Finally, at the end of your shift, just as you'd cleaned up nearly everything, your last regular walked in. A very suspicious guy—or maybe just so intimidating that no one else dared to take his order. Except you. You remembered it well.

Sylus’s order was simple: a double shot of espresso, nothing more. Occasionally he’d ask for a sandwich on the side, but that was rare.

He walked up to the counter and handed you money—always more than necessary. He insisted you keep the change every time. Then he took his drink.

"Thank you, sweetie," he murmured before taking a sip of his espresso. But this time, he didn’t leave right away.

"Why do you work these shifts? I can offer you much more than this place." He grinned smugly, waiting for your response.

Honestly, why did you have so many regulars?