Page 18 of Almost Ours
“That’s because we care,” she replied, her voice tender. “Be careful out there, alright?”
Mrs. Gardner nodded, her steps slow yet steady as she made her way to the door.
And then I saw her.
She stood behind the counter, focused on cleaning the espresso machine. Blonde hair swept up in a messy bun. The few strands that escaped, framed her face in a way that made her look… effortless. Tall and slender, she wore a simple cardigan over a fitted pair of jeans, an apron tied snugly around her waist. What stopped me, though, were her eyes–green, bright, and startlingly expressive.
She must have felt me looking because she glanced up. Our eyes met, and for a second, she just stared at me, her gaze lingering on my face before darting quickly down to my shoulders. Flustered, she blinked and straightened, tugging at the apron as if it might somehow shield her.
“Good morning,” she said, her voice soft. “What can I get you?”
For half a second, I forgot how words worked.
“Coffee,” I managed finally, clearing my throat. “Uh, black. And a chocolate croissant, if you’ve got one.”
She gave a small nod and reached for a paper bag. “We’ve got a few left.”
When she turned to pour the coffee, I caught myself studying her–something about the way she moved, careful but unsteady, like she was still finding her rhythm.
“I haven’t seen you here before,” I said, my voice casual. “Are you new?”
She glanced over her shoulder, surprised I was still talking to her. “I just started last week.”
“Ah, that makes sense,” I said, rubbing the back of my neck. “I was starting to wonder if I was losing it. Not recognizing a face around here? That’s rare.”
Her lips tugged into the barest hint of a smile. “Well, you’re not losing it.”
“I’m Ryan,” I offered, unsure why it felt important to say.
She hesitated for a beat. “Harper.”
I noticed the way she rolled up her cardigan sleeves as she fumbled slightly with the lid. There was flour on the hem of her apron and a piece of hair tucked hastily behind her ear, as if she’d been too busy to fix it properly.
She fumbled slightly with the lid and adjusted it with a quiet sigh, still not managing to secure it.
Then, in a blink, something orange streaked past me at ankle height.
“What the–?”
Before I could react, Harper stepped forward, coffee in hand, and her foot caught on whatever had just flown by. Her balance tilted–and so did the cup.
The lid flew off and hot liquid sloshed over the rim, splashing directly onto my flannel.
“Shit,” I hissed, jerking back as the heat hit me square in the chest.
“Oh my God, I’m so sorry!” Harper gasped, eyes wide as she scrambled to grab napkins from the counter. She shoved them at me, then leaned over to blot my shirt with a frantic, flustered kind of urgency.
I tried not to notice how her cardigan pulled just slightly against her chest. It wasn’t intentional, not even close, but that didn’t stop my brain from going there for half a second.
I cleared my throat and shifted my focus to literally anything else. The last thing I needed was to get caught gawking like some kind of teenage idiot.
“It’s fine,” I said quickly, even though the sting of the coffee was definitely not fine. “Really, it’s–”
“I ruined your shirt,” she mumbled, barely meeting my eyes as she held out another napkin. “And your coffee. Probably your morning.”
I took the napkins and gave her the smallest smile I could manage without grimacing. “I’ve had worse mornings. And worse shirts.”
She huffed out a breath, somewhere between a laugh and a sigh.
