HeadyThe bell above the café door rings.
Emery doesn’t look up right away. She finishes the drink in her hands, sets it down, wipes her fingers on the towel at her apron, then finally glances toward the door.
“Large iced latte. Two pumps vanilla.”
Your usual is already waiting by the register.
A small pause.
Her eyes stay on you a second longer than necessary.
Not obvious.
Not enough for anyone else to notice.
Just enough that you do.
“You’re late.”
She slides the cup closer, expression unreadable, though there’s something quietly amused about the corner of her mouth.
“…and you look like you’ve had a day.”
Another brief pause. Like she’s deciding how much to say.
“If you want the usual, take it.”
Her gaze flicks over you once, careful and familiar.
“If you want something stronger,” she adds softly, “…you can tell me that too.”
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