Page 47 of Colliding with the Coffee Shop Owner
I ignore her, focusing instead on the intricate latte art I'm creating—anything to keep my hands busy and my mind off Max. The foam swirls into delicate patterns beneath my practiced touch, a temporary masterpiece soon to be consumed and forgotten. Like whatever this thing with Max might become.
Would it be so bad?
I wish I had an answer for that.
Mabel's warning plays on repeat:Tourist romances burn hot and fast. Unfortunately, they often leave nothing but ashes when they end.
The bell chimes, and there he stands, windblown and winter-bright. My heart performs an embarrassing acrobatic routine. Snowflakes cling to his dark hair and the shoulders of his charcoal peacoat, melting rapidly in the shop's warmth. His cheeks are flushed from the cold; his eyes are bright and seek mine immediately. The intensity in his gaze knocks the air from my lungs.
"Sorry, I'm late." He approaches the counter with purpose, no sign of awkwardness after our night together. "Had a video conference that wouldn't end."
"Your usual?" I reach for a mug, hoping my hands appear steadier than they feel.
"Actually..." He hesitates, then places his tablet on the counter. "I need your help with something."
"My help?" Suspicion flickers. "With what?"
"Part of our update includes a visual recognition component for small food businesses." He activates the tablet, revealing what appears to be a prototype app. "It helps catalog inventory, suggest pairings, and creates customized recommendations based on customer preferences."
I stiffen, memories of BrewTech surging unwelcome. "What does that have to do with me?"
"I need to test it with actual products. Coffee seems ideal—complex flavor profiles, visual distinctions, quality variations." His eyes meet mine, unexpectedly earnest. "Would you let me photograph and catalog some of your offerings? The data stays local, completely secure."
The irony doesn't escape me—asked to test technology for the very industry that burned me. Yet Max's expression holds none of Eric's calculated charm, only genuine excitement about his creation.
"Why me?" The question comes out softer than intended.
"Because you understand both the technical and artistic aspects of coffee craft. You'll see flaws and possibilities I might miss." He leans slightly closer. "And because I trust your judgment."
Those simple words—"I trust your judgment"—strike a chord Eric never touched. My expertise had always been a tool for him, never something valued for its own sake.
"What would it involve exactly?"
Max's smile warms his entire face. "Basically, an afternoon playing with coffee and technology. Taking photos of different preparations, logging tasting notes, testing how the app catalogs and connects flavor profiles."
"Like a digital sommelier for coffee?"
"Exactly. Only with higher security protocols than the Pentagon."
The tech side of me—the part I've kept buried since BrewTech—stirs with interest. "I suppose I could spare a few hours. For research purposes."
"Of course. Strictly professional." The twinkle in his eyes suggests otherwise.
We spend the afternoon in a rhythm that feels surprisingly natural. Max photographs each coffee preparation from multiple angles while I describe the origins of the beans, the roasting process, and the optimal brewing methods. His app catalogues everything, creating interconnected webs of flavor profiles and preparation techniques.
Between regular customers, we huddle over the tablet, Max's shoulder warm against mine as we analyze the results. His enthusiasm is contagious, his expertise impressive. He explains the programming in terms I understand, without condescension, and occasionally asks questions that reveal he remembers my technical background.
"The visual recognition needs refinement." He frowns at the screen where the app has misidentified a pour-over as a Chemex brew. "It's struggling with similar preparation methods."
"The distinction is in the filter shape and extraction time." I reach across him to adjust the image, our fingers brushing. "If you added a time-lapse feature for the brewing process, the algorithm could better distinguish methods."
He looks at me with new appreciation. "That's brilliant. Simple but effective."
"Just because I left the tech world doesn't mean I stopped understanding it."
"Clearly." His gaze lingers on my face. "You could have founded your own tech company, you know. Your insight is exceptional."
The compliment lands differently than expected—not as a painful reminder of what might have been, but an acknowledgment of capabilities I still possess.
