chapter 4

Chapter 4: The Brewing Point

Jake sat at the corner booth of Jake's Place, nursing a cup of his own blend and watching the steam rise like thoughts he couldn't quite catch.

Sam plopped into the seat across from him with two cinnamon rolls and zero subtlety. "Alright, boss. Spill it. You've been weird all morning."

Jake raised an eyebrow. "Weird?"

"Quiet. Distracted. Staring out the window like you're in a music video about heartbreak."

Jake gave a low chuckle, but didn't deny it. He had been distracted.

Ever since yesterday's market.

Seeing Emma like that — casual, natural, laughing over succulents — had messed with his head more than he cared to admit. She looked settled, like she belonged in this town again. And that scared him a little.

Because Jake had spent years building his life one routine at a time. Controlled. Predictable. Safe.

Emma was none of those things.

She was messy feelings. Unanswered questions. The ghost of what might've been.

And yet… when she laughed at his sarcasm, or looked at him like she almost trusted him again, he felt like that kid in high school who once wrote her name in the margins of his notebook — and then crossed it out before anyone could see.

Sam nudged a cinnamon roll toward him. "So, are you going to ask her out or what?"

Jake blinked. "What?"

"Oh, come on. You like her. You have that whole tortured-coffee-boy vibe going on. She clearly likes you, too. This is a rom-com waiting to happen."

Jake looked down at his hands. "It's not that simple."

"Why not?"

He didn't answer right away. Because the truth was… he didn't know. Maybe it was the fear of screwing up something that was finally beginning to feel good. Or maybe it was the quiet, gnawing voice in the back of his head whispering that Emma had already left once. That she could leave again.

But then he remembered her smile. The way she'd looked at him across the market like she wanted him to say something more. Something brave.

Jake pushed back his chair and stood.

"Where are you going?" Sam called.

Jake glanced over his shoulder, heart thudding.

"To return a favor."

******

The morning rush had just ended, leaving The Daily Grind in its usual late-morning lull. Emma stood behind the counter, restocking lids, her playlist humming low in the background. It was a peaceful moment, the kind she usually loved.

But today, she felt restless.

Like something was coming.

The door opened with a soft chime, and when she looked up—

Jake.

Not just Jake-in-a-rush or Jake-grabbing-coffee.

No. This was Jake-with-intention.

He held two to-go cups in one hand and a small white paper bag in the other. His hair was slightly messy, like he'd run a hand through it five times before walking in. And his eyes — warm, a little nervous — landed right on her.

"Morning," he said, walking up to the counter.

Emma blinked. "You're bringing me coffee? Isn't that… betrayal?"

He smirked. "This one's from your place. You left your reusable cup at the market yesterday."

She stared at the cup, speechless. It was hers — the cream-colored one with a faint lipstick smudge near the rim.

He cleared his throat. "And, uh, I figured you probably didn't get to try the cinnamon rolls before the market sold out. So…" He held up the bag.

Emma slowly took it, her fingers brushing his.

"You didn't have to do this," she said, trying to keep her voice even.

"I wanted to," Jake said simply.

There was a pause. Not awkward. Just full. Heavy with something unspoken.

Emma glanced at the cup, then back at him. "So, is this just… neighborly kindness? Or is this your version of a peace offering?"

Jake gave her a slow, crooked grin — the kind that made her forget how to breathe. "Call it… an invitation."

Her brows lifted. "To what?"

He shrugged, then met her eyes. "To whatever this is."

Emma's heart thudded so hard she was sure he could hear it.

For a long second, she didn't say anything. Then, soft as a breath: "Okay."

Jake exhaled, like he'd been holding it since he stepped in.

"I'll, uh, let you get back to work," he said, backing away slowly. "But maybe later… I could come by? For a drink I don't make better than you?"

Emma smiled, a real one that made her eyes light up. "Yeah. I think I'd like that."

The door jingled again as he left.

And for the second time in a week, Emma found herself standing behind the counter, holding coffee she didn't ask for — and smiling at the door like a baby.