Bloodmoon

Ava had exactly thirty minutes left to change her life.

One more refill, one last coffee order… and then she was out the door.

This wasn’t just a job shift—this was her shot to escape everything holding her back.

What didn’t she know?

Not every goodbye goes the way you plan.

Her heart thrummed in time with the clinking of coffee cups and the hum of the espresso machine behind her. She had been counting down every second until she could leave for her interview. Not just any interview—the interview. This was her shot, her golden ticket to break into one of the Big Four firms, where the ambitious rose and the elite thrived.

She straightened her apron and smoothed her hair in the coffee shop’s glass pastry case. For weeks, she had been prepping for this moment, diving into mock interviews, memorizing the company values, and tailoring her answers to fit the firm’s vision. The sharp black blazer in her locker, a symbol of power, was her armor for the battlefield of corporate ambition.

Her current job at Brew Haven wasn’t a disaster, but it was far from her dream. She wiped down the counter with practiced efficiency, a forced smile tugging at her lips as she handed a latte to a regular. The thought of serving another cappuccino or pretending to care about a customer’s complaints about almond milk substitutions made her feel like her brain might curdle.

The coffee shop’s expiration date had been sealed. Her life was packed into boxes in her tiny studio apartment, each one labeled with optimism: “Office Supplies,” “Books,” and even “Wardrobe for the Future CEO.” She had left space for a new chapter, ready to be filled with an office badge, a spacious apartment, and networking events with people whose names she had admired in case studies.

“Ava, can you grab the line?” her manager called, jarring her from her thoughts.

She glanced at the clock. Twenty-eight minutes now.

“Heard,” she replied, her tone clipped. She grabbed the tray of steaming coffee cups and made her way to the counter. The group of college students barely looked up as she waited to take their order. A pang of nostalgia hit her as she remembered coming into the coffee shop fresh off the bus, dreaming of a future where her talents wouldn’t be limited to latte art.

As the minutes ticked by, Ava’s mind alternated between self-assurance and self-doubt. What if they didn’t see her potential? What if all the effort, the late nights studying, the internships she fought tooth and nail to secure, weren’t enough? Her worries were hidden behind her smiling face.

“I’ll have an espresso doppio,” the first guy ordered.

“Together or separate?” Ava asked.

“Together,” the guy replied.

“For you?” Ava greeted, plastering on her customer-service smile, though her enthusiasm was already waning.

This guy was decidedly less friendly. A sneer was permanently etched onto his face, revealing an arrogance as cloying as cheap cologne; speaking to anyone in an apron was clearly beneath him.

He studied the menu like it was beneath him to order from such a humble establishment. Then, with a dramatic wave of his hand, he declared, “I’ll have a macchiato with soy milk.”

Ava blinked. Of course, he would.

“It’s not a sweet drink,” she replied, her tone cautious. The warning was second nature at this point. People always expected a caramel-drizzled sugar bomb and then acted like they’d been personally betrayed when they got, you know, coffee.

The man’s expression twisted into one of supreme offense, as though she’d just insulted his ancestors.

“I know what I ordered,” he snapped, his accent suddenly more pronounced, dripping with condescension. This man was a self-proclaimed coffee connoisseur, far too refined for the likes of her.

Ava’s cheeks burned bright red. She hadn’t meant to suggest he didn’t know his coffee, but he acted like she’d accused him of asking for pumpkin spice in June.

“Some people think it’s the same as the boxed coffee shop,” Ava muttered, her voice quieter now, but the sting of her words lingered.

His lips curled in disdain. How dare she, a mere barista, imply he’d ever stoop to such pedestrian levels? Her mere existence was an affront to his sophisticated palate.

She walked away to prepare his order, muttering under her breath. Let’s see how he feels about the espresso shot when it lands in his overpriced soy milk.

The bell over the door jingled, announcing the arrival of a customer. Ava glanced at the clock once more, the ticking growing louder as the anticipation built. The new customer gave her a quick nod, but she barely registered it. Her focus was elsewhere, on the interview questions she’d rehearsed and the possibility of leaving her coffee-scented days behind.

“Americano with room for cream,” the man said, calm but hurried. He glanced at his watch, his movements efficient, like someone used to making the most of every second. His gentle demeanor stood out amidst the usual chaos of caffeine-deprived customers barking orders.

Ava nodded, preparing his drink with practiced ease. He tapped his fingers lightly on the counter, not impatiently but rhythmically, as if marking time until his next appointment. She slid the cup across the counter with a polite smile, earning a quick “Thanks” before he disappeared out the door, leaving behind only the faint scent of aftershave and a rare sense of civility. As the minutes ticked, Ava’s focus shifted from coffee cups to corporate dreams. With ten more minutes, she could move on from that chapter.

“Do you offer free refills?” a woman asked, interrupting her thoughts. She pointed at her empty coffee cup with the exaggerated gesture of someone convinced they were asking for a rare favor.

“Certainly,” Ava replied, summoning her best customer-service smile. She fetched a refill of the house blend, pouring the coffee with the precision of someone who had done this a thousand times before.

“Here you are,” she said, sliding the cup back across the counter. The woman didn’t so much as glance up, offering a distracted “Thanks” before turning her attention back to her laptop.

Ava exhaled softly, glancing at the clock again. Nine minutes now. Soon, it wouldn’t be her fetching refills or juggling impatient customers. Her future was planned in the sleek offices, with the muted tones of conference calls, and the eventual goal of a corner desk.

With that thought, she turned back to wipe the counter, a subtle sense of anticipation building in her chest.

With exactly ten minutes left, she slipped into the backroom, her pulse quickening. The coffee-stained apron came off swiftly, and she replaced it with the sharp black blazer she had pressed to perfection the night before. It was more than just a blazer; it was armor, a symbol of everything she was striving for.

Her hands moved on autopilot as she slid her resume and portfolio into the sleek leather folder she’d invested in for this occasion. The scent of coffee still clung to her hair and clothes, a stubborn reminder of where she was leaving behind. She took a deep breath, forcing herself to focus.

“This is it,” she whispered to herself, her voice barely audible over the clatter of dishes in the background. Steeling herself, she squared her shoulders and stepped out of the backroom, ready to trade coffee grounds for boardrooms.

“Your interview is coming up,” Bruno said from across the bar, his tone light but curious. He was leaning on the counter, a towel slung over his shoulder, wiping down a glass like the world’s friendliest bartender.

Ava glanced up from the stack of lids she was restocking, her focus momentarily pulled from the countdown in her head. “Are you excited?” he asked, a grin tugging at the corners of his mouth.

She smirked, tossing a lid into the container more forcefully than necessary. “Excited is one word for it. Terrified is another.”

Bruno chuckled, a warm, easy sound that made the day’s grind feel less soul-sucking. “You’ve got this,” he said with a confidence that made her want to believe him. “You’re too smart to be slinging coffee forever.”

Ava rolled her eyes, but she couldn’t help smiling. “Tell that to my last rejection email.”

“That’s just their loss,” Bruno said without missing a beat. “Besides, you’re moving up. Big office buildings, tiny cubicles, lots of jargon. Living the dream.”

“Don’t forget the soul-crushing meetings, overpriced lunches, and the dreadful pay for parking,” Ava teased with a wink, setting the stack of lids down with a flourish.

Bruno chuckled, shaking his head as he leaned casually against the counter. “Sounds like paradise,” he quipped, the corner of his mouth lifting in a faint smile.

Bruno was the best kind of regular, predictable in the best way. He didn’t demand much, always ordering the same thing without hesitation. He kept his conversations brief, small bursts of words delivered with a quiet confidence, and then he’d retreat to his corner table or head out the door, leaving a generous tip behind. No fuss, no drama.

It was almost bittersweet having him here today, every day. On the one hand, his steady presence was a welcome comfort, grounding her amidst the nervous energy bubbling in her chest. On the other hand, it reminded her that this chapter was about to close—no more Bruno, no more familiarity, just the unknown ahead.

Ava smiled as she wiped down the counter, trying not to linger on the thought. “You know,” she said, glancing back at him, “if this all works out, I won’t be here to serve you your usual anymore. You’ll have to find a new favorite barista.”

Bruno raised an eyebrow, the faintest glint of mischief sparking in his dark eyes. “How will I survive?” he murmured, slowly sipping his coffee as if the answer lay somewhere in the rich, bitter liquid.

Ava laughed, somehow cutting through the hum of the coffee shop. She tilted her head, her ponytail swishing lightly over her shoulder. “We’ll just have to make sure Cherie gets your coffee right,” she said, flashing him a teasing grin as she gestured toward her younger coworker.

Bruno’s lips thinned, and his usual air of quiet amusement flickered into something more skeptical. “Cherie?” he repeated, his voice carrying the weight of a man who had endured great disappointment. “She’s the one who thought a shot of vanilla would ‘improve’ my espresso last week.”

Ava pressed her lips together, trying to contain the laugh inside her. “She’s still learning,” she replied diplomatically, though the memory of Cherie’s disastrous attempt at creativity made her want to bury her face in her hands.

Bruno’s frown deepened as though the mere thought of that sugary affront physically pained him. “I’m not sure my soul—or my taste buds—can survive another incident like that.”

She leaned on the counter, lowering her voice conspiratorially. “You’re such a purist, Bruno. It’s just coffee.”

His gaze lifted to meet hers, his dark brows lifting in mock horror. “Just coffee? You wound me, Ava. Coffee is life.”

She snorted, shaking her head. “Alright, alright. I’ll leave detailed instructions for her before I go. It’ll be like a barista survival guide for Bruno’s coffee order.”

His frown softened, but the teasing glint never left his eyes. “You’ve set the bar too high. That’s the real problem here.”

She couldn’t resist a laugh, her cheeks warming as she straightened. “Don’t go getting all sentimental on me now,” she said lightly.

“Sentimental?” Bruno echoed, one corner of his mouth lifting in a crooked smile. “Nah. Just practical. You’ve got a good thing going here, Ava. Why ruin it by leaving for some soulless office job?”

The comment landed with a surprising weight, but Ava just shrugged, brushing it off with a grin that didn’t quite reach her eyes. “You’ll be fine, Bruno. Cherie’ll win you over eventually.”

His chuckle was soft, almost reluctant, but the way his gaze lingered on her as she moved to the next customer said more than his words ever could.

Ava’s alarm buzzed sharply, cutting through the air like a final verdict. All conversations halted as if the tiny device carried more authority than any manager could muster.

It was time. She had perfectly timed out her last shift.

His order was simple. His gaze wasn’t.

“Americano. Room for cream.”

Something in his voice lingered after he left — the low timbre, the unshakable calm. Ava didn’t know it yet, but that voice would follow her all the way to the twenty-third floor.

She stopped in her tracks. The clock advanced a minute. One minute less, she had to arrive on time to begin her career. She paused to consider whether to leave.