The small-town coffee shop was buzzing with its usual Monday morning chaos: espresso machines hissing, toddlers wailing, and commuters clutching their paper cups like lifelines. Jason Brooks stood at the front of the line, mentally preparing for the week ahead and reciting his coffee order like a mantra.
"Large black coffee. No sugar. No cream. No nonsense."
The barista, Dana, rolled her eyes. "You say that like it's a threat."
"It is. To my sanity," Jason replied, slipping a five-dollar bill into the tip jar.
He grabbed his drink and turned just in time to slam directly into a blur of red and yellow — and then chaos. His coffee, scorching and proud, launched from the cup and decorated someone's navy-blue T-shirt with artistic splashes of caffeine.
"Seriously?" came the voice of the now-coffee-stained blur.
Jason blinked at the mess, then at the woman now glaring at him. Firefighter Maggie Greene. Of course.
"Oh no," he muttered.
"Oh yes," she said, lifting her shirt away from her body in a feeble attempt to minimize the coffee burn and damage. "You owe me a coffee. And possibly a shirt. And maybe skin grafts."
"I didn't see you there!"
"You were in your own little caffeine military mission, soldier," she snapped, grabbing napkins from the counter.
Jason shoved some her way. "I was following protocol. You barged into the field."
"You were the one who deployed hot liquid warfare!"
They stood there in tense silence — well, as silent as one could get with '80s pop music blaring and a toddler sobbing over spilled hot chocolate two feet away. Then, to Jason's surprise, Maggie laughed. A low, amused laugh that didn't quite match the venom in her words.
"I can't believe you're that cop," she said. "The one with the traffic cone spreadsheet."
Jason straightened, stung. "It's called strategic placement. The cones reduce illegal parking by 17%."
"Wow. You must be fun at parties."
He bristled. "And you must be the firefighter who slid down the station pole in full gear just to win a bet."
Maggie grinned. "Beat Charlie's time by two seconds. Worth it."
They stared at each other, steam rising from both coffee and tempers. It wasn't the first time they'd crossed paths — the police and fire departments shared one too many town events — but this was their first one-on-one… and it was off to a scorching start.
Dana leaned over the counter, eyeing them both like she was watching the beginning of a soap opera. "Should I start writing 'Maggie + Jason' in hearts on your cups, or…?"
"Don't you dare," they said in unison.
More silence.
Finally, Maggie tossed the soggy napkins into the trash and grabbed another coffee — this time on Jason's dime. "Well, Officer Brooks, next time you want to make a move on a girl, maybe try flowers. Or I don't know — literally anything that isn't third-degree burns."
Jason watched her exit, ponytail swinging like a victory flag.
"Next time," he muttered, "maybe wear a neon vest like the rest of the safety hazards."