Chapter 9 - Sunday Morning Espresso
The next morning, the bell above the café door chimed with its familiar, cheerful ring.
It was Sunday at 8:00 AM. The morning rush hadn't started yet, and the café smelled of freshly ground Ethiopian beans and warm cinnamon rolls.
Maya stood behind the counter, wiping down the stainless-steel surface with a damp cloth, humming softly to herself. The front page of the Seattle Chronicle lay folded on the counter beside the register, featuring a prominent financial section headline: LOCAL REAL ESTATE MAGNATE ARRESTED IN MULTI-MILLION DOLLAR FEDERAL RAID.
Down in the corner, a smaller photograph showed a sleek black sedan leaving the scene.
The café door opened, letting in a brisk, clean draft of morning air.
Maya looked up, expecting the usual Sunday regulars from the neighborhood bookstore.
Instead, it was Mason Reed.
He wore a dark wool coat over a simple black sweater, looking as immaculate and unbothered as he did every single day. He walked straight to the counter, stopping two feet away, and placed a twenty-dollar bill on the wood.
“Good morning,” Maya said, her heart doing a familiar, traitorous flip in her chest. “Let me guess. Double espresso, black?”
“Actually,” Mason said, leaning his weight slightly against the counter, his slate-gray eyes warm and fixed entirely on her, “today I’d like a latte. And whatever pastry looks least likely to kill me.”
Maya laughed, reaching for a paper cup. “We have blueberry scones. They’re legal in three states and tolerated in the other forty-seven.”
“Put two in a bag,” Mason said.
As Maya punched the order into the register, she looked across the counter at him. The man who controlled shipping lanes, private security firms, and federal investigations was standing in a neighborhood coffee shop waiting for a pastry, looking completely, perfectly at home.
“You know,” Maya said, handing him his ceramic cup of espresso across the wood, “the regulars still think you’re just an investor who works in software.”
“Let’s keep it that way,” Mason replied, taking a slow sip of the coffee. “The Wi-Fi here is exceptional, and nobody asks me about my retirement portfolio.”
May you like
Maya rested her elbows on the counter, a bright, unapologetic smile spreading across her face. “Deal. But you’re still wiping down your own table when you’re done.”
Mason Reed smiled back—a real, unfiltered smile that chased away every shadow of the boardroom and the battlefield. “Fair terms, Maya. Absolutely fair terms.”
