Love, Lattes, and a Little Chaos

The Caramel Catastrophe

Emma Carter had exactly three goals for the morning: survive her shift, avoid setting anything on fire, and absolutely not spill coffee on another customer.

Two out of three wasn’t so bad, right?

"Order up! Caramel macchiato, extra whip!" she called out, placing the drink on the counter.

The moment she turned, her elbow smacked into the cup, launching it into the air like a caffeinated missile.

Time slowed.

Emma watched in horror as the drink flipped midair, its contents soaring toward the unfortunate target standing at the pickup counter—a man in a sharp navy-blue suit, checking his watch like he was timing the universe’s biggest inconvenience.

With an almost comical splat, the caramel macchiato landed squarely on his chest, dripping down his expensive-looking tie.

Silence.

Emma slapped a hand over her mouth. “Oh. My. God.”

The man, tall with tousled dark hair and the kind of jawline that belonged in cologne ads, exhaled slowly. He wiped a hand down his chest, flicking away the whipped cream.

Emma scrambled for napkins. “I am so, so sorry! It was an accident, I swear! You can yell at me. I deserve it.”

He didn’t yell. He didn’t even frown. He just lifted his gaze to hers—deep brown eyes filled with a mix of amusement and utter exasperation.

“This isn’t my drink,” he said flatly.

Emma blinked. “What?”

He pointed at the pickup counter. “I ordered a black coffee. No sugar. No whip. No caramel explosion.”

Oh, fantastic. Not only had she ruined some poor guy’s morning, but he was also one of those no-nonsense, zero-fun coffee drinkers.

Emma shoved napkins into his hand. “Okay, but technically, that means you’re not a paying customer for this particular mess, so—”

His brows lifted. “So I should be grateful?”

“…No?”

A long pause. Then, unexpectedly, his lips twitched—just barely.

Emma had the distinct feeling that if he wasn’t currently drenched in caramel, he might have actually laughed.

“Look,” she sighed, “I can comp your drink and pay for dry cleaning. Just… please don’t sue me.”

His head tilted. “Do people normally sue you?”

“…Not yet, but I wouldn’t blame you for being the first.”

He let out a quiet chuckle, shaking his head. “Forget it. Just get me my coffee.”

Emma whirled back to the espresso machine before she could make things worse. But as she worked, she couldn’t help sneaking a glance at him.

Who was this guy?

And why did she have the strangest feeling that this wasn’t the last time she’d be seeing him?

Emma prided herself on being a disaster, but even she had outdone herself this time.

The man—Mr. Tall, Dark, and Probably Annoyed—stood at the counter, patiently enduring his caramel-coated fate as she hurried to fix his order.

She fumbled with the coffee machine, her fingers moving faster than her brain. The last thing she needed was to mess up his drink twice.

With a deep breath, she handed him a fresh, properly sealed, non-exploding black coffee. “Here. One very safe, no-whip, no-fun coffee. On the house.”

He raised a brow. “I’m not sure ‘safe’ is in your skillset.”

Emma crossed her arms. “Wow. You get one caramel shower, and suddenly you’re a comedian?”

The corner of his mouth twitched again, but he didn’t outright smile. Instead, he took a slow sip of his coffee, like he was testing whether it would betray him too.

“Well?” Emma asked, tapping her fingers on the counter. “Did I at least get your life essence correct?”

He gave a small, approving nod. “It’s acceptable.”

Emma gasped, pressing a hand to her chest in mock offense. “Sir, I’ll have you know I make phenomenal coffee.”

“You make phenomenal messes,” he corrected.

“Wow. The audacity.” She shook her head, but there was no actual irritation behind it. If anything, she was way too intrigued by this guy for her own good.

Just as she was about to say something witty and probably embarrassing, her manager, Linda, appeared behind her with the force of a thunderstorm.

"Emma," Linda said, arms crossed. “You’re needed in the back.”

Translation: She was in trouble.

Emma grimaced. “Oh, come on, it was just a tiny accident—”

Linda tilted her head toward the man, who was still standing there, looking far too amused for someone who had just been drenched in caramel.

Emma sighed. “Okay, fine, a medium-sized accident.”

Linda wasn’t impressed.

Emma turned back to the man. “Well, Mr. Mystery Coffee Guy, it’s been an honor ruining your morning.”

He took another sip of his coffee. “It’s been… memorable.”

With that, she grabbed a rag to clean up her mess and disappeared into the back room, already dreading whatever lecture was coming her way.

What she didn’t see was the way the man lingered for a moment longer than necessary, his gaze flickering back toward where she had disappeared.

Something about this chaotic barista was… interesting.