NERO: Chapter 12

“First customer!”

I dust the coffee grounds off my palms. “Starting early this morning,” I say to Jean as she walks past me toward the back, having just unlocked the door a moment ago.

She grunts in reply, and I sigh. Guess today will be like every other day.

Turning to the door, I pull in a breath to greet the customer, but my lungs catch. Because, for a flicker of a moment, I thought the man striding through the doorway was the same man from my apartment.

Tall, broad, and in a suit, it’s easy to see why I thought that. Despite his hair being slightly lighter, his handsome face still stops me, but I realize it’s not the one that’s starred in my dreams. This isn’t my man.

My man.

That absurd thought is enough to get my mouth to pull into a smile.

“Good morning!” I say brightly to the stranger.

His grin is immediate. “Mornin’.”

The closer he gets, the more unsure I become about him.

At first, he looked like a normal guy. I mean, he’s good-looking. And his posture, haircut, suit… it’s all normal. But there’s an energy around him. Like maybe he’s dangerous. Just like my Mystery Man.

I’m probably just projecting.

“How’re you doing today?” he asks.

The question throws me off. Most people just order. “Uh, can’t complain. You?”

The man’s grin widens. “Day’s getting better by the moment.”

“Oh, um…” I don’t know what to say to that. It feels like he’s maybe flirting with me. Which I’m sure he isn’t, but just the idea of it is making me feel guilty.

Which is stupid. I don’t have a boyfriend.

My brain flashes back to that night, when there was a man sharing my couch, and it makes me want to bang my head on the counter because that intruder certainly isn’t my boyfriend. He was probably a criminal. And he certainly hasn’t spared me a thought since that day.

When the man continues to stare at me, I give an awkward smile and gesture to the sign with the daily specials. “What can I get for you?”

He glances at the list but doesn’t read it, just leans to the side to look at the pastries displayed behind the glass.

“I’ll take two black coffees and two of the…” His eyes trail across the shelves. “Cranberry lime muffins.”

“Good choice,” I reply as I type his order into the register.

He holds up a finger. “What’s your favorite drink here?”

I feel my eyebrows lift. “Me?”

He nods and smirks. “You.”

“Like a coffee drink?”

He nods again. “It’s for a friend.”

“Uh, I guess…” I bite my lip. “I really like our coconut and honey latte.” My voice goes up at the end, like I’m asking a question.

The man barks out a laugh, startling me back a step.

“Sorry, sorry.” He shakes his head. “I’ll do one of those.”

“So, two black coffees or one coffee and one latte?”

“The second option.”

Typing in the new order, I tell him the total.

I’m not sure what’s so funny about a coconut honey latte, but I’m not here to question people’s choices.

He takes his wallet out of his back pocket. “Here you go.”

I glance up, and for the second time since this man has walked in, I freeze. His hand is extended between us, a crisp hundred-dollar bill between his fingers.

He gives it a little shake. “Do you not do cash here?”

“Oh, no, we do. Sorry.” It’s my turn to apologize.

I take the bill and make change while internally chastising myself. Way to act like a poor girl, getting all flustered about a little cash.

I quickly hand the change back, without making eye contact, and spin around to gather his order.

I should’ve told him that I like black coffee, too. Then I could’ve had his order sorted in under a minute. But black coffee isn’t my favorite, coconut honey is. And no one has ever asked me what my favorite anything is, so I didn’t even consider lying.

My hands hesitate when I reach for the whipped cream.

Usually, I’d ask the customer if they’d like some on top, but since the man asked what I like, I decide to make it how I like it.

When the cup is filled to the brim with fresh whipped cream, I drizzle honey over the top, before finally securing the lid.

“Here you go.” I slide the bag with the two muffins across the counter before setting down the to-go cups. “Do you need a drink carrier?”

“Nah, I’m good.” He picks up his items before nodding to a stack of cash on the counter. “That’s for you, Payton.”

He’s striding toward the exit before I catch on to what he said.

He called me Payton.

My fingers tremble as I reach for the bills.

How does he know my name? We don’t wear name tags.

There’s a five on top, with thirty-seven cents on top of that.

Okay so he left some of his change.

I trap the corner of the top bill between my fingers and tug it away from the others, revealing a stack of twenties.

He left all of his change. The rest of that hundred.

It’s a coincidence.

It’s all a coincidence.

Jean must’ve said my name after he came in. It doesn’t mean anything.

My eyes move to the front windows, just in time to see the customer climbing into a big SUV parked across the street. There’s no overhead light on in the vehicle, but as he’s pulling his door shut, I swear I see movement.

Is there someone else out there?