Page 106 of Meet Cute or Your Money Back

I look up to place my order, but no one is standing at the counter in front of me, which is super rare for this café. Melanie is almost always working Friday nights.

“Eh-hem,” a little voice says. “Down here!”

I lower my eyes and find Duke standing behind the counter, serious and business-like. Even on the step stool, I can barely see him over top of the register. “Duke?”

“Hi, Allie! Can I take your order?”

I blink back at him, utterly confused as I take in the apron he’s in, five sizes too big and a backwards baseball cap that hides most of his curls. I glance around, expecting to see Thatcher, but there’s still no sign of him. “You’re...taking my order?”

“Uh-huh,” Duke says, nodding vigorously. “Daddy says we need to learn your coffee order and how to make it perfectly.” Duke tugs at the apron, a bundle of nervous excitement.

A smile pulls at the corners of my mouth. “He did, did he?”

“Yep!” His eyes are wide and earnest, and the tension seeps out of me in a rush. “It’s a surprise,” he whispers. “Did we surprise you?”

“You sure did!” My heart swells with a mixture of relief and affection.

“So...” a deep voice rumbles to my left. “What’s your coffee order, Allie?”

Thatcher. Finally. I draw my eyes up toward the voice where he’s leaning against the espresso machine, grinning at me in a way that makes the room spin, makes the days apart fall away. He’s dressed casually, jeans and a black soft-looking henley that doesn’t do much to hide theathletic lines of his body. Though his cuts are cleaned up and the swelling has gone down, there’s still quite a bit of bruising at his jaw and temple and eye. There’s a slight stiffness to the way he moves, but otherwise, he looks better than I dared to hope. He’s back.

His face lights up, and for a moment I can’t breathe. “I see Duke told you our little plan.”

“He spilled those coffee beans on youveryfast,” I tease.

“Well, what’s it going to be, Ms. Larsen?” he says.

“My favorite coffee to splurge on is a salted caramel oat milk latte,” I admit. “But on mornings at home, a regular brewed coffee with half and half and a tablespoon of sugar is perfect.”

“One caramel oat salted milk latte coming up!” Duke calls out. I smother my chuckle at the adorable way he jumbled all the words and smile as he rushes over to Melanie to watch how she makes it.

“You could have justaskedme what my favorite coffee is, you know,” I say to Thatcher.

“This way was more fun,” Thatcher replies. “Besides, I think Duke might have a future here. What do you think, partner?”

Duke beams up at him, the grin wide and unguarded. “I thinkyou’resupposed to be learning this too, Daddy!”

“Good call,” Thatcher says, pretending to be serious. “This is serious business, after all. If there’s one thing I know about journalists, it’s that they take their coffee very seriously.”

Duke and Thatcher lean over the espresso machine, watching closely as Melanie shows them how to pull a shot, her purple hair glowing in the afternoon light. Duke’s tongue pokes out of the corner of his mouth as he tries to follow along, and I laugh at his determined expression.

When the drink is ready, Duke takes it carefully from Melanie and walks it over to me. “I think it’s perfect,” he announces, holding it out for me.

I take a sip, and the sweetness spreads through me like warmth on a cold day. “Mmmm. It’s amazing,” I say. I look up at them both, beaming. “Thank you, Private Duke. Captain Daddy.”

Duke takes my hand and leads me to a table, with Thatcher following behind with two other cups in hand. He places a cup of hot chocolate in front of Duke and takes a sip of the plain black coffee for himself.

Plain. Strong. Black.Noted.

His leg brushes against mine from under the table, and I know I’m grinning like a fool, but I can’t help it. “You know,” I say, “it might be the best salted caramel oat milk latte I’ve ever had.”

“Hey,” Melanie says. “Watch it. This is still my café.”

“I just mean because this one was made with love,” I clarify, then my face goes immediately hot as I realize what I said. “Wait. I mean...notlovelove. But um?—”

Thatcher reaches out and grabs my hand, his fingers lacing through mine, warm and familiar. “You had it right the first time. It was made with love.Lovelove, actually.”

My breath catches. “Really?”

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