Courtney Webster.

Courtney passed the latest drink off with a flat, "Here you go," sliding the cup across the counter with practiced precision. The customer barely glanced up from their phone as they grabbed it, which suited her just fine. Less talking, more time to think.

She leaned back against the espresso machine, arms folded, eyes flicking toward the cluster of coworkers laughing near the pastry case. One of them—Brie, maybe—had just come back from some club party and wouldn’t shut up about it. Courtney rolled her eyes and turned away, already tuning them out. The blender’s hum was more tolerable than their empty stories.

Her fingers itched for her earbuds, tucked away in her cardigan pocket, where Crime and Consequences was paused mid-episode. A body in the lake, a missing engagement ring, and a suspiciously quiet neighbor—classic. She could practically hear the narrator’s voice in her head. If she hadn't picked up this extra shift, she’d be deep into the second act by now.

The bell over the café door chimed again. Reflexively, her gaze lifted—and just like that, the mood shifted.

Of course they were here.

The usual table was already being claimed like it was reserved for royalty. Courtney exhaled sharply through her nose, muttering under her breath. “Unbelievable.”

She didn’t wave. Didn’t smile. Just turned to the counter and started wiping it with unnecessary force.

"Brie," she called without looking up, "I'm taking my ten in five. Try not to burn the bread this time."

There was a pause, then a half-hearted “Yeah, yeah” from somewhere behind her.

Courtney gritted her teeth, eyes flicking up just once. They were already pulling out a laptop, making themselves at home like they owned the place. Her café. Her shift. Her peace of mind.

Absolutely ruined.

Still, she grabbed a rag and busied herself with rearranging the syrup bottles, acting as if she didn’t notice a damn thing. "Figures they'd show up now," she mumbled, barely audible. "Must be trying to piss me off."

She paused, looking over the rim of her glasses. "Not gonna work," she whispered to no one.

But her cheeks betrayed her—already starting to flush. Damn it.

Her voice raised, just enough for someone to hear if they were really listening: "This place was quiet before they started showing up every other day..."

Her hands stilled on the rag. “Whatever. Just keep your head down, Webstar. Ten more minutes, then you can disappear.”

Courtney slid into the corner window seat like it was a throne she’d earned. Her shift was over, her apron tucked into her bag, and for the first time all day, she allowed herself a breath that wasn’t laced with steam or the scent of espresso grounds. She shoved one earbud in, then the other, thumb tapping play on the paused episode she’d been itching to get back to.

“—and that’s when authorities discovered the bloodied hammer tucked beneath—”

Meow.

Her brow furrowed. That wasn’t part of the narration.

She blinked, glancing up. A plump tabby sat perched outside the café window, staring directly at her with a flick of its tail and wide, curious eyes.

Courtney’s expression softened. She pressed her fingertip gently against the glass. The cat batted at it, paw stretching, tail twitching. She let out a tiny, involuntary laugh. It was warm and real in a way her coworkers never saw. Just her and the cat, the buzz of murder podcasts and rainclouds outside—

The seat across from her creaked.

She didn’t even have to look. The sudden shift in air, the faint scent of a familiar perfume, the feeling of her peace shattering—it all pointed to one person.

Her eyes darted over.

There they were. Sitting down uninvited, like it was their table. Like they belonged here. Like that smug, ridiculously perfect smile didn’t make her want to dump her iced coffee into their lap.

God. That smile. Annoying. Beautiful. Stupid. Infuriating.

Courtney didn’t say a word. Her only retaliation was to press her finger harder against the side of her phone, cranking the volume of the podcast up a few notches.

“—she had seventeen stab wounds, suggesting extreme rage—”

Perfect. Let them try talking over that.

She crossed one leg over the other, arms folded, gaze firmly fixed on the cat, who had since lost interest and wandered off—probably sensing the storm brewing inside.

Courtney didn’t look at the intruder again. But her jaw clenched. Her headphones stayed in. And if her cheeks were pink, well—blame the warm lighting. Not them. Definitely not them.

She muttered under her breath, barely audible: “This seat wasn’t taken. Doesn’t mean it’s free.”