The morning rush at Navarro Coffee was in full swing. The line stretched all the way to the door, the espresso machine hissed like an angry dragon, and Celine’s hair was already escaping from her ponytail like it was trying to abandon ship.

“Grande caramel macchiato, no caramel,” barked a customer, staring down at his phone.

Celine froze mid-scribble. “So… just a latte?”

The man waved dismissively. “Whatever. Just hurry.”

She gave him a smile that could curdle milk and passed the cup to the barista beside her. This job is humbling me in ways therapy never could, she thought grimly.

And then a familiar voice cut through the chaos like a knife through butter.

“Is this the line for the world’s worst barista?”

Celine whipped her head around, nearly colliding with the cash register. Standing there with that insufferable smirk was Liam, looking far too calm for someone about to be served questionable coffee.

“You again?” she said, eyes narrowing.

“Don’t sound so excited,” he shot back, stepping up to the counter.

She crossed her arms, ignoring the impatient customer behind him. “You know, for someone who constantly insults my skills, you sure come here a lot. Secretly obsessed, maybe?”

“Or maybe it’s the free entertainment,” he said smoothly, leaning one elbow on the counter like he owned it.

Before she could retort, the manager swooped in with her customer-service smile, voice two octaves higher than normal. “Hi, sir! What can I get started for you today?”

“Americano,” Liam said, his eyes flicking back to Celine. “But only if she makes it.”

Celine’s jaw dropped. “You want me to make your coffee? Bold move.”

“I like to live dangerously.”

She squinted. “Fine. But if it explodes, you’re paying for damages.”

Minutes later, she slid the cup toward him with exaggerated flair. “Ta-da. Drinkable liquid. Probably.”

He took a sip, made a show of thinking it over. “Not bad. Either you’re improving… or my standards are dropping.”

“Compliments like that will get you nowhere,” she said, but a small grin tugged at her lips.

A woman in line muttered under her breath, “Just date already.” Celine nearly dropped the milk pitcher.

By the time the crowd thinned and the playlist looped for the third time, Liam was still camped at his usual corner table, papers scattered, brows furrowed like he was decoding government secrets. Celine grabbed a cloth and wandered over, pretending to wipe down a spotless table.

“Don’t you get tired of working here?” she asked casually. “Same background music on repeat, baristas who may or may not poison you…”

He didn’t look up. “Better than home.”

The weight in his tone made her pause. For a moment, curiosity sparked—but instead of prying, she plopped into the chair across from him.

He glanced up, startled. “Aren’t you supposed to be working?”

“Coffee break,” she announced, stealing a piece of his untouched muffin. “Besides, I deserve hazard pay for putting up with you.”

“Bold thief,” he muttered, though he didn’t stop her.

They sat like that for a while—her teasing, him pretending not to care. Somehow the conversation flowed. From coffee disasters to favorite movies, from architecture to music, from her “totally normal childhood” (a half-truth at best) to his stubborn dislike of pineapple on pizza.

At one point, Celine laughed so hard she almost knocked over her cup. “Wait—so you actually broke your nose in middle school chasing after a basketball?”

His lips curved reluctantly. “It was slippery.”

“Oh my god,” she wheezed. “I can’t unsee it.”

The easy rhythm between them surprised her. With most people, she had to keep her guard up, carefully choosing what to reveal. But with Liam… she found herself forgetting to edit.

As the sunlight shifted across the café, Liam began packing up his notes. Celine tried to sound casual. “So… you basically spent your whole day here again. Do you, like, have friends?”

“Do you?” he countered smoothly.

Her smirk faltered just a little—because no, not really. Not ones who knew the real her. But she covered it with a quick, “Touché. Again.”

They left the café together, a strange warmth curling in her chest. This wasn’t supposed to happen. She wasn’t supposed to care.

“Same time tomorrow?” Liam asked, adjusting the strap of his bag like it was no big deal.

Her heart tripped. “What, like a date?”

His smirk was maddening. “More like free entertainment.”

She shoved his shoulder playfully. “Jerk.”

But she was smiling the whole way home.

Later that night, Liam sat hunched in his cramped apartment. The glow of his laptop cast long shadows across overdue bills and unopened notices littering the table. His phone buzzed.

Unknown Number: Don’t forget what you owe us. Tick-tock, Reyes.

The message made his stomach twist. He stared at it for a long time, Celine’s laughter from earlier echoing in his mind like a ghost he couldn’t shake.

For a moment, he almost typed: I can’t do this.

But instead, with a shaky breath, his fingers settled on the keys.

“Soon.”