"Siena! What in the world are you doing?" His voice boomed, red-faced and furious, as he stormed from behind the counter. His apron strings flapped with each step, and his thick brows knitted together like they were trying to strangle each other. "Pull yourself together, girl! This isn't some art project—this is a business! Clean it up, now!"
The morning shift at Brew Haven was supposed to be routine—pour coffee, smile at customers, dodge the occasional grumpy face. But for Siena Brooks, it turned into a disaster before the clock even hit 9 a.m. The coffee pot slipped from her shaky hands, a dark cascade spilling across the counter, soaking napkins, sugar packets, and the edge of a customer's untouched croissant. The sharp clatter of the pot hitting the tile floor echoed through the small café, and before she could even process the mess, her boss, Mr. Hargrove, was on her like a storm cloud
Siena froze, her heart pounding in her chest. The heat of embarrassment crept up her neck, but it wasn't just the spill gnawing at her. Her semester results were dropping that evening, and the uncertainty had her mind spinning. She'd studied hard—well, as hard as she could with the chaos of the past few months. Her breakup with Alex had thrown her off balance, turning late-night study sessions into tear-streaked pity parties. She was smart—top of her class in fashion design most semesters—but this time, she wasn't so sure. The fear of failure loomed like a shadow, and now this? She felt like the ground was crumbling beneath her.
"I—I'm sorry, Mr. Hargrove," she stammered, blinking back the sting in her eyes. She grabbed a rag from under the counter and started wiping furiously, the coffee staining her fingers brown. Her boss huffed, muttering something about "unreliable help," but he stalked off to deal with the disgruntled customer, leaving her to salvage what she could. Siena's hands trembled as she scrubbed, her mind a jumbled mess of grades, ex-boyfriends, and spilled espresso. Get it together, Siena, she told herself, forcing a deep breath. You've got this.
The rest of her shift dragged on, each minute feeling like an hour. By the time the clock hit 3 p.m., her feet ached, and her head throbbed. She clocked out, mumbled a quick goodbye to her coworker, and headed straight home to her tiny apartment. The place was a modest shoebox—cracked walls, a sagging couch, and a kitchen that doubled as a closet—but it was hers. She kicked off her sneakers, peeled off her coffee-stained apron, and let the hot water of the shower wash away the day's tension. Wrapped in her worn bathroom robe, she stood in front of the mirror, slathering on her favorite lavender moisturizer. The cool cream soothed her skin, but her nerves were still frayed.
Her phone dinged, slicing through the quiet. She grabbed it from the counter, her heart skipping a beat. The screen glowed with a message from her sister, Mia: "Sis, you passed, I passed… we made it!" For a moment, Siena just stared, the words blurring as joy flooded her chest. Then she let out a scream—a wild, unrestrained burst of happiness—and danced around her room, robe flapping, feet pattering on the hardwood. She'd done it! Despite the distractions, the late nights, the heartbreak, she'd pulled through.
Grinning like a fool, she hit the FaceTime button for Karina, her best friend and coursemate since freshman year. The call connected, and Karina's face popped up, all wide smiles and bouncing curls. "Siena! Oh my God, we did it!" Karina squealed, her voice crackling with excitement.
"I know! I can't believe it!" Siena laughed, flopping onto her bed. "I was so scared, Kar. After Alex and everything, I thought I'd tanked."
"Girl, please. You're a genius. We both are!" Karina leaned closer to the screen, her brown eyes sparkling. "This calls for a celebration. Me, you, and the girls—let's hit the bar tonight. No excuses!"
Siena hesitated, tugging at the belt of her robe. "I don't know, Kar. I'm exhausted. Maybe I should just crash."
"Nope, not happening!" Karina wagged a finger at the camera. "You passed your semester, Siena Brooks! We're celebrating this milestone. I'm not taking no for an answer. I'll drag you out myself if I have to!"
Siena chuckled, rolling her eyes. "Fine, fine. You win. But nothing crazy, okay?"
"Deal!" Karina grinned. "Meet me at The Rusty Anchor at 8. Dress cute but comfy. Love you!"
The call ended, and Siena sighed, a mix of excitement and nerves bubbling up. She rummaged through her closet, settling on a pair of faded jeans and a soft gray hoodie—comfortable, casual, and just enough to feel put-together. After a quick brush of her hair and a swipe of lip gloss, she grabbed her jacket and headed out, the cool evening air brushing her cheeks as she met Karina outside the bar.
The Rusty Anchor was alive with chatter and the hum of music, a cozy spot with dim lights and worn wooden tables. Siena slid into a corner booth with Karina and a few other girls from their design program—Lila, Tara, and Jess. The table was soon littered with drinks, and the toasts began. "To surviving semesters and bad exes!" Lila raised her glass, and they all clinked, laughter ringing out. The background music—a mellow indie track—set a warm vibe, and for the first time in months, Siena felt light.
Karina nudged her, leaning in with a mischievous smirk. "Okay, confession time. See that guy over by the counter? Dark hair, sharp jaw, with his crew? I've been eyeing him all night. I think I'm gonna make a move."
Siena followed her gaze, spotting the group. The guy Karina liked was tall, with a confident stance, chatting with his friends. "Go for it," Siena said, smiling. "He's cute. What's the plan?"
"I'm grabbing more drinks and striking up a convo," Karina winked, sliding out of the booth. "Wish me luck!"
Left alone, Siena sipped her drink, the alcohol warming her veins. She pulled out her phone, scrolling mindlessly through social media. That's when she stumbled on it—a news article about Mr. Wellington, the textile mogul who'd just opened a new branch in New Jersey. His smug face stared back at her, all polished suits and fake smiles. Siena's stomach twisted. Wellington was her uncle, a man she hadn't spoken to in years—not since her family fell apart after her dad's scandal. The article praised his empire, built on the legacy her father had lost. Rage flared, hot and sudden. She snatched her bottle of vodka, gulping it down like it could drown the bitterness. Her hand slipped, and the bottle crashed to the floor, shattering into a mess of glass and liquid.
"Oh no, Sie!" Tara gasped, waving over a waitress. The woman hurried over, mop in hand, and Siena muttered an apology, her face burning. "I'll go clean up," she said, stumbling toward the bathroom, the room tilting slightly from the booze.
The bar was dark, the flickering lights casting shadows as she weaved through the crowd. That's when it happened—she collided with someone, hard. Her balance faltered, and she nearly toppled, but strong hands caught her waist. "Woah, woah, woah, be careful, miss," a deep voice said, steady and warm.
Siena blinked up, her breath catching. Even in the dim light, his eyes stood out—dark blue, like the ocean at midnight, intense and magnetic. His scent hit her next, a rich mix of cedar and spice, and his touch was gentle but firm. He was tall, with broad shoulders and a face that seemed carved from some perfect mold—sharp jaw, full lips, and a hint of stubble. She was lost, her mind swimming in alcohol and awe.
"I'm sorry," she mumbled, scratching her scalp as she tried to remember where she was going. "I was… uhm… heading to the, uh…"
"Don't worry," he said, a small smile tugging at his lips. "Let's get you a seat. You look like you need one."
"No!" she blurted, surprising herself. A wild energy surged through her, fueled by the night, the drinks, and the weight she'd carried too long. "I'd like to dance… Don't you wanna dance with me?"
He raised an eyebrow, his smile widening. "Oh… are you sure you can do that right now? You seem a little drunk."
She waved a hand, dismissing his concern. "No, no. I came here to have fun, not let family problems drag me down. So I'm gonna do that. What do you say, Mr. Blue Eyes? Why don't we have fun tonight? No strings attached. What do you say?"
He looked into her eyes, his gaze softening, and for a moment, the noise of the bar faded. Then he leaned closer, his voice low and laced with something dangerously romantic. "Your wish is my command, ma'am."