Let's reach 250 Power Stones for an extra chapter
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-Jessica-
The familiar house looms before me, smaller than I remember. Olivia's car hums quietly, a stark contrast to the silence that seems to emanate from the porch. Ethan stands beside me, a silent, steady presence. My hand trembles as I insert the key into the lock. It turns with a soft click, and the door swings open into a house that feels both frozen in time and utterly alien.
Dust motes dance in the shafts of sunlight slanting through the living room window. A faded photograph on the mantelpiece shows Mom and Dad laughing, my younger brother, Phillip, perched on Dad's shoulders, his face beaming. I trace the outline of his smiling face, a wave of grief washing over me. It feels like a physical blow, stealing my breath. I see flashes of memory: Phillip's sticky hand reaching for mine on a road trip, Mom humming in the kitchen, Dad's booming laugh during a family dinner. My shoulders slump, the weight of it all crushing.
Olivia gently touches my arm. "Take your time, honey. No rush."
Ethan offers a small, reassuring smile. "Yeah, Jess. We're here for whatever you need."
I nod, unable to speak, and move further into the house. Each object is a trigger, a memory brought to life. A worn teddy bear sits on a chair, Phillip's favorite. A half-finished drawing lies on the kitchen table, a colorful, if wobbly, rendering of a superhero. I pick it up, my fingers brushing against the crayon. It's still warm. It's like they just… vanished. One moment, my family was here, filling this house with life and noise, and the next… gone. The silence is deafening.
Ethan quietly clears his throat. "Uh, maybe we should start with your room? Get the essentials packed first?"
I manage a nod, my voice a rough whisper. "Okay." My room. Filled with comic books, band posters, and the quiet dreams of a girl who felt invisible. Now, it feels like a museum exhibit of a life that's no longer mine. I walk towards the stairs, each step heavy with the past. Olivia follows, her presence a soft comfort. Ethan walks behind, his gaze steady. The house holds so many memories, so much life, and now it's just… echoes.
The box labeled "Books & Mementos" is heavier than it looks. I hoist it, expecting the usual strain, but it lifts with surprising ease, feeling practically weightless in my hands. Ethan, who was about to grab it, stumbles back a step.
"Whoa, hospital super-strength, huh?" he jokes, a playful grin spreading across his face. He grabs the box from me, feigning a grunt, then flashes a thumbs-up. "Guess I know who's carrying the heavy stuff on moving day."
I manage a small smile, the tension easing just a fraction. We load the rest of my belongings into Olivia's car in a companionable silence, punctuated by quiet instructions and reassurances. Each item I place in the trunk feels like a piece of my old life being carefully packed away.
Before closing the trunk, I glance back at the house one last time. The porch light is still on, casting a lonely glow. I exhale shakily, the sound lost in the late afternoon air. This is it. No going back. I pull the trunk shut with a soft thud, a sense of finality settling over me.
Olivia starts the engine, and the car pulls away from the curb, the familiar house shrinking in the rearview mirror. I lean my head against the cool glass of the window, clutching a worn comic book to my chest. It's an old favorite, the pages dog-eared, the cover creased. A small piece of the life I'm leaving behind, and maybe, just maybe, a piece of what's to come.
* * *
The aroma of roasted coffee beans fills the air, a comforting scent that's slowly replacing the lingering smell of dust and old memories. Olivia's coffee shop, "The Daily Grind," is small but cozy, with warm lighting and a friendly vibe. I'm standing behind the counter, an apron tied around my waist, trying to remember which button on the fancy espresso machine makes the milk frothy. Ethan's beside me, looking equally lost.
"Okay, so, this button," Olivia says, her voice calm and encouraging, pointing to a dial. "It's for the steam wand. Just a little twist…"
Ethan fumbles with it, and a geyser of hot water shoots out, narrowly missing his face. We both jump back, laughing nervously. "Whoa! Okay, maybe less twist," he says, wiping a stray drop from his cheek.
Olivia chuckles. "Easy does it. It's all about feel." She shows us again, her movements precise and graceful. We try to mimic her, Ethan's hand shaking slightly, mine steady but uncertain. We manage a few passable lattes, a few disastrous ones. Ethan's first attempt at a cappuccino looks more like a puddle of milk with a hint of foam. We share a glance, a silent acknowledgment of our shared incompetence. Then, we high-five, a small victory.
"Alright, opening in five!" Olivia calls out, wiping down the counter. "Remember, smile, be polite, and don't set anything on fire."
The bell above the door jingles, announcing our first customer. A woman in a business suit orders a complicated-sounding latte. Ethan, with a confident nod, takes the order. I take a deep breath and turn to the espresso machine, my fingers flying over the buttons, trying to recall Olivia's demonstration. The milk froths, a little too much, but it's foam. I pour it over the espresso, trying to make a heart shape like Olivia did. It looks more like a blob, but I slide the cup across the counter.
"One Caramel Cloud Latte for Ms. Henderson!" I announce, my voice a little shaky.
She smiles. "Thanks, honey."
Ethan's already chatting with the next customer, a guy in a baseball cap ordering a black coffee. "Rough morning, man?" Ethan asks, his voice friendly. The guy nods, and Ethan offers a sympathetic smile before expertly pouring his coffee. He glances over at me, a flicker of amusement in his eyes. We're actually doing this. We're making coffee. And people are drinking it. Ethan even manages to make a few customers laugh with his easy banter. We're starting to find our rhythm, a silent dance between the grinder, the steaming wand, and the cash register. It's chaotic, but it's working.
The bell above the door JINGLES sharply, announcing a new arrival. I glance up from wiping down the counter, and my jaw nearly hits the floor. It's a giant of a man, easily six-foot-six, with muscles that seem to bulge even under his casual hoodie and jeans. He's got a shaved head and eyes that could probably see through steel, but there's a warmth in them that's disarming. He scans the room with a street-smart vigilance, taking everything in, before his gaze lands on Olivia.
Olivia beams, waving him over like an old friend. "Luke! Right on time. Come on in."
He walks toward the counter, his presence filling the small space, but he doesn't feel intimidating. He just is. Ethan straightens up beside me, his usual cocky smirk gone, replaced by a look of quiet alertness. I can feel my cheeks warming under his imposing, yet friendly, gaze. He extends a hand, a massive thing that swallows mine in a firm, warm shake.
"Olivia, always a pleasure," his voice is deep and resonant, like a rumble of thunder that never quite breaks. He pivots to us, his eyes genuine curiosity. "And you must be the new help. Luke Cage."
"Jessica," I manage, my voice barely a whisper. I feel a strange urge to open up, to share my story with this man. It's like he radiates a calm confidence that makes you feel safe.
"Jessica," he repeats, a slow smile spreading across his face. "Glad to meet you. What can I get for you?"
"Just a black coffee," I say, my hands moving automatically to the grinder. The beans whir to life, a comforting sound in the sudden quiet. I steady my pour, the dark liquid filling the cup. Luke leans casually against the counter, his eyes steady on mine.
"First day on the job, huh?" he asks, his voice laced with a gentle amusement. "Feels like yesterday I was figuring out how to fuel this whole operation. Harlem's got its own grind, you know? Coffee's the real fuel for a lot of us trying to make something of ourselves." He offers a smile, easy and genuine. My cheeks flush, but I find myself smiling back, my posture relaxing a fraction.
"Yeah, it's… it's a lot," I admit, my voice a little steadier now. "But I'm… I'm learning."
Ethan, meanwhile, is efficiently wiping down a nearby table, his movements quick and precise, but I catch him glancing our way, a watchful expression in his eyes. He's always observing, always calculating. It's one of the things that makes him, well, Ethan.
Luke collects his coffee, his massive hand dwarfing the simple mug. He drops a generous tip into the jar, his nod a silent acknowledgment. His gaze lingers on me for a moment longer, a look of genuine appreciation, before he turns and walks out with that same purposeful stride. The door chime fades, leaving a quiet hum in the air, and the scent of coffee. I look down at my hands, still feeling the phantom warmth of his handshake. He really is something else.
The last customer leaves, and the quiet hum of the espresso machine settles over the shop. I lean against the counter, a contented sigh escaping my lips. "He was so cool, Olivia," I gush, wiping down the already-clean surface with a little too much vigor. I even puff out my cheeks and flex my arms, trying to mimic Luke's imposing frame. "Like, the most regular, chill guy, but with this… presence, you know?"
Olivia laughs, a warm sound. "He's a good one, that Luke. Always has been. You two did great for your first day."
Ethan, who's been methodically restocking the pastry display, offers a noncommittal, "Yeah, he was alright." There's a slight edge to his voice, something I can't quite place, but I'm too buoyed by the day's success to dwell on it.
As we finish up, the rhythm of our movements harmonizes. Lights dim, aprons are hung neatly on their hooks, and I carefully pocket the tips, a satisfying weight in my palm. Olivia surveys the clean shop with a proud smile. "You two are naturals. Just remember to keep that smile on, even when the orders get crazy."
I nod, already looking forward to tomorrow. As Ethan heads for the door, I steal a glance at him. He's looking back at me, a faint smile on his lips, his eyes holding a mixture of curiosity and… something else. A warmth, perhaps. We're silhouetted against the streetlights filtering through the window, a quiet understanding passing between us, the air humming with the promise of what's to come.
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