Another number

As Angela reached for the bill the waiter had just dropped off, the lavender-haired barista appeared again—this time with a small to-go box of the leftover macarons they hadn’t finished. She set it on the table with a knowing smile directed solely at Julia.

“These are for the road,” the barista said, her voice soft but deliberate. “And… just in case you ever want to come back without the company.” She pulled a napkin from the dispenser on the table, uncapped a pen from her apron pocket, and scribbled a string of digits across it in neat, looping handwriting. She folded it once, pressed it into Julia’s palm—fingers lingering a beat longer than necessary—and met her eyes. “Seriously. Anytime.”

Julia felt the heat bloom across her cheeks again, the napkin warm from the barista’s hand. She managed a small, surprised laugh. “Thank you… that’s very sweet.”

The barista winked, gave Angela a quick, friendly nod—“Enjoy the rest of your day, you two”—and sauntered back behind the counter, hips swaying just enough to draw the eye.

Angela waited until the barista was out of earshot before bursting into quiet laughter, covering her mouth with her hand. “Mom. She literally just gave you her number. On a napkin. Like we’re in a rom-com.”

Julia tucked the napkin into her purse alongside Jake’s scrap of paper, shaking her head but unable to suppress a flustered smile. “She was just being… generous with the macarons.”

“Uh-huh. Generous. Sure.” Angela slid her card into the bill folder and handed it back to the passing waiter, who shot Julia one last appreciative glance before heading to the register. “First the waiter, then the frat boys, then the quarterback, and now the hot barista? You’re on fire today. I need to know your skincare routine because clearly it’s doing something right.”

Julia swatted her daughter’s arm lightly again. “Stop. It’s flattering, that’s all. Makes me feel… seen, I guess.”

Angela’s expression softened for a moment, the teasing giving way to something warmer. “You deserve to be seen, Mom. Seriously. Dad’s been gone so much, and you’re always the one holding everything together. If random people want to flirt with you, let them. Own it.”

Julia reached across the table and squeezed Angela’s hand again. “Thanks, baby. That means more than you know.”

Angela signed the receipt, stood, and looped her arm through Julia’s as they headed toward the parking lot. The afternoon sun was softer now, the jasmine-scented air carrying the faint promise of evening.

“So,” Angela said as they walked, “girls’ night next Friday. Rooftop bar. You in the red dress. And maybe bring one of those numbers you collected today—just in case we need backup entertainment.”

Julia laughed, the sound lighter than it had been all day. “We’ll see. One crisis at a time.”

They reached the Urus, Angela sliding into the passenger seat while Julia started the engine. The napkin from the barista crinkled faintly in her purse, nestled next to Jake’s scribbled digits, a small, secret collection of possibilities she wasn’t quite ready to discard. For the first time in hours, the headmaster’s threats felt a little farther away—still there, still waiting, but not the only thing defining her afternoon.