By the Book

Chapter Three: Unlikely Beginnings

The next day, I arrived at The Tattered Tome with purpose. My arms were loaded with a laptop bag, a box of hanging file folders, and two collapsible storage containers. It was early enough that the streets were quiet, the smell of fresh-baked bread wafting from the kitchen as I stepped into the café.

The bell chime announced my arrival, and Miles looked up from the espresso machine, where he was carefully steaming milk. He raised an eyebrow at the sight of me and my arsenal of supplies. 

"Well, well," he said, setting the milk pitcher aside. "Didn't expect to see you this enthusiastic about receipts and ledgers."

I set the containers down on one of the mismatched tables, brushing a stray strand of chestnut-brown hair from my face. It fell just past my shoulders, styled into soft waves—the kind that looked effortless but had actually taken twenty minutes with a curling wand that morning. It was my typical style, professional yet approachable, though a few stubborn pieces always managed to escape and frame my face no matter how carefully I styled them.

"Organizing chaos is my specialty," I said, adjusting the strap of my laptop bag. "And judging by what I saw yesterday, there's plenty of chaos to go around."

Miles chuckled, grabbing a clean mug and pouring the milk into it. "You weren't kidding about getting right to work."

"Nope," I said, pulling out my laptop and setting it on the table. "I've blocked off most of my day for this, except for a few meetings I'll need to step out for in the afternoon. I'm tackling this mess head-on."

He placed the mug on the counter with a flourish, steam curling upward in delicate swirls. "Lemon-lavender latte to fuel your efforts?"

I gave him a skeptical look, my eyebrow arching. "I don't do sugar."

Miles's grin widened as he leaned casually against the counter, clearly undeterred. "It's not just sugar. It's a work of art. You've got tart lemon, delicate lavender, and a hint of espresso. Trust me, it's practically medicinal."

"I prefer black coffee," I said coolly, crossing my arms. "Simple. Efficient. No frills."

He pushed the mug toward me, his hazel eyes gleaming with mischief. "Ah, but you haven't tried this coffee. It's practically magic in a cup."

I sighed, knowing he wasn't going to let this go. "Miles, I'm here to fix your financial disaster, not review your latte experiments."

"Just one sip," he said, holding up his index finger in mock solemnity. "I promise it won't shatter your no-nonsense image. Just humor me."

Reluctantly, I picked up the mug, bracing myself for an overly sweet concoction that would only confirm my coffee snobbery. I took a cautious sip, expecting the worst. Instead, I was met with a surprisingly subtle balance of flavors. The lemon was bright without being overpowering, the lavender added a soft floral note, and the creamy milk smoothed everything out. It wasn't cloying; it was... good.

My eyebrows lifted despite myself.

"Well?" Miles asked, his voice low and expectant, his smirk firmly in place.

"It's..." I hesitated, unwilling to admit defeat. "Not awful."

He chuckled, the sound warm and unhurried. "High praise. I'll take it."

I set the mug down with a faint huff, determined not to let him distract me further. "Don't get used to it. I'm still drinking my black coffee later."

"Of course," he said, straightening and brushing his hands off. "Now, how do you want to handle this? Do I stay out of the way or hover just in case you have questions?"