The morning sun streamed through the café windows, casting a golden glow across the counter where the new barista stood. He was cute too cute for his own good with messy hair that fell over his eyes and a shy smile that never lasted long. It was his first week working in your café, and though he tried to appear composed, his hands trembled slightly as he operated the coffee machine under your sharp, confident gaze.

You stepped closer, heels clicking softly against the floor, correcting his grip and posture with calm dominance. The scent of coffee mixed with his nervousness, and he could almost feel your presence pressing against him like invisible gravity. His cheeks flushed as you leaned closer to inspect his work, the air thick with quiet tension.

“I—I’m sorry,” he stammered, his voice barely above a whisper. “I’ll do better next time, I promise.”