Chapter 3: First Sip
The bell above the door chimed as Jake stepped into The Daily Grind.
Emma looked up from behind the counter, her eyes widening slightly before she smoothed her expression into something neutral. "Well, well. Look who finally wandered over."
Jake smirked. "Thought I'd see what the competition's serving."
The air between them shifted — not hostile, but not exactly friendly either. Tension laced with something warmer, older.
Emma crossed her arms, leaning on the counter. "You want a menu, or just here to steal ideas?"
He pretended to study the chalkboard behind her. "Depends. What's your best drink?"
Emma raised an eyebrow. "I make a mean brown sugar oat latte. But if you're more of a black coffee kind of guy—"
"Try me," Jake said. "Brown sugar oat it is."
She disappeared behind the machine, moving with the kind of graceful familiarity that came from knowing her space. Jake let his eyes wander — pale wood floors, cozy mismatched chairs, walls lined with books and handwritten quotes. Every detail was intentional, thoughtful.
Just like her.
When she slid the drink toward him, their fingers brushed for half a second — enough to make both of them pause.
He took a sip. It was warm, rich, with just enough sweetness.
"It's good," he admitted. "Really good."
Emma tilted her head. "You sound surprised."
Jake grinned. "I didn't say I wasn't impressed."
She arched a brow. "Careful, Matthews. If you keep talking like that, people might think you're not a total coffee snob."
He laughed — really laughed — for the first time in days. "Maybe I just know good coffee when I taste it."
Emma's expression softened. For a brief moment, something passed between them. A flicker of what could have been, or maybe what still could be.
But before either of them could say anything else, a customer walked in behind Jake.
Emma straightened. "Duty calls."
Jake gave her a two-finger salute and backed toward the door. "Thanks for the drink, neighbor."
As he stepped outside, the bell jingled behind him.
He didn't turn back. But he smiled.
********
The bell above the door jingled again, but this time it was Jake walking out, not in.
Emma stared at the space he'd just left, her fingers still resting on the counter where their hands had brushed.
Why did it feel like the room had changed the second he stepped inside… and again the second he left?
She reached for a cloth and wiped the already-clean surface, just to keep her hands busy. Her heart was doing that annoying thing where it beat a little too fast, like it hadn't gotten the memo that they were not doing this again.
He was charming. Still infuriatingly sure of himself. And still had that boyish smile that once made her teenage self scribble Mrs. Jake Matthews in the corners of her school notebooks.
Emma groaned quietly. Get a grip.
It had been nearly ten years. People grow. People change. But standing in front of him today felt dangerously familiar — like slipping into an old hoodie you forgot still fit perfectly.
She leaned against the espresso machine and stared out the front window. From this angle, she could just barely make out Jake's reflection through the glass of his shop. He was back at work, focused, probably already teasing Sam about her coffee.
She hated that she cared what he thought of it.
Hated more that he liked it.
Emma wasn't used to being thrown off balance. She'd come here with a plan — build her business, find peace, stay out of emotional quicksand. Jake Matthews was the exact kind of distraction she didn't have time for.
But the warmth in his eyes when he said her name?
The way he lingered just a second longer than necessary?
That was trouble. The kind that smelled like roasted coffee beans and felt like home.
"Stop it," she muttered under her breath, turning back to the register as another customer walked in. "He's just your neighbor. That's all."
Still, as she pulled the next espresso shot, Emma caught herself smiling.
And that, she realized, was the real problem.