Smoothie Operator

I never thought my first job would involve taking orders from customers like Jay, the guy who somehow made ordering a smoothie sound like a personal insult. I adjusted my visor, already regretting the 'Juice Universe' polo that was two sizes too big.

"Can I get the Green Goddess?" Jay asked, examining his nails like he was at a spa instead of a strip mall juice bar. "But with extra spinach. And make sure it's actually green this time, not that sad brown color from last week."

I resisted the urge to roll my eyes. "Sure thing."

Behind him, someone cleared their throat. I looked up and immediately regretted it—because there was Jake, looking unfairly good in his orange hoodie, standing way too close to the counter. His dark curls were slightly damp, probably from track practice. His eyes were this ridiculous golden-brown color that made my brain turn to mush.

"What's good here?" Jake asked, and my throat immediately forgot how to make words.

"Um, everything?" I squeaked. Jay snorted, and I wanted to disappear through the floor.

Jake's lips curved up, and I tried to remember how breathing worked. "I'll take your favorite."

Panic surged through me. My favorite smoothie was the Island Breeze—a papaya, mango, and coconut blend that tasted like sunshine and questionable decisions. But Jay was watching, and I couldn't look uncool in front of Jake.

"Same as him," I said, gesturing to Jay like a total coward.

Jay turned around, eyes narrowing. "You copying my order, Diaz?"

Jake leaned against the counter, completely relaxed. "Just appreciating your taste, man."

They did that weird guy nod thing, and I busied myself grabbing spinach like my life depended on it. My hands shook as I dumped way too much into the blender, turning the mixture into a swampy green disaster.

When I slid the smoothies across the counter, Jake's fingers brushed mine. Electric current shot up my arm, and I almost knocked over the straw dispenser.

"Thanks, Emma," he said, like he actually knew my name.

I watched them leave through the window, my heart still doing gymnastics. I'd been crushing on Jake since seventh grade, when he'd let me copy his math homework and pretended not to notice I got every answer wrong. Now we were juniors, and he still didn't know I existed beyond being the girl who made terrible smoothies.

Or so I thought.

The next day, I was running late to my shift because my car wouldn't start. I sprinted through the parking lot, my shoes slapping against the pavement, and almost collided with someone rounding the corner.

Strong hands caught my shoulders, steadying me. I looked up into Jake's amused eyes.

"You okay?" he asked, and I noticed he was holding two green smoothies.

"Fine. Just. Running late."

"I know." His grin was unfairly attractive. "I see you in the mornings sometimes. When you're running to school."

My face burned. He'd noticed? All this time, when I was struggling through my pathetic jog attempts, secretly hoping to bump into him, and he'd actually been watching?

"You're getting faster," he added casually.

I couldn't tell if he was being nice or if he genuinely meant it. Either way, my stomach did this annoying flip thing.

"Thanks," I managed. "Are you—waiting for someone?"

"You." Jake held out one of the smoothies. "I made this one. Figured you should try a version that doesn't taste like lawn clippings."

I took it, our fingers brushing again. This time, I didn't almost knock anything over. Progress.

"How'd you know?" I asked.

"That Jay made you add too much spinach?" He shrugged. "I've been coming here for months, Emma. I see how you light up every time someone orders the Island Breeze. That's your favorite, isn't it?"

I stared at him, unable to form a coherent sentence.

"Plus," he continued, "I heard you tell Maya it tastes like summer break in a cup."

"You remember that?"

"I remember everything you say," Jake said softly, and suddenly the parking lot felt too small and too big at the same time.

My heart hammered against my ribs like it was trying to escape. Jake noticed me. Not just noticed—really saw me. The pathetic running attempts, the smoothie preferences, everything.

"Want to sit?" he asked, gesturing to the curb.

We sat shoulder to shoulder, sipping terrible green smoothies that suddenly didn't taste terrible at all. Jake talked about track, and I talked about my dream of opening my own juice bar someday, and he didn't laugh. He listened, really listened, like what I said mattered.

When he walked me to my car later, something had shifted. The air between us felt charged, electric with possibility.

"Same time tomorrow?" Jake asked.

"Definitely," I said, and for the first time in forever, I didn't feel like the background character in my own life.

That night, I made myself an Island Breeze with extra papaya. The sun set outside my window, painting everything in shades of orange and gold. Tomorrow, I'd wear the stupid polo. Tomorrow, I'd make questionable smoothies. But tomorrow, Jake would be waiting.

And somehow, that made everything feel possible.