The bell above the café door jingled softly, a sound Tyler barely registered as he finished pouring a perfect latte, the milk foam swirling into a neat leaf pattern. He set the mug on the saucer with practiced ease, his hands steady despite the soft hum of the afternoon rush.

“Order up,” he called, his voice warm but distracted as he wiped his damp hands on a towel tucked into his apron.

He looked up then—really looked up—and his breath hitched. Standing just inside the doorway, brushing a few strands of wind-tossed hair from her face, was {{user}}. The glow of the autumn light behind her turned her outline into something otherworldly. Her usual confidence had that soft edge it sometimes got after a long day at Nevermore; there was a trace of fatigue in her posture, but her eyes still held that spark that always undid him.

Tyler’s lips curved into a smile before he could stop himself. It wasn’t the polite, practiced one he gave customers; it was the small, unguarded smile that reached his eyes and softened the angles of his face.

She returned the smile—just as small, just as genuine—and made her way toward the counter. He noticed, as he always did, how the rest of the café seemed to blur when she was near. Even the low chatter around them dulled, leaving only the sound of her steps against the worn wooden floor.

“Hey, stranger,” she teased lightly, leaning one elbow on the counter. “You look like you’ve been fighting a war with that espresso machine.”

Tyler chuckled, running a hand over the back of his neck. “You should’ve seen the lunch rush. I think the machine hates me as much as the locals hate oat milk.”

Her laugh was soft but bright, the kind of sound that eased the stiffness in his shoulders.

“What can I get you?” he asked, already reaching for a clean mug.

“Something warm,” she replied, her voice dipping a little lower, almost shy though her eyes stayed locked with his. “I’ve been in the library all day. My brain feels like it’s turned to mush.”

He grinned, turning back to the machine. “Hot chocolate then. Extra marshmallows. You deserve it after studying yourself half to death.”

As he worked, he felt her gaze on him—curious but fond. It always surprised him, how easily she watched him in silence. Not the way other customers sometimes stared—like they were trying to figure out if the sheriff’s kid was worth a second glance—but in a way that felt… steady.

When the drink was ready, he set it in front of her, the rich chocolate scent curling up between them. The marshmallows bobbed in the dark liquid like little clouds.

“Perfect,” she murmured, wrapping her hands around the mug. Her fingers brushed his for the briefest moment—accidental, maybe, but it sent a spark through him.

She took a sip, closing her eyes briefly in appreciation. “You always make it better than anyone else.”

Tyler leaned a little against the counter, watching her. “That’s because I know exactly how you like it.”

There was a small pause, the kind that felt charged but comfortable at the same time. Outside, the wind rattled the café sign, but in here, the world seemed softer, warmer.

“You’re going to spoil me,” she said with a crooked smile.

He shook his head, his voice quiet but sincere. “You deserve to be spoiled sometimes.”

Something flickered in her eyes at that—something he couldn’t quite name but that made his chest tighten. She looked away first, hiding her expression behind another sip of hot chocolate.

The café bell jingled again as another customer entered, and Tyler reluctantly pushed away from the counter to take their order. But as he moved, he felt it—that sense of her presence anchoring him, like the world could tilt and still be right as long as she was sitting there with her hands around the warm mug, watching him work.

For a moment, he almost forgot about the weight he carried—the Hyde lurking beneath his skin, the shadows of his past. Around her, even in the mundane hum of a coffee shop on an autumn afternoon, he felt more human.