The Bean Scene smelled like espresso, cinnamon, and mild despair. Mostly mine.
It was a quiet Thursday morning, the kind of day that dragged its feet through the hours. The indie playlist hummed softly in the background—some acoustic version of a love song that was definitely mocking me—and the espresso machine hissed like it shared my attitude about life.
If someone had told me two months ago that I'd be making foam hearts while recovering from heartbreak, I'd have laughed. Now I was doing both with equal mediocrity.
"Your hearts are starting to look more like deflated balloons," said Marco, my coworker and part-time philosopher.
"That's the vibe," I muttered, swirling the milk a little too aggressively. "Tragic and undercaffeinated."
He leaned on the counter, raising an eyebrow. "Rough week?"
I shot him a look. "I've had smoother breakups with Wi-Fi."
He chuckled, pushing his curls from his forehead. "That bad, huh?"
"Let's just say I've achieved the trifecta of post-breakup symptoms: insomnia, overthinking, and excessive pastry consumption."
"Hey, at least you're productive."
"Yeah," I said dryly, "my therapist would be so proud."
The door chimed, letting in a burst of cool air and the familiar sound of Stacy's voice. I didn't even have to look up.
"Barista girl! Brew me something that can fix emotional exhaustion and bad taste in men!"
I sighed. "We're out of miracles."
Stacy strutted in like she owned the place—bright pink coat, sunglasses indoors, and energy that screamed "main character." She slid onto her usual stool at the counter and grinned at Marco.
"Hey, sunshine. Still single?"
"Tragically," he said, unfazed.
"Good. Means I'm still winning."
I handed her a cappuccino with extra foam. "Here. It's got a heart. Try not to psychoanalyze it."
She peered down. "Aww, it's lopsided. Just like your love life."
I glared. "Too soon."
"Too real," she said cheerfully.
That was the thing about Stacy—she didn't do sympathy; she did reality checks with a side of sarcasm. And honestly, it worked.
"So," she said, stirring her drink like a villain plotting a coup, "how's post-Liam life treating you?"
"Oh, just thriving," I said. "I've replaced human affection with oat milk and podcasts about emotional healing."
She laughed. "At least oat milk doesn't cheat on you."
Marco snorted from behind the counter. "Do I want to know?"
"No," I said flatly.
"Yes," Stacy said at the same time.
I ignored her, focusing on cleaning the steam wand with unnecessary precision. "Anyway, we're not talking about him today. I've officially moved on."
"Moved on to what?" she asked. "Self-pity and caffeine dependency?"
"Better than moving on to his type again."
She sipped her coffee, eyes glinting. "You know what would help?"
"If you say 'a dating app,' I'm throwing this milk frother at you."
She grinned. "You should download one again. MeetMate, maybe. You can't hide from the world forever, Soph."
"I can," I said. "And I'm good at it."
"You're twenty-three, not eighty-three. You deserve fun. Or at least validation from a stranger with a jawline."
I rolled my eyes. "Stacy—"
"Nope," she said, waving a manicured hand. "We're not doing the hermit thing. I'll even help you make a profile. You're adorable and witty, and you know how to spell. That's already elite."
Marco leaned over. "She's got a point. You could do worse."
"Whose side are you on?" I asked.
"The side with entertainment value," he said, smirking.
"Traitor," I muttered.
The morning rush began trickling in—students hunched over laptops, retirees reading newspapers, the usual blend of caffeine addicts and hopeless romantics. I slipped into my rhythm, calling out orders and crafting lattes with distracted precision.
It wasn't glamorous, but it was safe. Predictable. The steady hum of the espresso machine and the low chatter wrapped around me like a blanket.
Then Mr. Harris, our perpetually grumpy manager, stomped out of the back room holding a clipboard like it had personally offended him.
"Alright, team," he barked. "Corporate's sending someone for a site review very soon. Big shot from Crawford Holdings. Be on your best behavior."
I blinked. "Crawford Holdings?"
Marco groaned. "Great. Another suit who'll tell us how to make coffee without ever touching a filter."
"Exactly," Harris said. "So no jokes, no flirting, no—whatever it is you do." He pointed at Stacy, who raised her hands in mock surrender.
"I'm just here for caffeine and chaos, boss man."
"Good," he grumbled. "Then cause less of both."
He disappeared back into the office, muttering about corporate budgets.
Stacy turned to me, brow raised. "Crawford Holdings? Isn't that…?"
"Yeah," I said, grimacing. "Liam's family's company."
She whistled. "Yikes. Universe really said 'you can't escape your ex.'"
"Fantastic," I said, deadpan. "Maybe I'll get a name tag that says Emotional Damage Served Fresh."
We laughed, but my stomach twisted. The Crawfords were practically local royalty. Liam used to brag about the family empire like it was his personal accomplishment—though, as far as I knew, his stepbrother ran everything now. I'd never met the guy, but Liam described him as "a robot in a suit."
Honestly, sounded like an improvement.
When Stacy finally left for her afternoon meeting, she hugged me tight and whispered, "Download the app, Soph. Not for them—for you."
I didn't answer. Just nodded.
After my shift, the café emptied out, and the sun spilled gold light through the windows. I stood behind the counter, staring at the foam hearts I'd practiced on leftover milk.
They still weren't perfect. But maybe they didn't have to be.
---
That night, I came home to a quiet apartment and the smell of coffee was still clinging to my hair. My phone buzzed—a text from Stacy.
Stacy: still thinking about it? 😉
Me: thinking about sleep.
Stacy: liar. Download it.
I didn't reply. Instead, I curled up on the couch with a blanket and a mug of tea, watching the city lights flicker outside my window.
Maybe she was right. Maybe moving on didn't mean forgetting someone—it just meant choosing something new.
I wasn't ready to swipe right on anyone yet. But maybe, just maybe, I was ready to stop swiping left on life.