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The bell above the door rang softly as another customer walked out, leaving my coffee shop quiet once again.
I wiped the counter slowly, my eyes drifting to the nearly empty tip jar. Some days were like this—slow, exhausting, and heavy with worries I didn't know how to escape.
Norris Brew.
That was the name above the door. A small family coffee shop passed down to me after my parents died. It wasn't fancy, but it was mine. Every crack in the wall, every old table held memories I wasn't ready to let go of.
The espresso machine suddenly made a strange rattling sound before shutting down completely.
I closed my eyes.
"Please don't do this to me today," I whispered.
"Sounds like it finally gave up."
I looked up, startled.
Shane Frankson stood at the entrance, tall and familiar, grease stains on his hands and that calm smile he always wore. He worked at the mechanic shop down the street and had somehow become a regular at my café—both as a customer and a quiet supporter.
"You're enjoying my suffering again?" I asked, forcing a smile.
He chuckled as he walked closer. "You make it hard not to."
Shane rolled up his sleeves and knelt beside the espresso machine without waiting for permission. Watching him work felt oddly comforting. He always seemed so sure of himself, so steady.
"You ever think about going back to school?" he asked casually.
My hands froze.
"All the time," I admitted softly. "But dreams don't pay tuition."
He looked at me then—really looked at me—with an intensity that made my chest tighten.
"Dreams deserve a chance, Layla."
A few seconds later, the machine hummed back to life.
He stood up and smiled. "Fixed."
I smiled back, but my heart was racing.
I had no idea that this man—standing in my small coffee shop—was about to change my entire life.