

Blake is late like the world is optional.

And yet  

The bell above the door rings again.

Hard.

Different.

I look up just as Blake slides into the café like he’s stepping into a scene he knows he’s already winning.

Literally sliding  his shoes barely stop moving before he catches himself at the edge of the counter. His hair is slightly messy, like he ran his hand through it too many times on the way here. His jacket is half-zipped. There’s that stupid, effortless grin on his face like nothing in the world can actually touch him.

And for some reason, the entire café feels louder just because he’s here.

A girl sitting near the window notices him immediately.

Of course she does.

Blake notices her back.

Of course he does.

He leans slightly toward her as he passes, flashing a smile that should honestly be illegal at this hour.

“Morning,” he says lightly.

The girl blinks like she forgot how words work.

I feel my jaw tighten.

He’s not even clocked in yet.

“Blake!” I call out sharply.

He turns toward me, still mid-step, like I interrupted something important. “Morning, sunshine.”

“Stop calling me that.”

He ignores me.

He always ignores me.

Instead, he leans a little closer to the counter, still half-distracted by the girl by the window. “You miss me?”

“No,” I say immediately.

Jay makes a noise somewhere behind us that sounds suspiciously like a laugh he’s trying to swallow.

Blake finally looks at me properly, eyes flicking over my face like he’s checking I’m real. Then he smiles wider.

“Liar.”

That single word is so casual it almost makes my chest tighten in the wrong way.

I step around the counter before I can think better of it.

“Clock in,” I say.

“I just got here,” he protests lightly.

“You’re late.”

“I was  ”

“Clock in.”

He sighs dramatically like I’ve personally ruined his life, then holds up his wrist as I grab it.

I ignore the way his skin is warm against mine.

I ignore the way it feels familiar.

I grab his work ID from his pocket and scan it at the register in one clean motion.

Beep.

Official.

“You’re on shift,” I say.

He leans closer, voice softer now. “Bossy today.”

“Always,” I reply.

He smiles like that’s something he likes about me.

I walk away before I can think about that too much.

Back at the register, I force myself into the rhythm again. Customers. Orders. Names. Times. Everything blending into a blur of caffeine and urgency.

And then  

“Excuse me.”

The voice is sharp.

I look up.

A man stands at the counter, mid-forties maybe, dressed too nicely for a café this crowded. His expression is already set like he’s decided we are the problem.

“I’ve been waiting too long,” he says.

“We’re busy,” I reply evenly. “It’ll be a few minutes.”

“That’s not acceptable.”

I inhale slowly.

“Sir, I  ”

“I said that’s not acceptable.”

Something in his tone shifts. Not louder. Just sharper. Controlled anger.

I’ve heard this before.

It never ends well.

“I’ll check on your order,” I say carefully.

He leans forward slightly. “You people always say that.”

My fingers pause over the register.

Behind him, I hear Blake’s voice somewhere in the café, laughing at something Jay said. The sound feels miles away.

“Sir,” I say again, quieter now, “please step back from the counter.”

He doesn’t.

“You kids think you can just  ”

He reaches forward and knocks something off the counter.

It hits the floor.

Not hard.

But enough.

Enough that everything in me tightens.

“Hey,” I say, firmer.

That’s when it happens.

Fast.

Too fast.

His hand swings.

I don’t even see it properly before it connects.

Pain flashes across my face, sharp and immediate, like my body forgot how to process impact before my brain could name it.

The café goes silent for half a second.

Then everything explodes.

“ADRIAN!” Lia shouts.

“Yo  what the hell!” Jay yells.

I stumble back a step, hand instinctively going to my face.

Warmth.

That’s the first thing I notice.

Then Blake.

Blake is suddenly there.

Not walking.

Not moving normally.

Just there.

Between me and the man like a switch flipped inside him.

“What the hell did you just do?” Blake’s voice is low.

Dangerously low.

The man scoffs. “He was being rude  ”

Blake grabs the edge of the counter.

“You hit him.”

“It was nothing  ”

Blake moves.

I don’t think I’ve ever seen him move like that before.

Not playful. Not flirty. Not joking.

Something sharp.

Something controlled.

He steps forward like he’s about to throw himself at the man.

“Blake  ” I try.

But he doesn’t hear me.

Or doesn’t care.

And then  

A motorcycle engine cuts through the chaos outside.

Loud.

Close.

The front door swings open.

A woman steps in, helmet still in hand.

Jenna.

She takes one look at the scene.

At me.

At Blake.

At the man.

Her face changes instantly.

“What the hell is going on?” she demands.

Blake doesn’t even turn. “He hit Adrian.”

That’s all he says.

Just that.

Something in Jenna’s expression snaps.

Her eyes lock onto the man like he’s already been judged.

“You,” she says coldly, stepping forward, “put your hands on my kid again and I’ll have you arrested before you even finish blinking.”

The café feels like it stops breathing.

The man hesitates.

Just for a second.

That’s enough.

He backs up, muttering something under his breath, avoiding eye contact. He turns fast, pushing past chairs, and leaves without another word.

The bell above the door rings again.

Then silence.

Not peaceful silence.

The kind that feels like the air is still deciding whether to stay or leave.

My face is still burning.

My hand drops from it slowly.

Blake is still standing in front of me, chest rising and falling too fast, like he’s only now realizing he moved at all.

Lia and Jay are frozen near the back.

Jenna exhales sharply, like she’s forcing herself to calm down.

“I’m fine,” I say automatically.

It’s a lie.

But it’s the kind of lie I’ve said enough times that it almost feels real.

Blake turns slightly toward me.

His expression softens  but not fully.

Not enough.

“Adrian,” he says quietly.

I don’t answer.

Because if I do, I might shake.

Instead, I step away from the counter.

“I need a drink,” I mutter.

And I walk toward the break room.

Without looking back.

But I can feel it.

All of them watching.

And behind me  

Blake not following.

Not yet.

The door to the break room clicks shut.

And for the first time that morning, the noise is gone.

But the silence doesn’t feel like relief.

It feels like something is about to break.