Water From Mud

One.

There wasn't another espresso that compared. Maybe it was a coincidence that George had stumbled upon Daily Fuel as she walked to work on her first day, a coffee shop across the street from Kompostgas. As soon as she'd surveyed the menu, she'd ordered without hesitation. Liquid Death—deep notes of chocolate and earth, and a jolt that ignited her insides. In the six years that followed, George had returned every Friday with the few minutes spent ordering and drinking the coffee having remained under her control ever since.

But, George reminded herself, she no longer believed in coincidences.

Fridays were reserved for twelve ounces of Liquid Death brewed by Tomas, who sent her a wink when he handed the drink over, usually accompanying a remark about how she must have a death wish. George wasn't amused by his comments but would sooner die than stop getting the espresso. And, as she currently stood in line, she watched as Tomas slung coffees with a finesse and agility that made her tongue ache for the thick, full bodied drink she was about four minutes away from consuming.

The woman ahead of her skirted to the side bar, and George promptly placed her order to Linda, a female barista, who was already scrawling her drink order across the cup. George handed over money, slid the change into the tip jar, and watched as her cup was passed to Tomas, who smirked before completing the drink for the woman ahead of George.

"Is that any good?"

Despite the close proximity of his voice, George did not register that the question was directed at her.

"Liquid Death. Sounds... intense."

George turned in response to hearing the name of her favorite beverage. Standing at the counter was a guy with freshly cut, sandy hair. She admired the way it cleanly framed his face. His eyes, blue with flecks of brown the color of the coffee beans on display inside the shop, were growing warmer the longer she looked at him.

"You're really building the suspense," he grinned, causing two lines to form along his cheeks.

George blinked. His teeth were white and straight.

"George, here, has a death wish," Tomas interjected from over the bar. "So, place your order if you do, also. But be warned." He smiled slyly as George wondered how Tomas knew her name.

"A death wish, huh?" the guy repeated.

After blinking again, George said, "It hasn't killed me yet." She then turned back towards the counter and awaited her beverage. Tomas was still smirking. He finished making the woman's drink and robustly recited her complicated drink order as he handed it over. The woman removed the lid and peered inside.

"I said light foam."

Tomas, who had started making George's highly anticipated espresso, focused on the woman as she stood at the counter with squared shoulders.

"Yes, and I did make the drink with that in mind, however, if it's still too much, I can remake—"

"I don't have time for you to remake it. I'm late as it is," the woman hissed. "Who doesn't know what light foam means?"

"I apologize, ma'am," Tomas said sincerely. "Again, I'm more than happy to remake—"

The woman sighed dramatically, muttered something about incompetence, and snapped the lid back on her coffee. George experienced a flush of anger, and not solely because the woman stood between her and her favorite drink. Her hands fisted as she watched the scene, and she allowed the sensation to become stronger as Tomas failed to appease the impossible customer. When the woman strode from the bar, she only made it two steps before her coffee exploded over chest, drenching her shirt. A shriek and a string of curse words ensued before the woman tossed her empty coffee cup into the garbage bin and bustled from the shop.