Chapter Four: Just Leave
1240 Words
Break shifts were sacred. The only time you could sit without pretending to care if someone’s espresso had the wrong foam texture.
Romi and I were tucked into the cramped employee nook behind the counter, sipping water and scrolling like we’d been paid to ignore the world.
“Hey,” I said, as casually as I could. “Ever seen a basketball game up close? Like, courtside?”
Romi didn’t even look up. “Once. My cousin’s ex hooked us up. Those seats change everything. The sweat. The sneakers squeaking. Testosterone? Unreal.”
I smirked. “So, hypothetically… if someone gave you VIP passes, could you sell them?”
That got her attention.
She glanced up. “Sell?”
“Yeah. Like, flip them online.”
She narrowed her eyes. “Why?”
I shrugged. “Just curiosity.”
“You can’t sell VIP passes unless they’re paper print. And even then, some are non-transferable. Especially if they’re player-issued. They can trace it back.”
My face fell. “Seriously?”
She nodded. “Why? Did someone give you a pass?”
I looked away. “Forget, I asked.”
“Mira... what trouble are you cooking up this time?”
I said nothing.
“Just so you know,” she said, holding up a hand, “I’m not fixing your mess this time.”
I groaned. “Can we go back to pretending we don’t talk during breaks?”
---
I didn’t go to the game.
I don’t cheer for millionaires when my rent’s due
Instead, I picked up an extra shift.
Days passed. Then weeks.
No sign of Cade Reeve.
Until one Thursday afternoon when the universe decided I’d had enough peace.
I was behind the counter cleaning out the milk frother. “Next.”
Silence.
“Next customer, please.”
Still nothing.
I looked up.
And there he was. Grinning.
Cade Reeve.
Wearing a plain hoodie, sunglasses, faded jeans, and a baseball cap pulled low. He was clearly trying not to get noticed, honestly doing a decent job.
“What do you want this time, rich boy?”
“One large almond milk mocha. Extra shot. And a few answers.”
“I’m on the clock. No time for chitchat.”
“I’ll wait. It’s my day off.”
He took his drink, slid into the corner booth near the window. The one with a full view of me.
From then on, it became a silent war.
If I smiled too stiffly at a customer, he dragged his cheeks into a goofy grin and mouthed, Customer service!
If I snapped, he mimed, zipping his mouth and pointed. Be polite!
If I ignored him completely, he did a dramatic dying-fish act until I broke into a laugh.
I rolled my eyes so hard they nearly touched the back of my head.
Low-key? I hated how much I didn’t hate it.
Until she walked in.
Oversized sunglasses. Diamond necklace. The kind of air that said, my dad sues people like you.
She ordered an iced caramel macchiato with extra drizzle, then looked at me like I should’ve offered to polish her shoes too.
I glanced at Cade.
He gave the universal calm-down hand signal.
I held my breath and served her.
She took one sip.
“This tastes like dishwater,” she snapped, loudly and on purpose.
I gave her a look. “That’s exactly what you ordered.”
She tossed the drink. On me.
The café gasped.
I stood there dripping coffee. Humiliated and boiling.
“What the hell is wrong with you?” I snapped.
“You people are always so defensive,” she said. “Maybe if you had real jobs…”
Romi rushed in. “Mira, don’t.”
Too late.
I stepped forward. “If you want attention, congratulations. You got it.”
Our manager, Mr. Dalton stormed in. “What is going on?”
“She attacked me!” the girl wailed.
I pointed at my soaked apron. “She threw a drink on me.”
No surprise there. Mr Dalton turned to me. “Mira. Apologize.”
Before I could explode, a voice said, clear and deadly calm.
“She’s not apologizing for anything.”
Cade.
He was standing now. Cap off. Glasses gone.
The café went dead quiet.
Mr Dalton squinted, then went pale. “Mr. Reeve. I didn’t realize…”
Cade approached slowly, voice even. “She got a drink thrown at her, and your move was to side with the one who threw it?”
“I…. I didn’t know who you were,” Mr Dalton stammered.
“That’s the problem,” Cade said. “You only care when someone rich is watching.”
The girl was already retreating, but Cade turned to the room. “If you treat your staff like this when you think no one’s looking, it’s time to rethink your business.”
Mr Dalton bowed. Actually bowed. “Mira, you can take the rest of the day off. Paid.”
I walked out of there shaking. Not from fear. From rage.
Cade was parked outside, window down.
“Get in, Mira,” he said.
I did.
“I guess this is the part where the poor girl thanks the rich guy for coming through?”
He smirked. “You have weird ways of saying thank you.”
I exhaled. “Why are you here?”
“You never came to the game.”
“I had work.”
“You could’ve asked for the day off.”
“And what? Watch you make millions while I lose my paycheck?”
He went quiet.
Then smiled. “I forgive you.”
I scoffed. “I don’t remember asking.”
“But you have it anyway.”
We were both silent for a moment.
“So,” he said finally, “Am I officially friend-zoned or still on probation?”
I turned to him. “You did defend me. That counts.”
He grinned. “So I can brag I’m friends with the coolest girl in L.A.?”
“You’re welcome. I charge a monthly subscription.”
He chuckled. “Where to now?”
“Home. The only good thing that came out of today is early sleep.”
“I’m sorry that happened to you. Does it… usually get that bad?”
I hesitated.
“It gets worse.”
He didn’t answer.
Then quietly said, “At least let me drop you off.”
---
We pulled into my street. The car slowed to a stop.
“You wanna come in? I can offer you… water.”
He unbuckled. “Was that an invitation?”
“Nope,” I said. “It was a test. You were supposed to say, ‘Thanks, maybe another time.’ Like in the movies. You failed.”
He laughed. “This ain’t the movies, Mira. Offer me water.”
I hesitated. Prayed silently.
Please, let her be asleep.
Please.
We walked in.
My prayer wasn’t answered.
Jesse was tugging his savings box from my mother’s hands.
“Please, Mama, stop! That’s my money!”
She was shouting, drunk, slurring. The living room looked like it had been hit by a storm.
Cade froze.
I did too.
The shame hit me like a brick wall.
I turned to him slowly. Voice low. Fragile.
“Please,” I whispered. “Don’t say anything. Just leave.”
His eyes burned, but he nodded.
And left.
- Writer
