Cherry Mocha

Jason had never seen Chloe smile.

Not once. Not in the six months he'd been making this coffee shop part of his walk-home ritual. Not when he cracked nervous jokes. Not when he tipped. Not even when he once bought three pastries in a row just to keep her talking.

She wasn't rude—just cool. Professional. Distant.

Tonight was no exception.

She stood behind the counter like she always did, arms folded, expression flat, hip cocked slightly to one side. Her black apron was tied tight around a pair of dark, high-waisted jeans that clung in all the right places. A cropped band tee peeked out above the waistline, showing a sliver of pale stomach when she moved. Her long hair—dyed a soft violet—was pulled up in a messy ponytail that swayed as she worked. She had the kind of face Jason always found distracting: sharp cheekbones, almond-shaped eyes lined with a perfect black wing, and full lips painted in a dark, smudgy cherry red.

A single hoop in her nose. A tattoo just visible behind her collarbone: a sprig of rosemary, delicate and dark green.

She didn’t look at him as he walked in. Just muttered, "I'll be with you in a sec," without inflection.

Jason smiled anyway. God, she was cool. She was everything he wasn't—artsy, aloof, magnetic. She probably dated drummers. Or painters. Or both.

He sat at the far end of the café and unzipped his jacket. The golden device pulsed faintly in his pocket. It was time.

He waited until she was alone—just her behind the counter, wiping it down. The other customer had left. The barista from the back had gone on break.

Jason stared at her, his heart hammering. This time, he wanted more than earrings. He wanted attention. Desire. Something real. Something personal.

He pictured her looking up and locking eyes with him. Smiling. Approaching. Flirting. He pictured her tucking her ponytail behind her ear, leaning forward on the counter, letting her voice drop half an octave.

"Hey, I've always wanted to ask—what do you do when you're not here?"

He raised the device under the table, pointed it casually in her direction, and pulled the trigger.

The world blinked negative.

A sharp jolt bit into his palm.

Jason hissed and dropped the device, shaking his hand.

But when he looked up—

Chloe was looking right at him, and smiling.

"Well hey there, stranger. You gonna keep making eyes at me from across the room, or you gonna order something?"

Jason blinked. What?

She sauntered over to the register, leaning both elbows on the counter, chin in her hands, watching him with obvious amusement.

"Let me guess. Mocha, extra whip? Or are you gonna surprise me today?"

Jason's mouth was dry. "Uh… sure. Mocha."

She straightened and reached for a cup, pen ready.

"Name?" she teased. "Or do I just write 'Cutie' and add my number underneath?"

Jason laughed—an awkward, giddy laugh. "Jason."

"Jason," she repeated, as if testing the word. "Cute name."

She handed him the cup, her fingers brushing his. Her handwriting was bubbly and big. Underneath his name was her number, complete with a heart. Jason stared, heart pounding.

"We've got to stop doing this" she said with a smirk, turning to the espresso machine.

"Doing what?"

"Pretending we’re not into each other."

She winked. His knees nearly buckled.

—

Jason left the café fifteen minutes later, half-walking, half-floating. His mocha was warm in his hand, Chloe's number burning in his pocket. The world felt dreamlike.

As he passed the window, he caught his reflection in the glass. The streetlights made his silhouette shimmer, but something small caught his eye.

His lips.

Deep cherry red. Smooth. Luminous. He paused.

Right. He had forgotten that chosen that shade that morning.

It looked good on him—warm, confident. Something about it just felt right. It brought out the color in his cheeks, made his eyes pop a little. He was glad he'd picked it. It even matched Chloe’s exactly. Funny coincidence.

Something they had in common.

Jason sipped his mocha, still smiling. Everything was falling into place.

The night felt warm.