Page 2 of Okay, Cupid

I take a breath and pull out my customer-service voice. A little rusty, but it’s still there.

One thing Cupid training can’t prepare you for, though?

How to work a register.

My first customer of the day just wants a tall black coffee, and that’s easy enough—there’s even a button just for that, though he says something about dark roast and I have no idea what that means. The guy behind him wants a white mocha with three shots of caramel. I barely know what a mocha is, let alone a white mocha, and it takes me several seconds to find where the shot buttons are hidden. He gets irritated with me, snatching the receipt out of my hand when I give it to him, but I try to brush him off.

I’m here for one thing, and one thing only.

Next is a customer who wants a fully customized drink with chocolate drizzle, medium ice, extra whipped cream, cinnamon, and nutmeg, with ten pumps of hazelnut and three pumps of mocha powder, and no actual coffee in sight.

“It is eight in the morning,” I whisper to myself as I manage to charge the customer for only about half the order.

I keep looking up toward the door when I hear the bell ring as customers walk in, adding to the line that’s already forming in front of me.

If all my info was correct, Claire and Henry should be here any moment now.

There are many things our magic can’t do for us, many things that leave us to our own devices. Like researching the people we’re meant to help.

Richard was nice enough to send me an email with the need-to-know details: Claire and Henry are coworkers, their cubicles on opposite sides of the office, both of them pretty addicted to their work and trapped in the office during and after work hours, so they haven’t had much time for love lives. But there’s something between the two of them, something the universe has deemed worth my attention.

Stolen peeks when the other isn’t looking, awkward break-room conversations, second-guessing the wording of emails, but not a word exchanged between them.

You’d think there were scarier things in the world than a conversation.

But I can also sympathize.

I decided to take things out of the office in the hope of having a more chill environment. Thankfully, it was easy to determine that they both come to the same café every morning, after I faked being a delivery person and noticed the cups on their desks as I delivered flowers to Henry.

Another sneaky little move to inspire a little jealousy, taking a bouquet of flowers in and asking Claire if she knew where Henry’s desk was. She’d pointed me right to him, and I could hear the hesitation in her voice, the curiosity over who just might’ve sent him flowers.

Being a Cupid means being a little conniving.

After a few too-early mornings of camping out in the café, I had everything ready to go. It was that first day, though, that I snatched my ace in the hole, the finest little detail that would pull them together:

They both order the same thing.

Iced chai, shot of espresso, oat milk.

Once I had that, the rest of the pieces clicked into place. I’d take their orders, make just one of them, and avoid calling out their names. That way, they’d go for the drink at the same time, their hands meeting, fireworks going off as they finally, finally noticed each other outside passing glances in the hallway or in meetings …

“Jude! What are you doing just standing there?” Manager Ray glares at me, his brows furrowed together.

I’m stuck there, staring at the screen, wondering how I make sure the coffee order is made to the incredibly specific temperature the customer has requested. “Yes, sir. Sorry, I just … don’t remember the steps to the order.”

He rolls his eyes and takes the cup away from me. “Just take the next one and hand the cups off to me.”

I shake off the sinking feeling as best I can and get back to the register. I’m not here to make coffee; I’m here to help Henry and Claire. I only have to survive until they get here, and then I can abandon this post, go back home, tell Richard about my success, and prove to Leah that it was the right move to let me take an assignment.

“Go grab the cold brew from the fridge. We need to refill the dispenser,” Ray tells me as he prepares another drink I don’t know the recipe for.

“Sure, yeah.” I peer over the display case of baked goods that blocks my view of the front door, cursing my five-foot-five stature. I’m not too eager to step away from the register, but Claire and Henry haven’t made their pre-work appearances yet.

“Jude, what are you doing? Stop standing around. Come on, you’re not new at this!”

I catch the awkward glances of some of the customers, unsure what to do when a manager shouts at an employee.

“Right!” I rush to the fridge, looking for the large vats of black coffee that I can only assume are the cold brew I’m supposed to find. I pour quickly, managing to spill only a few splashes on Gary’s apron and my shoes before it’s ready to go. By that time, the line at the cash register is stretching toward the door once again, and I’m shoving croissants and bagels into the oven and accidentally burning a few when my attention gets pulled elsewhere.