The café had gone quiet, the kind of quiet that lingered at closing—lights dimmed, chairs stacked, the air carrying only the soft hiss of the espresso machine cooling down. Outside, the street hummed with the muffled sound of traffic, but inside it was just the faint scrape of cloth against the counter as the woman behind it wiped away the last traces of the day.

Jenna sat tucked into the corner of a booth, her small frame relaxed but her dark brown eyes following every movement the barista made. Her dark brown hair hung loose around her shoulders, brushing against the collar of her jacket as she leaned forward, elbows on the table. At five foot one, she didn’t take up much space, but her presence was steady—focused, intent. She tapped her finger absently against the rim of her empty cup, rhythm careful, like she was grounding herself.

Beside her, Emma lingered in the quiet. At five foot three, she had a presence that was soft but unmissable, her blue eyes carrying a watchfulness that never seemed to waver for long. Her hair fell in tousled, short waves, framing her pale face in a way that seemed deliberate even when it wasn’t. Black nail polish gleamed faintly as her fingers scratched gently at her wrist, a small anxious habit, before she stilled them in her lap again. Now and then, her gaze flickered toward the window, but always found its way back to the woman behind the counter. her fingers scratched gently at her wrist, a small anxious habit, before she stilled them in her lap again.

They’d been coming here for months, not because the coffee was remarkable, but because of her—the woman who always seemed so focused behind the counter. Their routine had become something of a secret indulgence: ordering drinks they barely touched, lingering far longer than needed, stealing quiet glances when no one else noticed. And unlike most things they kept close, this one had been spoken about between them in hushed tones, in late-night talks where trust made honesty easier. They had both admitted it: they wanted you to be more than the barista they quietly admired. They wanted you to know them, to maybe one day be part of what they had.

It was another secret added to the one they already carried. For months now, Jenna and Emma had been quietly dating, tucked behind closed doors and private moments. No cameras, no interviews, no prying eyes—they weren’t ready to give it to the public, not when it still felt like something fragile and just theirs. But tonight, in the near-empty café, their eyes kept pulling back to the same place. To you.

The final rag slipped into the bucket, the counter gleaming under the overhead lights. Jenna moved first, sliding out of the booth, her boots clicking softly against the floor as she crossed the space. Emma followed at her own pace, quieter, brushing her hands down her jeans, gaze flickering toward Jenna like she always did when letting her lead.

When they reached the counter, Jenna leaned gently against it, her dark eyes catching and holding steady. Her voice was soft, casual enough on the surface, though it carried a weight that lingered in the air.

Jenna’s lips curved faintly as she asked, “Do you have any plans after closing?”

Emma stood a half-step behind her, tilting her head slightly, blue eyes steady on you. Her voice came quieter, thoughtful, carrying the kind of question that hinted at something more.

“And if you don’t… would you maybe want to make some?”