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“Someone’s cheerful today.”
You turn and look at your fellow barista, Josie. “Huh?”
The two of you are just a few hours away from finishing your shift at Doctor’s Orders, a small café tucked in the corner of one of the hospital atriums. You can lean over the counter, look up, and see the glass skylights high above you, along with ten floors of offices, patient rooms, and various departments.
Josie counts on her fingers. “You’ve been humming while you work. Dare I say there’s an actual pep in your step. Even that anesthesiologist with the awful hair piece couldn’t wipe that smile off your face.”
You shrug. “So? It’s been a nice day—quiet, nothing too crazy…”
But Josie won’t let it go, tapping her lips with one finger, her shiny turquoise nail polish gleaming under the fluorescent lights. “Let’s see… What could it be?”
You already know what she’s about to say and cringe. “Josie—”
“Ah, yes! It’s Wednesday.” She grins at you. “You get to see him today.”
Your cheeks grow warm as you stumble over words, trying to deny her pronouncement.
But it’s true. You’re head-over-heels for one of your regulars. Nevermind that the only conversations you have occur once a week and last for less than ten minutes.
Embarrassed, you smooth the front of your apron. “Yeah, well… Maybe you could use something to be happy about. I thought you were going to throw hot coffee at that nurse earlier. All she did was ask if we have pumpkin cream cold brew.”
Josie’s face pinches with disgust. “We’re not Starbucks.” She then looks over your shoulder, her wide smile returning in record time. “Well, would you look at that… Your loverboy is here…”
You resist the urge to turn around, frowning at her instead. “Stop it,” you hiss. “He’s not my—You’re ridiculous.”
She merely waves her hand at you, shooing you away as she begins to make a familiar drink. Like many of the hospital employees who rely on your tiny café for some much-needed caffeine, this customer always orders the same thing, his go-to fix: a French toast latte.
You take a breath, already smelling the maple, brown sugar, and cinnamon, and turn, facing the glass doors with a bright smile.
Reiner’s been coming here for two months now, but he’s still just as striking as the first time you saw him. Tall and broad, with golden hair that shines in the late afternoon sunlight. There’s a perpetual hint of scruff on his face, and as he walks up to the counter, he gives you that warm smile you’ve caught yourself daydreaming about.
“The usual?” you ask, and he nods, glancing over your shoulder.
“I’m that predictable, huh?” Reiner huffs out a laugh, and you find yourself wanting to hear the sound again and again.
You select the usual options on your touchscreen and shrug, trying to seem less flustered than you are. “There’s nothing wrong with knowing what you like.”
“What do you like?”
You’re momentarily thrown off by the question. You know he’s referring to your drink of choice—you know he is. But something in the way he says it makes you wish he were asking about other things, perhaps in an effort to get to know you a little better.
Mentally shaking yourself, you manage to reply, “I think it depends on the day. If I’m in a good mood, something simple, like a cappuccino. But if I need a pick-me-up, something sweet. Like, tooth-achingly sweet.”
Reiner inserts his credit card into the reader. “So, is today a cappuccino day, or—” He looks at the colorful chalkboard menu hanging on the wall behind you. “—a caramel apple cider day?”
You raise an eyebrow. “You think that’s the sweetest thing we serve?”
“With extra whipped cream and caramel.”
Your smile widens when you notice the playful tilt of his lips. “Cappuccino, for sure.”
Because it’s Wednesday. Because it’s the day you come in. Because you talk to me like I’m a person, not just some sentient vending machine.
Because when you look at me, it feels like standing in sunlight, and all I can think about is kis—
“I’m glad to hear that.” Reiner’s voice, so deep and kind, pulls you out of your own head, full of all the things you wish you could say.
You nod dumbly and wave as he walks off towards the elevators, reaching into his bag to retrieve what looks like a badge.
“My bet’s on volunteer.” Josie sidles up next to you and leans on the counter, propping her chin on one hand. “Maybe he reads to the elderly patients.”
You try to ignore how your heart seems to do a somersault at the mere thought of that. “Maybe,” you mutter, busying yourself with rearranging the already-tidy paper cups.
“Don’t tell me you’ve never wondered.” Out of the corner of your eye, you see Josie cross her arms and attempt to stare you down. When you continue to avoid her gaze, she sighs.
“You’re hopeless. Maybe I’ll just ask him next time.”
At that, your head whips up. “No.”
She scoffs. “Honey, mystery is all well and good. But I don’t know if I can stand here for another two months and watch you silently pine over that big hunk of man.”
Lucky for you, you’re saved from having to respond when two doctors approach, looking to be the standard level of exhausted.
You push Josie’s comments away until you’re sitting on your couch that evening, scrolling through Pinterest. For all intents and purposes, you’re trying to brainstorm ideas for new holiday-themed beverages. It’s late October, and soon, customers will want to swap their pumpkin-flavored drinks for something more festive.
But in reality, you’re mindlessly moving your thumb, eyes just barely taking in the aesthetically-pleasing latte foam art. Your brain is stuck on him. Surprise, surprise…
The idea of asking Reiner why he comes to the hospital each week feels strangely invasive. Sure, he could be a volunteer. But what if he’s visiting a sick relative? Or receiving some sort of treatment? The last thing you want to do is make him uncomfortable, prying into details about his life he hasn’t chosen to divulge.
You try to be satisfied with the small glimpses into his life that he’s offered up during your brief conversations. He’s a freelance writer who mostly works from home these days. He grew up here but moved away for a few years, only returning this past summer.
He enjoys gardening—says he finds it calming. He played football in high school but quit after he tore his ACL. While recovering, he found comfort in writing. He has a niece, Gabi. She’s a freshman at the nearby university, and they have lunch together from time to time.
He once brought you three large tomatoes, his first attempt at growing them. When he let it slip that his birthday had recently come and gone, you insisted that he take a chocolate cupcake on the house. When you commented on a book that was tucked under his arm one day, he offered it to you the following week, and you weren’t sure if the faint pink hue in his cheeks was a trick of the afternoon light or something else.
You’ve thought about just taking the plunge and asking him out. Of course you have. But you’re not used to putting yourself out there, and you’ve come to value your small interactions. If he said no, things would probably change. And if he said yes, they would definitely change. Either way, you’re not sure if you’re ready for that to happen, no matter how fast your heart beats when he’s around.
The next week, Reiner orders his usual coffee and tells you that he met Gabi’s boyfriend, Falco, several days ago.
“I think I scared him.”
You give him a skeptical look. “You, scary? Not possible.”
“Really?”
Too distracted with pumping brown sugar syrup into his latte to realize what you’re saying, you blurt out, “You’re like a golden retriever—big, sweet, friend… ly…” You trail off in abject horror as your brain finally catches up with your mouth.
You reluctantly peek up and find him leaning against the counter, his face closer than you anticipated. He looks amused.
“Sorry,” you murmur, reaching for a plastic lid and wishing the floor would open up and swallow you whole.
“Don’t be.” Reiner’s voice is quiet and reassuring. When you look at him, there’s a softness to his smile. His eyes briefly flicker to your lips before he blinks, clears his throat, and accepts his beverage. “See you later.”
It’s only after he’s gotten into the elevator that you realize you still need to return his book. I’ll catch him when he’s leaving. You nod to yourself and vow to use the time until then to calm your nerves. Definitely not replay that little glimpse of him staring at your lips. No, of course not…
A few minutes after six, he appears in the atrium, glancing at his watch as he strides towards the doors. But luckily, he catches sight of you waving at him and changes direction, his familiar smile replacing the look of intense distraction he wore.
“I meant to give this back earlier.” You hand him the book, fingers catching on the piece of paper sticking out of it. “And I wrote down some thoughts. Hope that’s okay. I saw your notes in the margins and felt inspired.”
His smile widens, and he opens his mouth to reply when—
“Hey, Reiner.” A tall, slender man walks over, placing a hand on your customer’s shoulder. His long dark hair is pulled into a messy knot, and you can see that his hands are scattered with scars, pale against his tan skin. A badge swings around his neck, but you can’t make out the words on it.
“Thanks for sharing today. I know it wasn’t easy, but I could tell it helped the others. We’re all really proud of how far you’ve come.”
When you glance at Reiner, he looks almost stricken, his eyes flitting to you before focusing on the man standing beside him. “Uh… Thanks, Eren. That’s… Thanks.”
The other man nods. “See you next week, okay?” He walks away, leaving the two of you in awkward silence.
Before you can figure out what to say—how to fix this, make him smile again, get rid of the deepening frown twisting his lips—Reiner gives you the quickest of glances and murmurs, “Sorry… I better go.”
And then he’s gone. You stand there for a few minutes, hoping he might change his mind and come back. You’ve never seen that look on his face before, and you’re worried.
Josie comes back from her break and immediately picks up on your distress. You tell her what happened—the other man’s words, Reiner’s reaction—and as you do, she types something on her laptop, the one currently playing acoustic versions of 80s pop songs at a pleasant background volume.
After some scrolling, she bites her lip. “Looks like I was wrong about him being a volunteer.” She points at the screen. “There’s a support group that meets here every Wednesday at five. It’s for vets with PTSD.”
You shake your head, not sure what to do with this information. You don’t want to hear it from Josie—you want to hear it from him, on his terms. But he looked so panicked. Embarrassed. Upset.
He wasn’t ready to tell you, but now you know.
“It doesn’t change anything.” It comes out soft, almost a whisper. “He can’t think I would—I would never judge him for that—I just want…” You feel tears prickling your eyes and press your palms against them.
Josie’s hands settle on your shoulders. “He might need some time. Who knows how the other people in his life have reacted to him telling them. And for you to find out like that…”
When you look up at her, she offers you a small smile. “I’ve seen the way he looks at you. He’ll be back. I’d bet money on it. You just have to be patient, okay?”
But when Reiner doesn’t show up the following week, or the one after that, you begin to lose hope. You try to muster as much enthusiasm as you can for your other regulars, but it feels like your heart is anchored in the pit of your stomach. Nothing can seem to fix it, not even the first real snow of the year, or the positive feedback you receive on your finally-finished seasonal drink menu.
On the third Wednesday, you take your break at six, ignoring Josie’s worried looks as you grab your coat—along with your way-too-sweet peppermint mocha—and slip out the side door. You sit on your usual bench in the tiny garden next to the parking lot, huddling in on yourself.
You’re so lost in thought that it takes you a moment to realize that someone’s saying your name. And when you look up, you’re startled to find Reiner’s hazel eyes looking back at you.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to…” He gestures back towards the hospital. “Your coworker—Josie—she told me you were out here, and I…” He hesitates. “Can I sit with you?”
You nod, a little too eagerly. “Yeah, of course.”
He sits down beside you, and even more so than you did from behind the café counter, you realize how tall and broad-shouldered he really is.
“What are you drinking?” He nods at your cup.
“Peppermint mocha—with extra chocolate sauce and whipped cream.”
“Ah…” He winces, recalling what that means for you. “Sorry I sort of… disappeared.”
He stares down at his hands, fingers clenching and unclenching as he quietly speaks. “I’ve only told a few people about group, and it, uh… didn’t go well—except with Gabi.”
He looks up, gazing out at the parking lot. “I was injured a couple years ago while deployed overseas. Honorably discharged. When I realized how bad off I was, I wanted to come back, be with my family. A friend of mine from high school works here—Bertholdt. He recommended the group, and so I started coming here…”
He glances at you. “That first day, I was nervous. I was putting off going upstairs, and I decided to get a coffee—distract myself. You…” He angles his body towards you, looking plaintive. “You were so kind to me. The day before, I had an argument with my mom, about my diagnosis, and I…”
He sucks in a breath. “You smiled at me. You were kind. You looked at me and saw me. It had been a while since I’d felt that. So I kept coming back. Talking with you… It made things feel easier. I’m really grateful. More than you know.”
“I’m glad you told me,” you murmur, after waiting to see if he would continue speaking. “And I’m sorry you’ve struggled so much.”
You hesitate for a moment, then place your hand atop his. He initially stiffens but soon relaxes, turning his palm right-side up, fingers wrapping around yours.
“You’ve made Wednesdays my favorite day,” you say, so quietly he has to lean in closer to hear you.
“I have?” When you nod, shyly glancing away, he chuckles. “I’m happy we have that in common.”
He says your name softly, tenderly, and it coaxes your head up. “I’m a mess,” he says, smiling apologetically. “Not nearly as good as you deserve. But can I… Do you have plans tonight?”
You huff. “You’re perfectly wonderful, Reiner Braun.” He looks surprised that you know his full name, and your cheeks warm. “What? I read the credit card slips. And I, uh… don’t have plans.”
He laughs again, his whole body seeming to relax. But his hand still tightly clasps yours. “Then can I take you to dinner? Maybe?”
You give his fingers a gentle squeeze. “More than maybe.”
He waits until your shift is over, sitting at a nearby table, reading a book. Well, attempting to read a book. More often than not, you catch him staring at you with a dreamy smile, seeming lighter than he has the whole time you’ve known him.
When you tell Josie where you’re headed after close, she shrieks with delight, throwing her arms around you before pulling her phone from her pocket. “Hold on—I just made twenty bucks, and I need to collect.”
You splutter helplessly. “I’m sorry, what?”
She barely gives you a glance. “Don’t worry, I’ll share. Maybe buy you a drink tomorrow so you can tell me all about your steamy little date.”
You hang up your apron, shaking your head. “You’re a menace.”
“I know.”
When you approach Reiner, he stands, shouldering his bag and smiling down at you. “Ready?”
“Mmhm. Do I get to know where we’re going, or is it a surprise?”
He rubs the back of his neck as the two of you approach the glass doors. “I was actually wondering… if I could cook for you? If you’re comfortable with that. No pressure or anything.”
Looking up at him, there’s no doubt—the pink in his cheeks is a faint blush. Your heart feels like it might actually burst.
“I’d love that.”
“Maybe breakfast for dinner,” he muses, visibly relieved by your response. He pulls his keys from his pocket. “French toast?”
The reference to his coffee order takes you by surprise and you laugh, catching sight of his pleased grin.
“Perfect.”