Love Shots 3: Love at First Shot
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Guinevere
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Aliyah loves her job as a waitress at Café de Fabiola. The work is steady, familiar—and most days, manageable, even with the occasional rude customer. She’s learned to keep her thoughts to herself and her smile in place. Then one day, a mysterious stranger walks into the café and disrupts everything she thought she understood about her quiet routine. A single encounter is enough to throw her peaceful life into chaos, stirring tension, curiosity, and a spark she never saw coming. Sometimes, all it takes is one moment to change the rhythm of everything.
Chapter 1
Book 3: Love at First Shot
ALIYAH
Another day, another shift at Café de Fabiola. I love my job, I really do. I have the best boss, awesome coworkers, a gorgeous café…but the customers? Ugh.
Fabiola is known to cater to the wealthiest of the wealthy. While most of our patrons are nice, there are still customers who are rude and snotty. One man in particular, who started coming here about a month ago, has been a thorn in my side.
He acts like he’s royalty, gets easily irritated, and even makes sexual remarks.
Esmé normally “handles” customers like this, but I haven’t reported it to her or to the senior staff. I’m not a fan of drama; I prefer to keep things quiet and low-key. I feel like reporting this customer would only invite unnecessary drama into my life, and I don’t want that.
Cami, our sweet pastry chef, was observant enough to notice I was stressed and asked if I was alright. Of course, I wish that man would just disappear from my sight, but I can’t tell her that—telling them would only escalate things. I did a lot of convincing just to ease her worries, though I’m not entirely sure she bought it.
I know I shouldn’t just take this quietly, but all this man has done has only been verbal. I can handle verbal.
I’ve handled verbal.
“Be a doll and serve properly next time, will you? And hopefully smile more,” this pig remarked, taking his to-go bag from the table.
I forced a smile, trying to maintain my cool. There was a customer who had just raised their hand that I needed to attend to, and I didn’t want to give off bad energy just because of that man.
Inhale… Exhale… I chanted in my mind, closing my eyes briefly.
“Can I get a venti strawberry crème dream with an extra shot of strawberry syrup and strawberry chunks?”
Wow, that’s a whole lot of strawberries in that sentence.
“Good morning! One venti strawberry crème dream…” I repeated, but was cut off when my eyes fell on the man ordering this very sweet drink.
Like most of our customers, he was in a business suit, his peppered hair styled to perfection, his facial hair neatly trimmed, and his angular face so brooding and serious.
His hazel eyes met mine, so clear and intense that I was momentarily entranced.
“…with an extra shot of strawberry syrup and strawberry chunks,” I finally finished, trying to look away from his stare. “Is there anything else I can add to that order, sir?”
He stood up from his seat, and I literally had to tilt my head up to see his full height. While it’s true I’m on the shorter side, this man’s height was waaaay beyond average.
Tall, dark, and handsome was an understatement.
He seemed to examine my face first, which made me oddly shy, before he stepped to the side and looked at the dessert display. He had his hand in his pocket as his eyes scanned the dessert options.
As his face concentrated on the selection, I was able to take a longer look at him. He seemed to be a lot older than me, judging by the few gray hairs on his head and just the overall energy he exuded.
“A slice of that strawberry cheesecake, please,” he said, pointing to the display.
I held my tongue from making a comment. This man, with his intense look and towering figure, was the epitome of a man.
He’s borderline scary, but his food choices? They were definitely not. Strawberry drink and strawberry dessert. If we had a main dish featuring strawberry, he’d probably order that as well.
“Got it, I’ll be back with your order shortly,” I said, giving him my best customer-service smile.
I relayed his order to the barista and worked on plating his cheesecake. I couldn’t help but steal glances toward his seat, but his eyes were fixated outside the café.
I followed his line of sight, but there were just too many people outside.
Maybe he likes people-watching?
I pulled out a tray and placed his drink and pastry order together with some cutlery. I don’t know why, but I pulled out a chocolate strawberry Kiss from my pocket and placed it on the tray as well.
I always bring sweets to work just in case I need a little pick-me-up. Valentine’s just ended, so it just happened that I had some leftover strawberry Kisses from Hershey’s Valentine’s collection.
I headed over to his table and placed his order in front of him.
“Thank you,” he said, proceeding to drink his frappe.
“You’re welcome, please call me if you need anything else,” I said with a smile, leaving him to his meal.
As he ate, I snuck occasional glances in his direction. We get a lot of beautiful people in our café, but I found my curiosity growing about him.
I didn’t know if it was his looks, his order, or both that intrigued me, but here I was, uncharacteristically stealing glances.
As he brought his spoon to his lips, a small trickle of strawberry syrup dripped from the corner of his mouth. His thumb immediately swiped across his lips as he licked his finger clean.
Tell me why that scene played like it was in slow motion?
“What’s wrong, Aya?” Lola, one of our part-time servers, asked, jolting me.
“Oh, nothing,” I almost shouted, afraid she might have caught me staring. She nodded and left me alone.
As I tended to the other patrons, my eyes couldn’t help but drift back to his table. For someone who ordered an all-strawberry meal, I couldn’t really tell if he liked his order or not.
While it’s true I couldn’t picture him squealing in delight or being giddy, I was at least expecting a look of satisfaction.
However, he only ate in a stoic manner.
About half an hour later, I saw him stand up from his table and leave the café. I headed over and saw that both his drink and plate were completely empty.
He’d left his payment under the plate and, to my surprise, a very generous tip.
Bigger than our usual patrons.
I cleaned up his table, noting that the chocolate strawberry kisses I’d added were gone.
“What’s got you smiling like that?” Lola asked, suddenly appearing by my side again.
“Oh, nothing. It’s just that customer left a huge tip,” I said.
“Bigger than usual?”
“A lot bigger,” I emphasized. Lola did a happy dance as I shook my head, processed his payment at the register, and placed the tip in our shared jar.
What an odd encounter, I thought as I resumed my shift.
