The cookie was a problem. It sat on Sienna's kitchen counter, a silent, chocolate-chip-laden testament to Jace's refusal to play by anyone's rules but his own. She'd eaten it, of course. It would have been wasteful not to. And it was, annoyingly, the best cookie she'd ever had.
"He's weaponizing baked goods," Sienna declared, shoving the empty cellophane wrapper into the trash. "It's a tactical maneuver."
Tasha, painting her toenails a violent shade of green on the couch, didn't look up. "It's a cookie, not a declaration of war. Though, with you two, the line is blurry. Did you enjoy your bribe?"
"It was adequate."
"You moaned. I heard a distinct moan."
Sienna ignored her, her mind racing. He'd amended her treaty. He'd called her bluff. The ballwas back in her court, and the only move she had was… what? Sliding another, angrier memo under his door? That felt like losing.
The universe, it seemed, loved to engineer moments of maximum awkwardness. Her coffee maker, her beloved, dependable bastion of morning sanity, gave a final, pathetic gurgle and died. No lights, no heat, nothing. She stared at it in horror.
"Tragedy," Tasha mumbled, blowing on her toes. "The Beanery?"
"The Beanery is a warzone. It's ground zero for… them." She didn't need to specify who 'them' was. The Jienna shippers. The gossipers. The people who knew her name and her major and her alleged "passionate possessiveness."
But the need for caffeine was a primal, undeniable force. With the grim determination of a soldier heading into battle, she pulled on a hoodie andgrabbed her wallet.
The walk to The Beanery was tense. She kept her head down, earbuds in but playing no music, her senses on high alert. She made it inside without incident, the rich, bitter scent of coffee beans a small comfort. The line was mercifully short.
She was two people from the front when a familiar, broad-shouldered silhouette fell into place behind her. She didn't need to turn around. The subtle shift in the air, the faint scent of clean laundry and that stupid, expensive cologne gave him away.
"Fancy meeting you here, Cole."
She stiffened but didn't turn. "It's a coffee shop, Rivera. A startlingly common destination for sleep-deprived students."
"Right. But for you, it's a calculated risk. I'm impressed." His voice was a low rumble close to her ear. "So, did you get my amendment?""I received an unauthorized addendum to a legally binding document, yes."
He chuckled. "The cookie was the 'suitable bribe.' I'm a man of my word."
"The treaty states communication must be via memo. You taped a baked good to it. That's a violation of the spirit of the agreement."
"I'm an artist, Cole. I work in mixed media."
She finally turned to face him, her resolve to ignore him crumbling under the weight of his infuriating charm. He was wearing a faded Titans baseball cap pulled low, a weak attempt at a disguise that did nothing to hide the sharp line of his jaw or the amused curve of his mouth.
"My coffee maker broke," she said, as if explaining her presence required justification.
"Tragic. So, this is a desperate mission, not a social call. That hurts." His eyes twinkled. "Let meguess. A medium oat milk latte?"
The fact that he remembered her order from the caffeine homicide incident sent an unwelcome warmth through her chest. "Your powers of observation are terrifying."
"It's my job to notice things about my favorite neighbor." The line moved forward. It was her turn.
The barista, a new guy with a lip ring, looked bored. "What can I get you?"
Sienna opened her mouth, but Jace spoke first, leaning around her and flashing his card at the reader. "Medium oat milk latte and a large black coffee. Together."
"No," Sienna protested, fumbling for her own wallet. "Absolutely not. This violates Article Three: Public Conduct."
"This is me acknowledging your existence because it's 'absolutely necessary.' You'recoffee-less. It's a crisis." He finished the transaction before she could argue further. "Consider it my next bribe. For… what am I bribing you for this time?"
She was flustered, thrown off balance by the simple, smooth gesture. "To not revise the treaty to include a 'no paying for my coffee' clause."
"A worthy cause." He took his black coffee and nodded toward the pickup counter. "Your lifeblood awaits, Hazard."
She grabbed her latte, the cup warm and comforting in her hands. This was the problem. He was chaos, but he was also… warm. And he remembered how she took her coffee. They stood there for a moment, an island of tense silence in the bustling shop.
"So," he said, taking a sip of his coffee. "Truce? For real this time? Or are you going to slide another passive-aggressive memo under my door?"
Sienna looked at the latte, then at him. The arrogance was tempered with a genuine, questioning look. He was trying. In his own, messed-up, Jace Rivera way, he was actually trying.
"The treaty stands," she said, her voice softer than she intended. "But… the bribe is accepted."
A real, non-smirking smile broke across his face. It was devastating. "Progress."
Just then, her phone buzzed. Then buzzed again. And again. A cold dread trickled down her spine. She pulled it out. Tasha had blown up their chat.
Tasha: GIRL. ARE YOU AT THE BEANERY??
Tasha:ANASTASIA JUST SENT ME A PIC.
Tasha:IT'S YOU AND JACE. TOGETHER. HE'S BUYING YOU COFFEE.Tasha:THE "JIENNA" ACCOUNT IS GOING WILD. THEY'RE CALLING IT THE "COFFEE TRUCE."
Sienna's head snapped up, her eyes scanning the coffee shop. A girl in the corner quickly looked away, her phone pointed conspicuously in their direction.
Jace followed her gaze. His expression tightened almost imperceptibly. "Let me guess. We're trending again."
"We have to stop meeting like this," Sienna whispered, the warmth of the latte suddenly feeling like a brand.
"Or," Jace said, his voice dropping as he took a step closer, his gaze intense. "We could stop caring what they think."
Before she could process that, he gave her a curt nod, pulled his cap down further, and walked out of The Beanery, leaving her alone in the middle of the buzzing shop, holding the coffee he'd bought her, the eyes of a dozen strangers burning into her back.
The treaty felt flimsier than ever. And the most terrifying part was, a small, secret part of her didn't mind at all.