The sound of the espresso machine fills the quiet as I pull my hair into a messy low bun.
It’s been a week since my interview at W.H.M. HR hasn’t called, but I’m not holding my breath. They said we’d have answers by the end of this week—I already know mine. I’m still haunted by Mr. Miller’s words like a verdict I can’t appeal.
We can’t hire her.
Part of me thinks he’s right. I don’t deserve the job.
I shake my head.
A few rebellious strands of hair fall around my face, but I don’t bother fixing them.
Like an idiot, I even mentioned my dead father. Who does that? Who drags their grief into a work interview?
Apparently, me.
But my dad is the reason I even wanted this career in the first place.
However, what I really can’t shake—what Ihatethat I can’t shake—is the rush that went through me when Mr. Miller looked at me.
My stomach twists as I think about the interview again, about Worth Miller’s penetrating eyes and the way his dismissal still rings in my head. He doesn’t want me there. He made that perfectly clear.
Apron tied at my waist, I’m halfway to the cash register when the front door swings open.
One of my co-workers, Eric, shuffles in, hood up, sunglasses on, muttering something about how he should still be in bed.
“Morning to you too,” I tease, stepping aside so he can pass.
“Ugh,” he groans, dragging his feet towards the counter. “Never doing tequila shots on a Monday again. Who even thought that was a good idea?”
I chuckle and pat him on the back. “Sounds like you had fun, though.”
“Fun, sure. Though my liver disagrees.” He grins at me through his hangover. “You should come out with us next time. We’re doing trivia night at O’Malley’s this Thursday. Cheap drinks, good music, bad decisions. You in?”
My smile falters before I can catch it. “Maybe! We’ll see,” I hedge, turning my attention to the register.
I remember when I used to say yes to nights like that without a second thought. In my first year of college, I went out constantly—drinks with friends, late-night takeout, spontaneous weekend trips. I lived like I had an endless supply of cash, swiping my credit cards without blinking. Two cards, actually. Both maxed out before I’d even graduated.
Being twenty-four and thousands of dollars in debt isn’t how I pictured starting my life. When I finally faced the reality of the hole I’d dug for myself, I slammed the brakes on all unnecessary spending. No more trips. No more random bar tabs. No more “fun” if it came with a price tag.
I push the thoughts away before they drag me under and start counting the till, sliding crisp bills into place.
The shop doesn’t open for another thirty minutes, so Eric puts on a 2000s pop playlist, and we fall into our usual prep routine. He loads the baked goods display while I replenish the coffee cups, both of us singing badly and loudly to Britney Spears’ ‘Stronger.’
Eight o’clock arrives faster than I expect. I flip the sign toOpenand unlock the door for the first wave of customers.
As I hurry back behind the counter, the bell above the door jingles again. I glance up.
My body freezes, a jolt shooting straight down my spine. No. It can’t be.
Worth Miller?
I don’t even have to get a good look to know it’s him. His presence has been lodged in my head for days.
What the hell is he doing here, anyway?
I scold myself.He’s here to get coffee like everyone else, duh.
I keep my head down and hide behind one of the machines, like if I don’t make eye contact, maybe he won’t notice me.