LANA'S POV
Caleb and I sat in the soft, golden quiet of Table Three.
The air between us had shifted, not cleared entirely, but calm enough to breathe in without bracing for pain.
He took slow sips of the coffee I made him, and for once, I wasn't trying to read between the lines or listen for unsaid things. I was just… there. Present. And so was he.
"You've changed something," he said, pointing to the cup in his hand. "This isn't your usual blend."
I smiled faintly. "Vanilla rose. A new recipe. I haven't even added it to the menu yet."
"It's… unexpected."
"Like most of life," I replied.
He laughed softly, but before he could speak again, the café's tablet buzzed on the counter.
I reached for it absently, expecting another routine mobile order, maybe someone from the bridal party wanting more cinnamon rolls.
But the moment I opened it, my heart jumped.
300 cups of coffee. For a birthday party. 6:00 p.m. today.
I blinked, checked the time. 3:14 p.m.
Three hours.
And Mira was off today. She'd gone to visit her sister out of town and wouldn't be back till tomorrow.
Panic rose in my throat like steam.
I glanced at Caleb without thinking, then back at the screen, rereading the order as if maybe, just maybe, I'd misread it.
I hadn't.
"Something wrong?" he asked, already sensing it.
"I just got a huge last-minute order," I said, fingers scrolling through the details. "Three hundred cups. Birthday party. Less than three hours."
"That's… a lot of caffeine."
"Tell me about it." I ran a hand through my hair. "It's doable, but not alone. Not without Mira."
His brow furrowed. "What do you need?"
"I mean… everything." I exhaled. "Cups, sleeves, batching syrups, organizing lids, packing, labeling flavors… and not to mention actually brewing and pouring. It's chaos, basically."
He stood up.
"I'll help."
I blinked. "What?"
He was already walking toward the bar, setting his half-drunk coffee down.
"I said I'll help. Tell me what to do."
I stared at him like he'd grown another head. "Caleb, no offense, but do you even know how to work a commercial espresso machine?"
"I don't need to know that to restock cups or tape lids," he said, already rolling up the sleeves of his dress shirt. "Point me where you need me."
"You're serious?"
He looked at me, steady, unwavering. "I am."
I hesitated for a heartbeat longer. Then something in me relented.
"Okay," I said. "Fine. But don't mess up my cup stacks."
He smirked. "Wouldn't dream of it."
I quickly tied on an apron and tossed him a spare. He caught it, raised a brow.
"Do I need to sign a waiver?"
"Only if you break anything."
We dove into work fast. I set up three brewing stations, started batching espresso shots while prepping syrups and milk stations.
Caleb organized the paper cups like a pro, labeling sleeves with colored markers based on flavor codes I barked at him mid-pour.
Every time I turned around, he'd already anticipated what I needed, moving with purpose, no hesitation. Like he belonged behind the counter.
He even smiled at the customers who stopped in during the rush, politely telling them we were closed for a private order.
I watched him in between steams of milk and espresso shots, stunned at how natural he looked here, sleeves pushed up, a little coffee foam smudged on his knuckle, absolutely unfazed by the work.
Who was this man?
Because the Caleb I thought I knew belonged to high-rise towers and black-tie events. Not elbow-deep in a backroom fridge hunting for cold brew cartons.
But this one?
This one looked like he belonged here.
With me.
An hour and a half passed in a blur of movement and adrenaline.
By the time we filled the last box with labeled cups and carefully packed them for pickup, I was sweating, breathles and somehow lighter than I'd felt in weeks.
I leaned against the counter, catching my breath. Caleb handed me a cold bottle of water.
"You good?" he asked.
"Honestly?" I took a long sip. "Better than good."
He pulled off the apron and tossed it over a stool. "I've never moved that fast in a coffee shop in my life."
"You're a natural," I said, still a little shocked. "You didn't even complain."
He shrugged. "It felt good to be useful. And I got to see you in full boss mode."
I flushed. "I didn't scare you?"
"A little," he teased. "But mostly? I was impressed."
I looked at him then, not the version I'd imagined, or the one I feared. Just him. Standing there, tired and a little rumpled, but real.
"You didn't have to help," I said.
"I know."
"Thank you."
He nodded, but his eyes softened in a way that made my chest tighten.
"Lana," he said quietly, "you don't know how much I needed this today."
"You mean coffee chaos and espresso burns?"
"I mean… feeling like I could still show up for something that mattered."
The room fell quiet again. Not heavy. Just… full.
I looked down at my coffee-stained apron, then back at him.
"You were really going to disappear again, weren't you?"
He didn't answer right away.
Then he said, "I almost did. But when I saw your name pop up on that order screen, something stopped me."
I tilted my head. "Wait, you sent the order?"
He smiled, slow and guilty. "I wanted to come back. I just didn't know how. So I created a reason."
My mouth fell open. "You tricked me into making 300 cups of coffee?!"
"I helped!" he defended, hands raised. "And technically, it was a real party. My niece's birthday."
I shook my head, laughter bubbling up before I could stop it.
"You are something else, Caleb Stone."
"So I've been told."
We stood there, quiet again,but not the awkward kind.
The kind that meant maybe, this wasn't a mistake after all.
And for the first time, I didn't think about whether he'd stay or leave again.
I just let the moment be what it was.
Sweet. Surprising.
Just like that vanilla rose latte.