The sharp tang of over-extracted espresso hit Elara Vance as she pushed open the heavy oak door of "Grounds & Glow." Outside, Seattle drizzle painted Pike Place Market in melancholic grays. Inside, aggressive cheer reigned: golden light, clattering ceramic, and the cloying scent of pastry. Elara craved her sterile studio, not this *bustle*.
She scanned the room. Her artist's eye cataloged the too-vibrant turquoise chairs, the quirky chalkboard menu, the laughing students. Then, she saw him. Leo Rossi, behind the espresso machine. Dark curls escaped his backward cap, flour streaked his sharp cheekbone. His movements were fluid, intense, radiating a contained vibrancy that made the air hum. Infuriating. And, treacherously, for a second, fascinating – the angle of his jaw, the flex of his forearms.
He was everything she wasn't: loud, social, powered by sunshine. He remembered names and orders, treated coffee like sacred ritual. He'd once tried to explain "floral notes" while she sketched a deadline. She'd grunted.
Elara shouldered through the crowd, her charcoal sweater swallowing her frame, satchel thumping. She claimed her usual spot: a dim corner table near the restrooms, view of brick wall and fire exit. Perfect.
Dumping her bag, she approached the counter. Leo looked up, his face breaking into a wide, crinkling smile. "Elara! Right on schedule. Rain nearly washed Pickles the terrier away. The usual? Triple-shot dark roast, black as midnight, hold the joy?"
Elara blinked. *Schedule? Noticed?* "Just coffee," she muttered, avoiding his gaze, fumbling for cash. "Dark roast. Triple. Black." Exact change on the counter.
Leo's smile held. "Coming right up, Mistress of Murk. One soul-crushing brew." He grabbed the portafilter with a flourish.
Elara retreated. She flipped open her sketchbook to a brooding charcoal Market sign. Good. Raw. Honest.
Leo delivered the coffee himself. "Careful. Volcanic today." He hovered, gaze flicking to her sketch. His humor faded into genuine interest. "That's… intense. Powerful. The light on the wet metal…"
Elara slammed the book shut. "It's nothing. Sketching." Heat from the mug seared her palms.
Leo held up flour-dusted hands. "No trespassing. Enjoy the lava." He retreated.
Elara watched him, irritation mixed with surprise at his seeing her work, and unwelcome warmth at the compliment. She sipped the bitter coffee. *Focus*. But her pencil hovered, betraying her – supplying images of his focused eyes, his forearms. She growled, deepening a shadow aggressively. *Focus, Vance.*
Twenty minutes later, mug empty, she returned. Leo was deep in conversation about sourdough, animated, floury hands gesturing. Elara cleared her throat.
Leo glanced over. "Back for more punishment? Did the coffee inspire deeper gloom or fuel clawing back to light?"
"Refill. Same." Mug and change on the counter.
"Your wish is my charred command." Turning, his elbow hit a wire basket. Sugar packets, stirrers, beans scattered. "Ah, damn! Sorry!" He lunged.
Elara stepped back. Amidst the spill, near the counter's edge, lay something small and vibrant turquoise – a minuscule, perfectly folded origami crane, made from coffee bag paper, a single bean inked on one wing. Incongruous. Delicate. Impossible. Before thinking, her hand darted out, palming it into her sweater pocket.
Leo gathered stirrers. "Total klutz move. One triple-shot, coming up *carefully*."
"It's fine," Elara managed, voice tight, staring at a counter scratch.
He handed her the steaming mug. "Try not to scald your tongue."
"Thanks," she mumbled, fleeing to her corner, the crane burning in her pocket.
Safe in the dimness, she ignored the coffee, extracting the crane. Exquisite. Precise folds, sheened turquoise, the tiny bean. *Leo?* The loud, messy baker folding this? It clashed violently. Yet... here it was. Reluctant curiosity pricked her. She studied it – hidden art, like her sketches. Unsettling. She glanced at Leo, laughing, now with chocolate smeared beside the flour. Ordinary. Baffling.
Placing the crane beside her sketchbook, she tried to draw. But her gaze kept drifting to the turquoise anomaly. An intrusion. A question mark. The rain drummed. Coffee scented the air. Elara Vance sketched not the street, but focused hazel eyes and a folded crane. The first spark of unwanted curiosity. Leo Rossi had become interesting. Dangerous. She pocketed the crane, a stolen secret. The story began with folded sky.