Page 6 of Wanna Bet?

“Fine,” Myah said. “I’ll flirt. I’ll ask him out, casually. For fun.”

“For fun,” Kaylee echoed with a grin.

“Low stakes,” Myah said. “No pressure. Just vibes.”

Kaylee nodded. “Okay.”

“If I get him to say yes,” Myah continued, “You cover my next three shifts.”

Kaylee whistled. “Bold.”

“And if I don’t,” Myah said, “I’ll–” She paused, thinking. “I’ll wear the stupid apron with the pun on it for a week.”

Kaylee gasped. “The ‘Espresso Yourself’ one?”

“That’s the one.”

Kaylee stuck out her hand. “Deal.”

Myah grinned, adrenaline buzzing and took Kaylee’s hand in hers. “This is going to be easy.”

Kaylee laughed. “Sure it is.”

The rest of the shift passed in a blur of orders and foam and the familiar rhythm of the stand. Myah joked with customers, danced to the radio when no one was watching, and balanced a pen on her nose during slow moments.

But her thoughts kept circling back to the way Jace had smiled when she handed him his drink. To the way he’d lingered like he wanted to say something else. To the fact that she’d watched him walk away longer than necessary.

She told herself the bet was just fun. She was good at this. It wasn’t serious. But when the stand quieted and the afternoon light slanted just right, she found herself glancing toward the corner again.

Not watching. Definitely not watching.

Chapter Three

From: Jace’s iPhone

No new messages.

⋆⁺₊⋆ ━━━━⊱༒︎ • ༒︎⊰━━━━ ⋆⁺₊⋆

Jace had never thought of himself as someone who looked forward to mornings.

He tolerated them. He woke up when he needed to, followed routines that made the world feel manageable, and moved through the early hours with quiet efficiency. Mornings were something to get through, not something to anticipate.

When he was younger–and his family was still around–Jace used to spend his mornings cooking pancakes with his mom and watching his dad read the morning paper. Mornings used to be safe and mundane for him. It hadn't been like that in a long time.

When his alarm went off that Thursday, the feeling in his chest wasn’t dread or excitement, there was a lightness there. A small, steady pull forward. He lay still for a moment staring at the ceiling while the faint gray of early morning filtered through the blinds. Seattle was already buzzing with life outside his window. sighed, sitting up and stretching. He told himself it was just another day. Another shift. Another stop at the stand.

He went every morning. That wasn’t new. Still, he found himself getting ready with more attention than usual, smoothing his shirt twice instead of once, adjusting the strap of his bag so it sat just right against his shoulder. He didn’t interrogate the impulse too closely. He just let himself move through it.

Outside, the air held that thin Washington chill that never quite committed to warmth. The sky was pale and undecided, the kind of overcast that felt soft instead of heavy. The stand came into view at the end of the block, string lights still faintly glowing against the early light.

The chalkboard sign out front made him stop.

TODAY’S MOOD:

Hot. Like your barista.

He read it once. Then again. A quiet huff of laughter escaped him before he could stop it. ‘Hot barista’ was an understatement. Jace was pretty sure everyone who worked there–man and woman alike–had to pass some kind of hotness test. Jace would never say that outloud, he wasn't trying to be creepy. It just seemed like Maggie only hired the most attractive folks in Seattle.