The coffee's ready. I set it on the counter with the box, ring him up while Robin conspicuously disappears into the back room.
"Twelve fifty," I manage.
He hands me a twenty. As I make change, I glance at his book again. God, I want to tell him about the Pern books. About how the world-building is just as intricate but the dragons add this whole other layer. About how the Harper Hall trilogy made me cry when I was fifteen, alone in a group home with nothing but library books for comfort.
But words are hard and he doesn't know me and why would he care what some random barista thinks about his reading choices?
I give him his change, and he drops it all in the tip jar. All seven fifty.
"Thanks," he says, picking up his coffee and scones.
He's turning to go find a seat when my hand moves without my brain's permission. I grab the pen by the register, tear off a piece of receipt paper, and scribble quickly:
Try Anne McCaffrey's Dragonflight - similar epic feel to Goodkind but with dragons :)
The smiley face is stupid. Why did I add a smiley face? But it's too late now. My hand is already moving, sliding the note into his box of scones while he's looking around for a table.
He settles in the corner booth where he can see both the door and the café counter. Safety position. I recognize it because I do the same thing.
Robin emerges from the back, sees where Silas is sitting, and grins at me. "He's single, you know."
"What?" My voice goes high. "I don't — that's not —"
"Mmhmm." Robin's grin widens. "He's here every day, usually in the library. Reads for hours. No girlfriend. No boyfriend. Just him and his books."
"Robin —"
"I'm just saying, if someone wanted to recommend books to him, maybe slip notes into his pastry boxes, that would be totally normal and not weird at all."
Oh god. He saw. Of course he saw.
"Please don't say anything," I whisper, glancing at where Silas is already absorbed in his book.
Robin's expression softens. "Hey, no, Dev. I wouldn't. But also? Not weird. Sweet, actually. He'll like it."
I want to believe him, but my stomach's full of butterflies. What if Silas thinks I'm hitting on him? What if he complains to Robin? What if —
The bell chimes again, and a group of teenagers floods in, loud and demanding complicated drinks. I've never been so grateful for annoying customers in my life.
For the next hour, I'm too busy to panic properly. The teens want everything modified, extra this, no that, make it pretty for Instagram. I focus on the familiar rhythm of pulling shots and steaming milk, letting the routine calm my racing thoughts. The espresso machine hisses and I fall into it, the tamp, the pull, the swirl of milk against steel. Robin works beside me boxing pastries, bumping my elbow when I need to move, anticipating orders before I call them. We've only been working together a week but the rhythm is already there. He hums while he works, something without a melody, and the café smells like fresh-ground coffee and the apricot frangipane tarts cooling on the rack behind us.
When I finally get a break, I risk a glance at the corner booth.
Silas is still there, coffee half-finished, completely absorbed in his book. The scone box is open beside him, one and a half scones already gone.
The note is nowhere to be seen.
Maybe he threw it away. Maybe he ate it accidentally. Maybe —
He looks up suddenly, catching me staring. I immediately busy myself with cleaning the steam wand, face burning.
"Dev?" Robin calls from the register where he's checking out a customer. "Can you do a coffee run to the children's section? Toby's doing story hour and Miss Glitterbomb needs her usual."
"The triple shot vanilla latte with extra foam and edible glitter?"
"That's the one."
I make the drink on autopilot, grateful for the excuse to leave. Miss Glitterbomb's coffee is legendary. She claims it's the only thing that gets her through reading to thirty sugar-high toddlers.