Unpretty Me

Now Brewing #10: Isla Fades Away

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It had been three days since Jenny's unexpected arrival at That's So Brewed, and something about the café felt... off. The usual spark that made the place warm and vibrant had dimmed, and Luke couldn't quite figure out what had changed.

Well, that wasn't entirely true. He knew exactly what had changed.

Isla.

His sharp-tongued, ever-witty barista had seemingly pressed the mute button on her entire personality. Gone were the playful insults, the cheeky eye rolls, and the coffees she used to place at his desk with a knowing smirk. Instead, she'd transformed into a ghost of herself—polite but distant, like a customer-service robot on low battery.

And Luke hated it.

Isla shuffled around the counter, barely engaging with the regulars. She wasn't her usual animated self, cracking jokes about how they took their coffee. When Marco ordered his "double shot of caffeine with a splash of existential crisis," she just gave him a half-hearted smile. Normally, that kind of order would've earned him a snarky comment.

Even Bea, queen of gossip and emotional radar, noticed. "Isla, you okay?" she asked while they restocked syrup bottles.

"Yeah," Isla mumbled, not meeting her friend's eyes. "Just... tired."

But tired wasn't the word for it. Isla felt deflated—like someone had sucked the joy right out of her, and that someone was a goddess in a red sundress with hair shinier than car wax.

Bea gave her a knowing look but decided to drop it. She wasn't one to pry. Besides, everyone had their off days, right?

Luke leaned against the café counter, nursing a latte he didn't remember ordering. He watched Isla flit from one task to another with mechanical precision, like a wind-up toy going through the motions.

He missed the way she used to tease him about calling her the wrong name. He even missed how she roasted his choice of socks. Now, the silence was deafening.

When Isla passed by without acknowledging him—no smirk, no playful jab, not even a glance—Luke cleared his throat.

"Uh, Isabelle?"

Isla's grip tightened around the tray she was holding, but she didn't correct him. She just gave him a nod, mumbled, "Yep," and walked away.

That's when Luke knew something was seriously wrong. Isla not correcting him was like coffee without caffeine—unnatural, unsettling, and wrong on every level.

Later that day, Luke sat in his usual corner of the café, staring into the murky depths of his Americano like it held the answers to life's biggest mysteries. For the first time in forever, coffee tasted... hollow.

Emma plopped down across from him, sipping her own drink. "So... what's up with Isla?"

Luke shrugged, but it wasn't a casual shrug. It was the kind of shrug that came from a man genuinely concerned but too stubborn to admit it. "Dunno. She's been acting weird since... you know, Jenny came by."

Emma raised a brow. "You think it's because of Jenny?"

Luke exhaled, leaning back in his chair. "Maybe. I don't know."

Emma tilted her head, studying him. "Do you like Isla?"

The question caught Luke off guard. "What? No. I mean—" He fumbled. "She's just... fun. And things are different now, and I don't like it."

"Hmm." Emma's grin was knowing, like she had the whole universe figured out. "Sounds like you might like her more than you think."

Luke didn't reply. Instead, he sipped his coffee, wondering how everything had gone so off course—and why the idea of Isla being unhappy bothered him so much.

In the meantime, Isla was spiraling. Big time.

Ever since Jenny's surprise visit, her brain had been running on overdrive. She couldn't shake the image of Luke and Jenny rekindling whatever flame they once had.

And why wouldn't they? Jenny was perfect—tall, gorgeous, polished, and shiny-haired. Meanwhile, Isla was... Isla. A curvy, sarcastic barista with a plush mermaid named Marina.

How could she compete with someone like Jenny? She'd just be a third wheel in their picture-perfect romance, a side character in a story that didn't belong to her.

So, she did the only thing she could think of: she slowly started fading away. If she wasn't in Luke's spotlight, she wouldn't get burned.

The shift in Isla didn't go unnoticed by the customers either.

"Where's that barista with the sass?" one regular asked.

"I miss her jokes," another complained. "She made the mornings fun."

Even Marco and Bea noticed the change. Marco nudged Isla during a lull. "Where's your usual sparkle, huh? Did you leave it at the team building?"

Isla forced a smile. "It's around here somewhere."

But inside, she knew exactly where her sparkle had gone—it had drowned in the tidal wave of insecurity Jenny's visit had stirred up.

By the end of the week, Luke was frustrated. Not with Isla—never with Isla—but with the distance she'd put between them.

He missed her—the real Isla.

The Isla who snarked at his terrible memory. The Isla who made him laugh with her weird sense of humor. The Isla who brought him coffee without asking and managed to make the simplest moments feel... lighter.

And maybe—just maybe—he missed her more than he realized.

Jenny's words echoed in his mind: "Sometimes, the things we're looking for are right under our noses."

Was Isla the thing he'd been looking for all along?

Determined to fix whatever had gone wrong, Luke decided to approach Isla before closing time.

He found her wiping down the counter, her movements slow and robotic. She didn't even glance up when he leaned against the bar.

"Hey, uh... Irma?"

Isla froze but didn't correct him.

Luke shifted awkwardly. "Look, I don't know what's going on, but... I miss you. I mean..." He fumbled. "I miss the you who used to call me out on my terrible memory and make fun of my socks."

Isla bit her lip, fighting the urge to smile. But she wasn't ready to let him off the hook just yet. "What's the matter, Boss? Your ego missing its daily dose of sarcasm?"

Luke grinned, relieved to see a flicker of the old Isla. "Exactly. And honestly, I kind of deserve it."

Isla rolled her eyes, but there was a hint of warmth behind it. "Yeah, you do."

It wasn't a full reconciliation, but it was a start—a small crack in the wall Isla had built around herself. And for Luke, that tiny glimmer of hope was enough to keep him going.

Because if there was one thing he knew for certain, it was this:

He didn't want to live in a world where Isla wasn't Isla.

Andmaybe, just maybe, he was ready to figure out what that meant.

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