Coffee

The disabled toilet was cramped but serviceable, and Ellen made it work.
She scrubbed storm grime from her skin with watery soap, splashed her face, and dried off with paper towels that felt like cardboard. It was not a shower, but it was enough to feel human again.
Her hair was a lost cause. She bent under the hand dryer, blasting it into a frizzing halo, then wrestled the worst knots out with her fingers before tying it into a rough French plait. Good enough.
Clean jeans. Soft cardigan. Wet clothes rolled tight and buried in the bottom of her bag.
She looked at herself in the scratched mirror and tried a smile. It barely showed up.
A fresh start. Maybe.
She unlocked the door and stepped back out.

The bar looked wrong in the early morning light.
Without the noise and bodies, it felt smaller. Tired. Like a stage after the audience had gone home.

Seth moved behind the counter with quiet, careful efficiency. Glasses clinked. The dishwasher hummed.
He looked up as she approached and slid a mug toward her. A plate of chocolate-chip cookies already sat there waiting.

“I made you coffee.”

She sat and wrapped her hands around it, soaking in the warmth.

“Your bags are in the boiler room,” he added. “They were soaked. I left them to dry.”

“That’s kind of you,” she said. “Thanks.”

He gave a small nod and went back to wiping the counter.

Ellen took a sip. Her expression said what her words did not.

“Something wrong with the coffee?” Seth asked, watching her.

She forced a smile. “No, it’s fine,” she said a little too quickly.

He raised an eyebrow. “Be honest.”

She gave up with a quiet nervous laugh and set the mug down. “Tastes a little... strange. Sorry.” Why was she laughing? Maybe the drink had been spiked. Great. Serves her right for accepting drinks from strangers.

A faint smile touched his mouth. “Strange?”

She swirled the mug like a wine expert and sniffed it. “Yeh, kinda weak too.” A beat. “And stale. Maybe the machine needs cleaning? Like the portafilter’s been ignored.”

“Portafilter,” Seth repeated, trying the word out. He glanced at the machine, then back at her. A small shrug. “I’ve never made coffee before. I’ve never actually worked at a bar.”

Mug in hand, she raised it and toasted the air in front of her. “Mmm, yesterday’s coffee. Thanks.” She smiled at Seth. “Full marks for effort.”

His grin flashed, quick and genuine, oblivious to the sarcasm. “Thank you.”

“I could show you how to use it properly,” she offered. “For helping me earlier... in the alley.”

He considered that. “Yes,” he said, a flicker of boyish eagerness in his voice. “I’d like that.”

She felt oddly at ease.

It didn’t last.

A sharp voice cut across the bar. The TV above them flickered to life.

“...a patient has escaped from Sunny Meadow Mental Hospital during the night,” a reporter said. “He is considered extremely dangerous. Do not approach—”

A bearded man’s photo filled the corner of the screen. Hollow eyes. No emotion.

“—Police have provided a sketch of what he may look like without facial—”

The screen changed.
The music channel appeared. The atmosphere of the bar instantly transformed into something upbeat and less serious.

Ellen turned. Seth stood behind the bar with the remote in his hand.

“What are you doing?”

He set it down casually. “Enough negativity for one day. Music makes things better.”

He smiled.
It didn’t reach his eyes.

A cold prickle ran down her spine.

“Right,” she muttered. “Music.” I’ve definitely been drugged by this weirdo.

Seth hummed and went back to work, stacking glasses, wiping the counter. Calm. Precise. Unbothered.

“So,” she said, folding her arms, “why are you working here? You’ve got zero bar experience. Jack doesn’t usually hire amateurs.”

“It felt like the right place to be,” Seth said.

“That’s not an answer.”

A beat. He met her eyes. “No. It isn’t.”

She huffed. “What were you doing before this?”

His gaze drifted, just for a second. Then nothing.

“You don’t have to tell me your life story,” she said quickly. “You just don’t seem like a bartender type.”

Silence.

“Fine,” she said, leaning on the bar. “Why did you help me in the alley? Most people wouldn’t mess with the police. You did.”

This time he reacted. His focus sharpened.

“I didn’t like what I saw,” he said.

“And what exactly did you see?”

Seth held her gaze. “I see more than most people. I saw enough. You don’t deserve to be treated like that.”

Something in his certainty made her throat tighten. She forced a lighter tone.

“And how do you think I should be treated?”

He paused, searching for the words. “With care. With patience. A man should look after a woman... not because she’s weak. Because she deserves to be.” His eyes settled on hers. “You deserve to be.”

She let out a small, uneasy laugh. “And are you that guy, Seth? The one who’s going to look after me?”

“Maybe,” he said. “I could be.”

She smiled, half shy, half unsure why she was even flirting with a man she barely knew.

He tilted his head. “What’s funny about that? I think I could look after someone. Especially if she looked after me. Isn’t that how it should be?”

The air between them thickened.

The bar door creaked open, letting in a gust of cool air.

A tall, thin woman strode in like she was stepping onto a runway instead of into a half-empty pub. Heels sharp on the floor. Heavy floral perfume rolled in with her.
Leopard-print blouse. Red lipstick. Eyeliner thick enough to cast a shadow.

Her eyes locked onto Seth.

“Good morning, honey!” she called brightly.

Seth looked up, calm as ever. “Good morning, Tracy.”

“Sorry I’m late!” She laughed loudly. “One of those mornings, you know?”

“No,” Seth said pleasantly, “I don’t. But I’d love to hear about them.”

She blinked, thrown for a second, then laughed again and patted his shoulder. “You are funny! Never change.”

“I’ll try not to,” he said. “But really, what are those mornings like?”

“Huh? Oh, never mind.” She waved it off. “You opened up okay by yourself?”

“Yes. I opened up, took out the trash, emptied the dishwasher, and now Ellen is teaching me how to use the coffee machine.”

Tracy’s eyes narrowed. “Wait. Ellen?”

Ellen turned on her stool. “Morning, Tracy.”

Tracy’s smile faltered, then snapped back into place. “Oh! I thought you were a customer. What are you doing here? You’re not on till tonight, sweetie.”

“I know,” Ellen said evenly. “Just killing time.”

“Why not do that at home? You and... what’s his name... Tim, have a row?”

“Tod.”

Tracy glanced at Seth.

“She’s locked out,” he said smoothly. “Waiting for the locks to be changed. Thought she’d teach me about coffee.”

“Teaching you about coffee, huh.” Tracy’s smile tightened. “Well, I hope you’re not expecting to get paid for this little day shift, Ellen. You’re already working tonight. You’ll be exhausted.”

Ellen hesitated.

Tracy wasn’t wrong. She needed the money, even if it meant dragging herself through a triple shift on fumes.

Seth stepped in before she could answer. “She’s just lending a hand while she’s here.”

Tracy’s smile tightened. “Well, how generous. Shame day shifts are dead. No one comes in till evening.”

Ellen glanced at the empty bar and said nothing.

“Dead or not,” Seth said, “it’s a good time to learn. Right, Ellen?”

She nodded. “By tonight he’ll be a pro.”

“Sure he will, sweetie.” Tracy gave Seth a playful slap on the shoulder and clicked off toward the back office, perfume lingering behind her.

When she was gone, Ellen looked at Seth. “Thanks. For the locksmith story.”

“I heard you in the alley,” he said. “Talking about your boyfriend.”

“Oh.” So that was how he knew.

The bar settled back into quiet, the espresso machine humming softly.

“You said you’d teach me,” Seth said.

“Right.” She stepped behind the bar and waved him over.

She showed him the grinder. “Timing matters. Too much coffee, it’s bitter. Too little, it’s weak.”

“You enjoy this,” he said.

She paused. “Making coffee?”

“Yes.”

A small smile slipped out. “Yeah. I do.”

“Why?”

She tamped the grounds. “Because it’s simple. Follow the steps, it works. No surprises.”

“That must be comforting.”

“It is.” She handed him the portafilter. “Your turn.”

He fitted it in, careful, watching her more than the machine. His fingers brushed hers. She pulled her hand back a little too quickly.

“Press the button.”

The machine hissed to life. Coffee streamed into the cup.

“I like this,” he said.

“Making coffee?”

“No. Watching you make coffee.”

Heat rose to her face before she could stop it.

He studied her. “I have a spare room. The landlord wants another lodger. I could put your name forward.”

The offer landed between them.

“That’s... kind,” she said carefully. The memory of him switching off the news flashed in her mind. “I’ll think about it.”

Seth smiled faintly, not pressing the matter. “Okay,” he said.

Ellen stared at him, unsure of whether to feel reassured or wary. For now, she decided she’d focus on surviving the next two shifts.