The door chimed as Declan followed Mason into the coffee shop, and warmth wrapped around him after the chill outside. The scent hit him immediately. Espresso, steamed milk, caramel, and a hint of citrus. It swept through the residue of the morning, clearing out the musty dust and the stale weight of forgotten memories they had stirred up inside the old house.
Mason talked as they stepped in, brushing cold from their jackets. Declan responded when needed, the rhythm of the conversation familiar, but his mind was still caught on the walk through. Misaligned joints, uneven trim, costs stacking in quiet, inevitable columns.
He took a few more steps.
Then he looked up, and the woman behind the counter looked up at the same moment.
The jolt was subtle but solid, a spark tugging low in his chest. Her eyes caught his and held. He felt something settle and shift inside him before he pulled his gaze away.
He forced his focus to the menu overhead, on coffee, on the normal, simple, everyday acts.
The chalkboard words blurred for a moment before they came into focus. Mason nudged him, continuing their conversation with the same easy confidence he always carried. Declan answered without pulling his gaze from the menu, his replies landing out of habit more than intention.
They reached the counter.
She was tapping at the register, smoothing her apron with one hand. He noticed the small details first: the way she leaned slightly forward, the tiny crease between her brows as she concentrated. Then she lifted her head.
Their eyes met again.
Green… moss green, soft at the edges, deeper at the center.
The kind of color that made him think of forest shade and quiet places.
This time, the moment held, calm and steady, drawing him in without warning. He did not brace for the feeling because he had not expected it. Something in his chest pulled tight, the awareness settling deeper.
"Welcome in," she said softly.
Mason ordered first, large and sweet and exactly like him. Declan tuned in just enough to answer when Mason's story required it, still responding, still engaged on the surface. But underneath, his focus stayed fixed on her.
She turned to him. "And for you?"
He hesitated, a small pause he could not hide.
His gaze dipped to the dragonfly pendant at her collarbone, silver catching the light. His breath caught.
He forced his gaze back to her eyes. Mossy green waited there, clear and open. He swallowed hard, the movement sharp at the back of his throat.
"Just… coffee," he said quietly.
Mason stepped in with a correction, cheerful and habitual. Declan turned just enough to give a tight reply. Mason tossed something back, the shorthand of years, and Declan answered again before looking back at her.
She smiled while entering the order, soft and a little amused. And her fingers brushed the pendant, thumb and forefinger closing around the charm. She slid it side to side in two short, almost unconscious motions. The kind of gesture someone made when steadier hands betrayed an unspoken feeling.
The moment stretched, and Declan felt the shift inside his chest, quiet and unmistakable, anchoring itself before he could stop it.
Declan's gaze stayed locked on the pendant long after her fingers stopped moving it. Something about the tiny silver charm held him in place, steadier than he felt. He did not realize his stare had lingered until her hand dropped abruptly and she cleared her throat.
A flush of color rose along her cheekbones, and something shifted in the air around them. Declan realized too late that Mason had gone quiet beside him. The woman at the espresso machine was openly staring. And the woman at the register was looking at him with wide, uncertain eyes.
He had been staring far too long.
He masked the slip with a tight, polite smile. "Sorry. How much do I owe you?"
She told him the total, voice softer now, and Declan reached for his wallet. The fingers of his right hand slid his card free.
Her reaction hit instantly, a sharp inhale that was barely audible but unmistakable.
Her gaze locked to his right hand as if the sight of it had shocked something out of her.
Her eyes widened, moss green going brighter and sharper, and for a heartbeat she simply stared, frozen. Declan glanced down, following her line of sight, and saw nothing unusual. His card between two fingers. Knuckles scarred from work. Nothing that should have frightened anyone.
He looked back up.
She jerked her gaze away quickly, pretending to refocus on the register, but her fingers fumbled on the touchscreen, tapping the wrong button first, correcting it with a shaky breath.
Declan swiped his card through the reader, and she flinched again at the movement.
He frowned, the knot forming low in his stomach tightening. What had she just assumed?
"Your drinks will be ready at the end," she said quietly, without meeting his eyes.
Declan stepped aside, unsettled, and Mason moved past him with a grateful grin toward the barista steaming milk. Declan followed him to a small table in the far corner, choosing a spot where he could still see the counter.
Mason set the cups down. "Alright," he said, sliding into his seat, "what's with you?"
Declan didn't answer at first. His eyes were on her again.
She brushed a strand of dark, plum-red hair behind her ear, but her movements were different now, guarded. She kept her face angled away from him, but every few seconds, her gaze flicked back toward him like she was checking to see if he was still looking.
And each time their eyes almost met, she looked away as if burned.
Mason nudged him with a knuckle. "Sheesh. You are staring."
Declan made a low sound, quiet but sharp. "Drop it."
Mason froze. No teasing tone this time. "Sorry."
Their conversation shifted to estimates and supplies, the familiar rhythm settling between them, but Declan's attention drifted again and again toward the counter.
Toward her.
He studied her as subtly as he could while Mason talked. Curvy, with a graceful strength that carried through her movements. Plum-dark hair pulled back but still escaping in soft waves. Moss green eyes he could not seem to forget.
And every so often, she checked on him with quick, nervous glances, and Declan's chest tightened, wondering what he had done to frighten her.
Mason dragged Declan's attention back to the notepad between them with a pointed tap of his pen. Declan blinked, then forced his focus down to the page. Numbers. Measurements. Timelines. Material lists. The familiar rhythm grounded him in a way nothing else had managed to that morning.
He let himself sink into it, the structure of the work steadying him until everything else faded to the edges.
A loud growl erupted from his stomach, loud enough that Mason paused mid-sentence and lifted an eyebrow. "You sound like you haven't eaten in days."
Declan checked the time. After twelve, and he hadn't had breakfast.
He pushed his hand across his stomach once, as if that would quiet it, then scanned the coffee shop instinctively. Customers chatting, a couple of people packing up laptops. Steam hissing from the espresso machine. His gaze swept from the corner tables to the pastry case, then to the bar. Three baristas were still working: the girl steaming milk, a younger woman at the register, and a young guy wiping tables.
But not her. She was nowhere.
Declan's chest tightened before he could stop it.
As he scanned the shop again, the barista working the espresso machine caught his eye. Her expression shifted instantly, almost angry. A sharp, pointed glare leveled straight at him.
Declan held her gaze for a fraction of a second, unreadable and steady, then pulled his eyes away. The discomfort prickled under his skin, but he refused to let it show. He had no idea what that look was for, and he did not let himself care enough to ask.
He turned back to Mason as if nothing had happened.
Mason cleared his throat. "Alright. Lunch. Before your stomach starts yelling at the whole county."
They gathered their notes and stepped into the cool spring air. The diner a few doors down was warm and familiar, the kind of place where the tables wobbled and the fryers never got a day's rest.
Mason slid into a booth. Declan followed, though his mind was already drifting back to their plans and the pile of work waiting for him. The waitress came by, pen poised, and Mason rattled off his usual without hesitation.
Declan closed the menu. "To go," he said. "I need to get back and start inputting everything."
Mason didn't argue. He had seen this pattern too many times.
By the time Declan stepped back into the parking lot with a warm paper bag in hand, his thoughts had already shifted into work mode. He said goodbye to Mason, climbed into his truck, and pulled onto the road.
The coffee shop slid past on his right, and he did not let himself look inside. He did not look for her.
He pushed her out of his mind and focused on the renovation tasks ahead. He had estimates to enter, budgets to finalize, a timeline to clean up, and a full project review waiting for him tomorrow morning.
He gripped the steering wheel a little tighter and forced his thoughts back where they belonged, to the house and to the job.
Anywhere but moss green eyes, a silver dragonfly pendant, and a woman who had looked at his hand as if it meant something he didn't understand.