Chapter 4
1414 Words
It was hours later, the rush long faded, when the bell chimed again and Mia walked in, sunglasses still on despite the overcast afternoon. Charlie looked up and groaned in sympathy.
“Oh no,” Mia said immediately, dragging the chair out and collapsing into it. “Do not ask me how I am. Adrian hasn’t texted back, which obviously means he’s dead or sleeping with someone named Lexi who owns a yoga studio.”
Charlie slid a glass of water across the counter without being asked. “That escalated fast.”
“He said goodnight,” Mia continued, pulling off the sunglasses and glaring at nothing in particular. “Not talk tomorrow. Not sleep well. Just goodnight. That’s breakup punctuation.”
Charlie snorted despite herself. “You’re projecting.”
“I am pattern recognizing,” Mia corrected. “And judging by your face, you have news that will absolutely distract me from my spiral.”
Charlie hesitated, then smiled—small, private. “A guy came in this morning.”
Mia froze. Slowly, she leaned forward. “Define guy.”
Charlie shrugged, trying—and failing—to look casual. “Tall. Quiet. Black coffee. Mildly bossy about hydration.”
Mia’s eyes narrowed. “That is not nothing.”
“He was… nice,” Charlie said, wiping down the counter for the third time. “Funny. A little weird.”
“Weird how?”
Charlie paused, choosing her words. “Like he walked in already knowing me.”
Mia stared at her. Then, very carefully, she said, “Is this the bar guy.”
Charlie didn’t answer.
Mia slapped a hand on the table. “IT’S THE BAR GUY.”
“Lower your voice,” Charlie hissed, laughing. “Yes. It’s the bar guy.”
Mia grinned, instantly revived. “I KNEW IT. I told you. I told you that man was a plot device.”
Charlie laughed, leaning closer so no one else could hear. “I swear he made my n*****s hard. Just standing there. Ordering coffee.”
Mia froze. Then her face lit up with vindicated delight. “I knew it,” she hissed. “That is not caffeine. That is a man problem.”
“It was deeply inconvenient,” Charlie said, still smiling. “I was hungover. I was at work. My body did not get the memo.”
Mia grabbed her arm. “Congratulations. You’ve been hormonally ambushed before noon,” Mia said solemnly. “So. What is his name?”
Charlie’s smile faltered—just a hair. “He didn’t tell me.”
Mia blinked. “He what.”
“He said it was a promise,” Charlie replied, half amused, half unsettled. “Very smug about it.”
Mia leaned back, studying her like a puzzle she very much wanted to solve. “Oh no,” she said slowly. “That’s either extremely charming or the opening line of a supernatural thriller.” Charlie laughed, but the warmth low in her belly flared again at the memory. “Yeah,” she said. “And I’m not entirely sure which one I’m hoping for.”
Mia grinned, eyes glittering. “You’re hoping for charming,” she said. “You’re bracing for thriller.”
Charlie groaned. “I hate that you’re right.”
“But,” Mia added, leaning in, “mysterious coffee guy who hydrates you, and causes inappropriate workplace n****e reactions? That’s elite behavior.”
Charlie laughed, shaking her head. “I don’t even know if I’ll see him again.”
Mia’s smile turned knowing. “You will.” She lifted her cup in a mock toast. “Men like that don’t order black coffee once.”
“I need a drink,” Charlie said, resting her forehead briefly against the counter.
Mia didn’t miss a beat. “It’s three in the afternoon.”
“Yes.”
“You are still technically at work.”
“Also yes.”
Mia smiled sweetly. “Cool. We’ll get you through the rest of the shift, then I’m taking you home with a few refreshments and maybe some pizza.”
Charlie straightened, already feeling marginally better. “You’re a good friend.”
“I know,” Mia said. “And tonight, you’re telling me everything you remember about Mystery Coffee Man—starting with the eyebrows.”
Charlie waved a hand weakly. “I’m going to start romanticizing my own bad decisions.”
Mia perked up. “Oh, we’re already there. You said n*****s. I clocked it.”
“Can we not put that on a vision board,” Charlie said. “I’m trying to be a professional.”
Mia glanced around the shop. “You steamed milk while violently hungover. Professionalism has left the building.”
Charlie laughed, the tension finally breaking. “He just… existed aggressively.”
Mia beamed. “That’s the hottest kind.”
Charlie grabbed a cloth and started wiping an already spotless counter. “I swear, if he walks in again today, I’m pretending to be mute.”
“Incorrect,” Mia said. “You’ll trip over your own feet, blush, and accidentally give him a loyalty card with your phone number on it.”
Charlie groaned. “I hate that you know me.”
Mia slid off the stool, stretching. “Finish your shift. I’ll get us drinks. And by tonight, we’re either naming him, manifesting him, or banishing him with carbs.”
Charlie smiled despite herself. “Deal. But if he shows up again—”
Mia grinned, feral and delighted. “—I’m ordering popcorn.”
Charlie laughed, shaking her head as Mia disappeared. She turned back to the counter just as Lacey sidled up beside her. “So,” Lacey said, far too innocent. “Are we talking about the mysterious man, or should I keep pretending I didn’t watch you short-circuit earlier?”
Charlie groaned. “I hate this place. I hate caffeine. I hate eyebrows.”
Lacey grinned. “You’re glowing.”
“I’m dehydrated.”
“Sure,” Lacey said, unconvinced. “Well, if Mystery Man comes back, I’m charging him extra. Emotional damages.”
Charlie snorted, grabbing the next order slip. As she moved back into the rhythm of the shop, she caught herself glancing at the door again—just once—then muttered under her breath, “I really do need a drink.”
By the time Charlie flipped the sign to CLOSED, her feet ached, her head throbbed, and her patience was hanging by a thread. The shop felt cavernous without the chatter—just the low hum of refrigerators and the distant traffic outside. She wiped down the counters, stacked chairs, and let herself breathe for the first time all day.
When the lights finally dimmed, she locked the door and leaned her forehead briefly against the cool glass. The day had passed without him returning, which was both a relief and a disappointment she refused to unpack. Grabbing her bag, Charlie stepped into the evening air, exhaustion settling in.
Charlie tugged her jacket on and started down the street, keys clenched between her fingers out of habit more than fear. The sky had gone that bruised purple that meant rain later, the air heavy and expectant. Her phone buzzed.
Mia: I am outside. I have wine. And opinions.
Charlie smiled, warmth blooming through the fatigue. Bless you, she typed back, already angling toward the corner.
She spotted Mia’s car first—hazards on, window down—and then, a few steps later, she felt it.
That subtle shift. The pressure. The sense of being noticed.
Charlie slowed, heart ticking up, and glanced across the street.
Mia leaned out of the car window, waving a bottle triumphantly. “Okay, you’re clear. No mystery men lurking. Get in before I drink this without you.”
Charlie exhaled, forcing a smile as she crossed the street. As she slid into the passenger seat, she glanced once more in the side mirror.
Still nothing.
And yet, as Mia pulled away, Charlie couldn’t shake the feeling that just because she hadn’t seen him… didn’t mean he hadn’t been there.
Mia passed the bottle over as soon as Charlie buckled in. “Doctor’s orders,” she said. “You’re rehydrating with alcohol.”
Charlie pushed it gently away. “If I drink wine right now, I will simply pass away.”
Mia snorted. “Fair.”
“Beer,” Charlie added. “Cold. Simple. Forgiving.”
- Writer
