Page 15 of Unlucky in Love
Taylor rolled her eyes to keep them from stinging. “Do not get sappy on me.”
“Too late.” Emma nudged her foot under the table. “I will say one more thing and then I’ll stop. You’re allowed to be the heroine. Not just the barista who knows everyone else’s order. Not just the friend who solves everyone’s problems. The heroine.”
Taylor swallowed, then managed a wobbly smile. “You’re supposed to be eating. If you make me cry in my own café, I will ban you for life.”
Emma saluted with her fork. “Noted.”
They ate for a minute in comfortable silence. The front bell chimed as a couple came in holding hands.
Taylor stood and gathered their plates, grateful for an excuse to move. “I need to get back behind the counter before Jenna starts sculpting foam swans again. We had a customer post one on the internet and call it a goose.”
“Tragic.” Emma rose too and reached for the bookmark, then stopped and smiled. “Keep it close.”
“I will.” Taylor tucked it deeper into her pocket like a secret. “If another clue shows up, I will text you.”
“You better.” Emma leaned across the table and kissed her cheek. “And Taylor?”
“Hm?”
“Try to enjoy it.”
Taylor watched her best friend weave through the tables and out into the afternoon light. The door swung shut, the bell gave a cheerful ring, and Taylor drew a slow breath. She pressed her palm flat over her pocket. Paper crinkled under her fingers.
Cute, Emma had said.
It was more than cute. It was a beginning.
“Order up,” Jenna called from the counter.
Taylor slipped back into the rhythm of the café with a smile that didn’t feel borrowed. As she poured a cappuccino and slid it onto a saucer, she let herself imagine who her secret admirer might be.
* * *
The café bell jingled as the last customer of the evening left, bundled against the February chill. Taylor locked the door behind them, pressing her palm against the glass for a moment before flipping the sign to Closed. The silence that followed was like a long exhale.
She turned back to the counter and surveyed the mess. Plates stacked in the bus bin. Coffee rings staining the wood. Crumbs littering the floor. A mountain of dishes waiting in the sink. Closing time was always the same, a little exhausting and a little soothing.
She rolled up her sleeves and got to work.
It took her an hour to wipe down the tables, run the dishwasher, count the register, and sweep the floor. Her muscles ached, and the smell of espresso clung to her sweater, but she didn’t mind. There was comfort in the rhythm of it. Comfort in knowing that when the lights went out, the café would be spotless and ready for another day.
By the time she slung her bag over her shoulder and flicked off the overhead lights, the only glow came from the string bulbs along the front windows. She stepped outside, locked the doorwith a practiced twist, and stuffed the keys into her pocket. The street was quiet, the cold air sharp enough to sting her nose.
Then she saw him.
Ryan Carter, leaning casually against the lamppost near the corner.
Taylor froze, hand still on her bag strap. “What are you doing here?”
He pushed off the post with an easy grin. “Waiting for you.”
“Why?”
“To walk you home.” His tone was matter-of-fact, like it was the most natural thing in the world.
Taylor shook her head. “I told you, I don’t need an escort.”
“And I told you, it isn’t safe for you to walk alone at night.” He shrugged, slipping his hands into his coat pockets. “Humor me.”
