TWO BARISTAS
840 Words
CHAPTER 2
The café door swung open with its familiar, slightly aggressive ding, and Ophelia stepped inside like someone clocking into battle.
Okay. New day. Fresh start. No more thieves. No more mysterious rich grandmas. No more unsolicited matchmaking attempts before breakfast. Just coffee. Pastries. Peace.
She barely made it two steps in.
“GIRLLLLLL.”
There it was. Peace had officially clocked out.
Hinary came charging toward her, apron already on, eyes bright, bouncing on the balls of her feet like she’d had three espresso shots instead of one. Honestly, it was too early for this level of enthusiasm.
“I’ve got news,” Hinary said, grabbing Ophelia’s arm dramatically. “The kind of news that changes lives.”
Ophelia sighed and gently pried her arm free. “Good morning to you too, Hinary darling. You’re glowing. Is it caffeine, chaos, or did someone propose again?”
Hinary gasped. “Excuse you. I do not glow. I sparkle.”
“Same difference,” Ophelia muttered, dropping her bag behind the counter.
Hinary leaned in conspiratorially. “You ditched me last night.”
“I went home,” Ophelia corrected.
“Exactly. Rude. You missed everything. There was drama. Real drama. High heels were thrown.”
Ophelia paused. “…Thrown at someone?”
“Yes.”
“…Did they land?”
“Also yes.”
Ophelia winced. “Tragic.”
“Don’t worry,” Hinary said, waving her hand. “After the morning rush, I’ll give you the full download. Names, tears, the whole thing.”
Before Ophelia could respond, the kitchen doors burst open and the smell of warm pastries filled the air like a divine intervention. Trays floated out—croissants, muffins, cinnamon rolls—looking like they’d been styled for a photoshoot.
Hinary flipped the sign to OPEN and locked eyes with Ophelia.
They bumped fists.
Two baristas.
One battlefield.
“Game face,” Hinary whispered.
“I was born ready,” Ophelia said, tying her apron.
The dam broke immediately.
Customers poured in like someone had tweeted free coffee with no context. Within seconds, the café was loud with voices, scraping chairs, and that one guy who always took five minutes to order because he “wasn’t sure what his vibe was today.”
Hinary clapped her hands. “Single file, people! This is a café, not a music festival!”
Shockingly, they listened.
Lines formed. Machines hissed. Milk steamed. Orders flew.
Four hours passed in a blur of caffeine, flour, and humanity at its most demanding.
“Yes, sir, almond milk is extra.” “No, ma’am, decaf does not mean caffeine-free.” “Yes, it’s spelled croissant.” “No, I didn’t name it.”
By the time the rush finally died down, Ophelia felt like she’d lived three lifetimes and aged at least five years.
Hinary collapsed against the counter dramatically. “If one more person asks me if the muffins are gluten-free after ordering five of them, I’m starting a biscotti rebellion.”
Ophelia laughed, loosening her apron. “Come on. Let’s eat before the universe decides we don’t deserve peace.”
Right on cue—
Ding.
They both froze.
Slowly, Ophelia turned.
Her stomach dropped.
Standing in the doorway was the old woman from that morning. Same elegant posture. Same calm smile.
But this time?
She came with an entourage.
Black suits. Sunglasses. Broad shoulders. The whole intimidating package. They scanned the café like someone had reported a dangerous criminal hiding behind the espresso machine.
Ophelia blinked.
…Did she accidentally save a mob boss earlier?
“Ma’am?” she said carefully.
“Oh, we meet again,” the woman said warmly, like they were old friends running into each other at a bakery. “What a lovely coincidence.”
She turned slightly. “Jean, this is the young lady I told you about. The one who stopped the thief.”
The tallest bodyguard stepped forward. His voice was deep, controlled. “Thank you for assisting our—”
The woman pinched his side without even looking at him.
“—our boss,” he corrected smoothly, face unreadable. “You will be… rewarded.”
Ophelia stared. “I tripped a kid, not defused a bomb.”
“I like her,” the woman said, amused.
She placed her order and moved to a corner table with the grace of someone who had never, in her entire life, been told no. The bodyguards followed, standing around her like decorative threats.
One of them sighed. Loudly. Like his soul was tired.
Ophelia glanced sideways at Hinary—
—and nearly dropped a mug.
Hinary had gone pale. Like ghost who saw another ghost pale.
“Uh—bathroom,” Hinary squeaked suddenly, already halfway to the back. “Emergency. Very urgent. Life or death.”
And then she was gone.
Ophelia stared after her.
“…Okay?”
She turned back to the old woman, who was sipping her drink peacefully, surrounded by human weapons.
Ophelia swallowed.
Whatever this was…. It definitely wasn’t over.
- Writer
