Page 37 of Tides of Discovery
“I can help,” he repeated and shrugged off his jacket. “I don’t have any meetings until this afternoon. I’m not trained, but I’m a quick learner, and you look like you’re drowning.”
For a moment, I just stared at him, unable to process this unexpected lifeline. Then reality reasserted itself as the customer behind him cleared her throat pointedly.
“Jack, you have a job. I can’t ask you to?—”
“You’re not asking, I’m offering.” He moved around the counter as if he belonged there. “Put me to work, Cooper. What do you need?”
Relief crashed through me so intensely I nearly swayed on my feet. “You’re serious?”
“Dead serious. Now stop wasting time we don’t have.”
The decisiveness in his voice snapped me back into professional mode. “Register,” I said. “Take orders and payments. I’ll make the drinks.”
Jack nodded, washed his hands at the sink, donned an apron, and stepped up to the register. I addressed the waiting customer. “Sorry for the delay. I promise we’ll get everyone taken care of.”
The woman smiled, more patient now that we were working on the issue. “No problem.”
I spent thirty seconds giving Jack a crash course on the POS—which, thankfully, he picked up quickly since he’d been inside its guts mere weeks ago. “Just enter the drinks here, sizes here, modifications here,” I explained rapidly. “The system calculates the total.”
“Got it,” Jack said with a confidence I desperately needed. “Go make coffee. I’ve got this.”
And, remarkably, he did. There were a few hiccups in the beginning—confusion over modifications, questions about heating pastries—but Jack adapted with astonishing speed. Within twenty minutes, we’d established a workable rhythm: Jack taking orders, handling payments, and serving pastries and breakfast sandwiches while I focused exclusively on drink preparation.
The line began to move again. Not as quickly as it would have with experienced staff, but steadily enough that customers stopped checking their watches and glancing at the door.
As the morning progressed, I caught glimpses of Jack’s interactions with customers. He’d always been friendly, though a bit socially awkward. But he relaxed around the regulars, and his natural warmth shone while he moved the line along. He remembered names after hearing them once, joked easily withthe college students, and showed infinite patience with those who took longer to find their payment cards.
“You knew Layla’s usual order?” I asked during a brief breather, impressed after I’d heard him confirm “the usual” with one of my longtime customers.
Jack shrugged. “I’ve been sitting in here watching you work for months, Coop. I pay attention.”
Something tender unfurled in my chest at that simple statement. He’d been paying attention. To my customers. To my work. To me.
The morning rush gave way to the mid-morning lull, giving us just enough time to restock and clean up the worst of the mess before the lunch crowd walked in. Jack navigated behind the counter with growing confidence. He anticipated needs before I voiced them and slid seamlessly into a supporting role as if he’d been working there for years instead of hours.
“You’re a natural at this,” I said as he handed me a clean milk pitcher just as I was reaching for one.
“Nah,” he replied with a grin. “I just have a good teacher.”
Our eyes met briefly, and something passed between us—a moment of connection that had nothing to do with coffee or customers and everything to do with our bargain. I’d been too busy to think about it all morning, but now the memory rushed back with startling clarity: Jack’s lips on mine, his hand in my hair.
The moment broke as a new wave of customers entered, the lunch rush beginning. We fell back into our rhythm, moving around each other in the confined space behind the counter with almost choreographed precision. When I needed space at the espresso machine, Jack instinctively stepped aside. When he needed access to the register, I shifted without being asked. We’d always been attuned to each other as friends, but this dance was something new and surprisingly intimate.
Lunch was in full swing when the bell above the door chimed. Mrs. Abernathy stepped up to the register and ordered a decaf vanilla latte. “You two make such a good team,” she said. “Like you’ve been working together for years.”
“I’m lucky to have a boyfriend who’s good in a crisis.” The words came out naturally, and the strange thing was, they didn’t feel temporary at all.
Jack glanced over at me. A fleeting look of surprise crossed his face before he grinned and turned back to the next customer. But that brief look spoke volumes.
The lunch rush peaked around twelve-thirty. A steady stream of orders kept us too busy for conversation beyond the necessities. Through my peripheral vision, I watched Jack work and noted the focused set of his jaw, the easy way he engaged with customers, the quick efficiency of his movements. I’d always thought Jack was amazing, but seeing him like this—competent and dedicated, rising to a challenge without complaint—added a new dimension to my appreciation.
This wasn’t just my comfortable best friend. This was someone I could rely on absolutely. Someone who saw a need and filled it without being asked. Someone who made a chaotic, stressful situation manageable through sheer force of will and adaptability.
Aaron arrived at one-thirty, and his gaze darted nervously around the shop. But Jack and I had the situation well in hand. The line was manageable, the equipment cleaned between rushes, and even the refrigerator restocked with milk.
“Whoa.” Aaron took in the scene. “I was expecting a disaster. You guys look like you’ve got everything under control.”
“All thanks to Jack.” I lifted my chin toward him. “He saved the day.”
