Page 3 of Okay, Cupid

My heart goes out to baristas everywhere.

Between the heat of the ovens, the smell of coffee that I’m sure I’ll never scrub away, and the old people yelling at me because there’s too much caramel or not enough sugar or they’re sure that I gave them decaf instead of regular, it’s almost enough to get me to walk out of here.

The bell rings again, and when my eyes shoot toward the door, I see Henry walking in, holding the door for Claire as she comes in behind him. There’s this moment of cute but awkward hesitation, and for a second, I think that my job here might be done without me having to do a thing. It’s rare, but it happens sometimes. But Claire’s on her phone, Henry forgotten, and he’s content to watch her from afar.

So there’s still work to be done.

I make a rush for the register, making sure I’ll be the one who takes their orders.

“Good morning, what can I get started for you?”

Henry’s a pretty handsome guy in that classic sense, looking strong in a button-down that might tear if he flexes the right way. His glasses complete the Clark Kent of it all.

“Large dirty iced chai, please. With an extra shot. Oat milk too, please.” It’s cute that he repeats his “please.”

“Coming right up.” I tap the screen on the register.

Claire comes next. She seems a little frazzled this morning, a wilder look in her eyes as she wraps up whatever memo she had to write.

“Hi, how are you?” I ask her, but she doesn’t hear me at first. Or she does and her mind is racing too fast to register what I’ve said.

“Sorry?”

“How are you?” I repeat.

“Oh.” She laughs awkwardly. “I’m just … my boss, he’s … you know.”

I steal a look at Ray, who is currently passive-aggressively chewing out another barista for the amount of “cookie crumble” being used in our new drink. “Yeah, I know,” I say. I take her familiar order and get right to work.

Now’s the moment, my time to shine.

The two of them stand at the end of the counter, waiting to pick up their orders. Claire is staring at Henry, watching as he does a crossword on his phone. I can tell Claire finds this endearing; I’ve caught her smiling, and she even offered an answer once, which Henry thankfully thought was charming instead of intrusive. These kinds of things can always go either way.

“Jude, register,” Ray tells me while I’m making Henry’s drink. “Abby’s taking over the drinks.”

“But I—” I have to make sure only one of the drinks makes it to the end of the counter. I have to make sure they both reach for it so their hands will meet and sparks will fly! I have a plan; I don’t have time to adapt.

“Jude, did I stutter?”

“No.” I duck my head to hide my shame. I nearly trip over myself as I make my way back to the register and try to keep an eye out for Claire’s and Henry’s drinks.

It’s not like I have to be in front of them for the magic to work, and I didn’t write their names on the cups, so it should be okay. Yes. Direct intervention isn’t always needed; sometimes it’s enough for us to line up all the details where they need to be, and they can be carried through on their own.

But part of me wanted to see it happen, to watch it all come together.

I tap the register to wake the screen up. “Good morning, what can I get—”

And I freeze.

Staring at me from the other side of the counter is the cutest boy I’ve ever seen in my entire life. His deep brown eyes gaze into mine, accompanied by a wide smile that still seems so small, and a dotting of freckles against soft brown skin. His hair is mostly covered by a beanie, but the ends that escape are curly and untamed.

It’s a face I know well, unfortunately.

Because I’ve kissed that face.

I can’t even fathom what the chances of this reunion are. There are literally hundreds of thousands of people in this city, more arriving and leaving every single day. And there are hundreds, if not thousands, of coffee shops.

And Leo Dawson just had to walk into mine.