The two of them sat across from each other — Allie wide-eyed, jaw practically on the floor. The café had gone so quiet you could almost hear the espresso machine cooling down.
Of all the things she expected this man to say, this wasn't one of them.
She blinked at him, half-convinced she'd misheard. The quiet, snobbish-looking guy she was sure had been mad at her — had just asked her for… help?
The irony wasn't lost on her. Considering how everything started, this was the last thing she'd expected.
As she sat there, she thought back to what happened a few days ago — when she was certain she'd ruined everything.
The day after she'd accidentally spooked him, she remembered being in full panic mode. On her way to her morning shift, she muttered to herself, pointing at the air like a lunatic."Allie, why can't you just mind your own business? You're in trouble. That guy with the glasses probably complained already. Great. Just great."
She sighed dramatically as she pushed open the café door, already rehearsing her apology in case the café owner called her in.
But she told herself to breathe. "Whatever happens, happens," she whispered under her breath. "We just need to hustle."
That morning, she couldn't stop glancing toward the entrance. Each time the bell above the door chimed, her stomach flipped.
And then — he walked in.
The man with the glasses. Calm, composed, unreadable.
She remembered straightening herself behind the counter, forcing her brightest customer-service smile even though her heart was thudding against her ribs.
Their eyes met — just for a moment —but he quickly looked away. He fumbled with his phone, studying the menu board as if it were the most fascinating thing in the world.
"Large dark roast," he said, voice low and even.
She nodded, her hands moving automatically as she prepared the order. When she slid the cup toward him with her usual cheerful tone—"Here you go!"—he gave a short nod, murmured a quiet "Thanks," and left almost immediately.
The door chimed behind him, and the air he left behind felt heavier than before.
She recalled how relieved she was, resting a hand over her chest. "Okay," she whispered to herself. "Maybe he's not mad. Just… allergic to small talk." When the next customer approached, she plastered on her usual smile, but her mind kept replaying that brief, awkward exchange.
After that, she had a couple of days off from the café, which she spent dog-sitting and helping cater a backyard wedding — anything for extra cash. She convinced herself she was doing what she loved: feeding people, making them smile, staying busy.
When she returned to Coppa, everything felt back to normal. The little incident from days ago — the crossword, the awkwardness —felt like it was safely in the past.
And honestly, Allie was relieved.
That evening, crossword-puzzle guy still came in like clockwork: calm, composed, same seat by the window. He'd order in that even tone, pay, then disappear into his quiet corner. If anything, he'd blended back into the background of her routine — the man with the glasses and the crossword.
Except this time, he wasn't doing a puzzle.
There was a book in his hands now, the pages lined with sticky notes and folded corners. She noticed how he'd pause every so often, brow furrowed, like he was trying to absorb something important.
Allie caught herself glancing his way more than once. She told herself it was just habit — but there was something different about him. A quiet focus that didn't quite match his usual calm.
Maybe he really was working on something. Or maybe she was imagining it.
She shook the thought away and went back to cleaning tables, greeting regulars, and chatting with customers. But every now and then, she'd feel it again — like a quiet awareness between them. Not uncomfortable, just… there.
Still, she told herself not to overthink it.
"You're fine, Allie," she muttered as she restocked the pastry case. "He's just another customer."
The following days, she noticed him coming in whenever she was working. Maybe it was coincidence. She didn't think much of it — she just went about her day, enjoying her work and mingling with her regulars, some of whom had become friends.
Then tonight, he walked in later than usual — dressed not in his typical work suit but in a crisp button-down shirt and light chinos. Still neat, still composed, but softer somehow. More approachable. And honestly? Way too good-looking for her heart rate to stay normal.
She assumed he'd come for another crossword session, but instead, he lingered by the counter after ordering. There was something hesitant about the way he shifted his weight, like a man rehearsing his words.
When the café lights dimmed and the last few customers trickled out, he finally approached her with that same low, deliberate voice she remembered.
"Would it be okay if I talked to you for a moment?"
And now, here they were.
Sitting across from each other in the empty café, the overhead lights dimmed to a soft amber glow. The scent of roasted beans and vanilla hung in the air. From the back, Zack was humming off-key—oblivious, as always.
The quiet, intimidating man with the crossword was looking directly at her, hands folded neatly on the table.
"Curtis Harper," he began, voice measured. "And I'm wondering if I can ask you for a bit of help."
He sounded almost casual — too casual for a man who usually chose his words with surgical precision.
"Allie, right?" he added, pointing briefly at her name tag to confirm.
Allie blinked, startled. "Yes, I'm Allie."
"Are you sure this isn't about the incident a couple of days back?" she asked quickly, wanting to clear the air.
Curtis gave a small laugh, cleared his throat, and replied awkwardly. "No, nothing like that. It's just that these past few times I was here… I noticed how approachable you are, and maybe you can help me be like you."
Allie frowned slightly, not quite following.
He shifted in his seat, realizing how strange that must have sounded.
"Sorry," he said with a faint, self-conscious smile. "Let's start over." He took a steady breath. "Allie, I'm here because I'd like to ask if you can help me."
She blinked again, completely thrown. "I'm sorry… what?"
Curtis hesitated for a moment, then continued, his tone calm but deliberate. "For a while now, I've been trying to be more sociable. More… open. But it isn't going well. I've read books, taken workshops, even hired a life coach. Nothing works. I need someone real —someone who's naturally good with people. And I think… that person is you."
Allie just stared at him.
Of all the things she thought she'd hear tonight, that wasn't even in the top fifty.
She felt both flattered and completely out of her depth.
"Listen," she said gently, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, "that's really nice of you to say. But I'm not exactly a professional. I don't know anything about coaching or whatever this is. I just talk a lot." She smiled sheepishly. "Honestly, I'm probably the last person who should be giving lessons."
Curtis's expression didn't change. "I've tried everything else, Allie. Nothing's worked. You're my last resort."
Her heart softened a little at that. He sounded sincere—vulnerable, even. But still, she shook her head. "I really don't think I'm the right person for this. But if you ever just need a friend—"
"I'll pay you," he said quickly.
She blinked. "Wait, what?"
He adjusted his glasses. "For your time. A reasonable sum, of course. And I'll cover any expenses related to… social activities."
"Social activities," she repeated slowly, trying not to laugh. "Like what—bowling and brunch?"
He didn't flinch. "If that's what normal people do."
Allie pressed her lips together, fighting a smile. He was serious. Dead serious.
She was ready to refuse—until he mentioned the amount. Then, before she could even process it, he raised it.
Her mouth dropped open. That kind of money would take her weeks to earn, even with both jobs and her side gigs combined.
She swallowed hard, her brain scrambling for logic. It's just helping him talk to people, she reasoned. No harm in that. It's his idea anyway.
Without thinking, she blurted, "Yes!"
Her voice came out louder than she meant.
From the back, Zack poked his head out. "You okay, Allie?"
She clapped a hand over her mouth, eyes wide. "Y-yeah! All good!"
Zack squinted. "You sure? That kinda sounded like you got proposed to."
Allie's face turned bright red. "It's not that!" she shot back quickly.
Curtis raised an eyebrow, amused.
Zack chuckled and went back to cleaning, still humming off-key.
Allie turned back to Curtis, mortified but laughing a little.
"So… that's a yes?" he asked, lips twitching in a rare smile.
She sighed, half-grinning. "Yeah. But under a few conditions."
"I'm listening."
"First, you can't hold me responsible if this doesn't work. No guarantees. Second, this is your decision, not mine—I'm just helping, okay?"
Curtis nodded seriously. "Agreed."
To her surprise, he pulled out his phone and began typing. Within seconds, he'd drafted a short agreement outlining exactly what she said — then slid the screen toward her.
She stared, half impressed, half speechless. "You really are intense, huh?"
"I prefer the word thorough," he said, a faint smile tugging at his lips.
Allie laughed despite herself. "Fine, Mr. Thorough." She scrawled her name across the bottom with her fingertip.
Curtis tapped a few buttons, sent her a copy, then held out his hand.
"Allie," he said softly. "Thank you."
She hesitated, then shook it. His grip was firm, warm, and unexpectedly grounding.
And just like that, a deal was made—between a man trying to feel human again, and a woman who'd long forgotten what stability looked like.