Unpretty Me

Now Brewing #01: Coffee, Chaos & the Wrong Name

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The door chime at That's So Brewed jingled as Isla Abalos bustled behind the counter, setting up the espresso machine for what she knew would be another hectic day. The soothing smell of coffee beans grinding filled the air, which, in her opinion, was the only thing keeping this chaotic job remotely tolerable.

She straightened her apron, adjusted the plastic name tag pinned lopsidedly to her chest, and stared at the morning crowd assembling outside like caffeine-deprived zombies. Another day, another battle.

And then he walked in—Luke Bautista, the owner of That's So Brewed, walking like he owned the place. (Okay, technically he did own the place, but still.) Luke had the effortless swagger of a man who woke up looking like a GQ model without trying.

He was the kind of handsome that could ruin your morning concentration. Messy hair that looked like he ran his hand through it once and thought, Good enough. A jawline so sharp it could slice through a croissant. And that dangerous combination of charm and laid-back attitude that made you believe he'd show up at your door with both flowers and bad decisions.

Isla, of course, was immune to none of this. Unfortunately, her brain had developed a nasty habit of turning to mashed potatoes whenever Luke was around.

"Good morning, Irma!" Luke greeted cheerfully, flashing his annoyingly perfect smile.

Isla groaned internally. Irma?! Seriously? Out of all the names he could've mixed hers up with, Irma was somehow the most tragic. It sounded like the name of an elderly cat lady who hosted bingo nights in her garage.

"Not Irma," Isla muttered under her breath as she pulled a shot of espresso. "For the fifth time this week."

But Luke either didn't hear her or was too absorbed in scrolling through his phone to care. He leaned lazily against the counter like a man with all the time in the world.

"So, Isabelle," he said, completely unaware that he'd just switched to yet another incorrect name. "How's everything running today?"

Isla stopped mid-pour, blinking at him. "Do you mean Isla? Or are you just cycling through random names until one sticks?"

Luke grinned unapologetically. "Ah, right! Isla! I was close."

"No, you weren't." She rolled her eyes but couldn't stop a small smile from tugging at the corner of her mouth. There was something infuriatingly charming about his inability to remember her name. It wasn't malicious; it was just... Luke. He was like a golden retriever in human form—earnest, forgetful, and impossible to stay mad at for long.

Luke drummed his fingers on the counter, oblivious to the minor identity crisis he was causing. "So, Isla, any weird customer requests today? Or are people behaving for once?"

"Oh, you know," Isla said, waving a hand. "The usual. Someone asked for 'extra-hot iced coffee.' Another lady wanted a cappuccino 'with just the foam,' like we could somehow bottle air."

Luke chuckled. "Classic."

Isla swore he had one of those laughs that could turn a bad day around. Too bad he used it to laugh at her suffering.

The morning crowd had begun to trickle in, and Isla switched into barista mode, steaming milk and pulling espresso shots with the efficiency of someone who had long accepted that chaos was part of the job.

Just as she handed a perfectly foamed latte to a customer, disaster struck.

Luke leaned closer to inspect the new chalkboard menu she had written that morning. "You spelled 'macchiato' wrong, Isa."

It wasn't a big deal, but the way he said "Isa" made Isla's brain momentarily short-circuit. She tried to play it cool, but her hand wobbled, and the next thing she knew, she was spilling half a cappuccino all over the counter—and Luke's shirt.

"Oh, shoot! I mean—crap! I mean—ugh!" Isla scrambled for napkins, her face burning with embarrassment.

Luke glanced down at the foamy mess spreading across his black button-down. Instead of being annoyed, he let out a low chuckle. "And this is why I wear black."

"Sorry! I wasn't—ugh—it just slipped!" Isla babbled, frantically blotting at his chest with a wad of paper towels. Unfortunately, the more she dabbed, the more inappropriate it felt. Her hand was practically massaging his pecs at this point. Abort mission!

Luke gently took the napkins from her. "I got it, Isa. Don't worry."

"It's Isla!" she burst out, her patience finally snapping. "Not Irma, not Isabelle, not Isa—Isla! Eye-luh. Like an island, but without the 'n'!"

Luke raised his hands in surrender, still grinning. "Got it, got it. Isla. Won't happen again."

But Isla knew better. It would absolutely happen again. If Luke Bautista had one talent (besides owning multiple businesses and looking criminally attractive), it was getting her name wrong.

The door jingled again, and a flood of new customers entered the shop, cutting their conversation short. Isla forced herself to refocus, though her cheeks still burned from the cappuccino incident.

She worked through the morning rush like a pro, but the fluttery feeling in her chest refused to go away. Damn Luke and his golden-retriever-who-accidentally-ate-your-homework charm. She didn't want to like him. Liking your boss was a bad idea. Liking your boss who couldn't even remember your name? A disaster waiting to happen.

But try as she might to fight it, she couldn't stop herself from glancing at him every now and then. There he was, sipping a fresh cup of coffee (which she made as an unspoken apology) and scrolling through his phone with that easy, carefree smile.

If only he weren't so... Luke.

Later that afternoon, Isla took her break and headed to the back room, where she could breathe without the weight of a dozen caffeine orders pressing down on her soul. She pulled out her phone and opened her SirenAngel account, checking for messages.

Unsurprisingly, there was one from LukeTheFluke.

LukeTheFluke: "Question: If a coffee cup is half-full, is that optimism or just poor barista skills?"

Isla laughed, her heart doing that annoying fluttery thing again. She knew she shouldn't like him—she really shouldn't. But the way he could make her laugh even on the most stressful days was dangerous.

SirenAngel: "That depends. Did the customer leave a tip?"

LukeTheFluke: "Touché. You're too good at this."

She smiled, feeling a little lighter. At least in this space—hidden behind her anonymous account—she could be her true self without worrying about cappuccino accidents or forgotten names.

For now, she is happy with LukeTheFluke—a charming stranger she could banter with, without the messiness of real life getting in the way.

But deep down, she knew the two worlds couldn't stay separate forever.

And when they collided?

Well, that was a disaster she'd deal with later. For now, she had coffee to make, chaos to manage, and a boss who—despite everything—made her heart skip more beats than she'd like to admit.

And maybe, just maybe, she didn't mind so much after all.

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