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LANDON

T he bell above the café door gave its usual half-hearted jingle, but Landon didn’t look up at first. He was busy fighting the espresso machine.

Again.

"Come on, you moody bastard,” he muttered, thumping the side panel.

The machine hissed in protest, coughed steam, then finally started cooperating. He grabbed the portafilter, locked it in, and only glanced up when the new customer didn’t demand his attention.

It was her.

Again.

Sonya.

She stood at the counter of Juniper Roast like she belonged in a noir film—moonlight for skin, eyes like a glacier, and a voice that could probably slice clean through steel if she wanted it to. Today, she had on a dark green jacket over a gray henley, jeans tucked into weathered boots. She looked casual. Almost soft. Almost.

And still like trouble dressed in worn denim.

He cleared his throat as he approached, pulling his apron tighter out of sheer nervous habit.

“Well hey there, environmental enthusiast,” he said, trying not to sound like he was sweating bullets. “Come to save the planet with oat milk lattes?”

Sonya grinned, and damn it, it hit him square in the chest. “Nah, just needed a reason to see if the mysterious barista had any actual barista skills.”

“Bold of you to assume I make the drinks,” he said. “I mostly refill the sugar packets and fight the espresso machine when it gets cranky.”

“Still sounds heroic.”

Landon chuckled and tugged a pen from behind his ear. “So what’ll it be, heroism or caffeine?”

“Both. One dirty chai. Extra shot.”

He scribbled it down, though he didn’t need to. It gave his hands something to do. “Coming right up.”

As he worked the espresso machine—without burning himself this time, small victories—he kept sneaking glances toward her. She’d taken a booth near the front window, legs crossed, jacket folded beside her. There was a calmness about her movements, but underneath it, something... guarded. Like she was always assessing exits.

She wasn’t like the girls he’d dated before. Or talked to. Or even looked at for more than five seconds.

She scared the shit out of him. And fascinated him all the same.

Landon dropped the mug in front of her with a little flourish. “Here you go. One steaming chalice of planetary righteousness.”

Sonya raised a brow, but she was smiling. “That sarcasm always come with the drink?”

“Only if you tip.”

She snorted. “Guess I’ll just leave a review on Yelp Hot guy, decent brew, mild sass. ”

“Mild?” Landon gasped in mock offense. “Ma’am, I give you artisanal sass.”

She looked up at him, chin tilted just slightly, like she could see right through the act. “You get off soon?”

He blinked. “Uh… yeah. Like twenty minutes.”

“Then sit with me when you’re done.”

It wasn’t a question. More like a challenge tossed out like a lighter to gasoline. His instinct was to say he couldn’t—work rules, professionalism, etc. But her tone left little room for excuses, and her eyes dared him to break whatever quiet little structure he’d built for himself.

And for some reason, he wanted to say yes.

He gave a half-shrug. “Alright. I will.”

She just nodded and took a slow sip of her drink, watching him like a cat watches something worth stalking.

When he finally clocked out, the café was nearly empty. An old guy nursed his decaf in the corner, and a couple of college kids were arguing over a textbook by the windows. Landon tossed his apron under the counter, grabbed a mug of his own, and made his way to Sonya’s booth, heart thudding louder than he liked.

“Hope you weren’t expecting deep philosophical musings,” he said, sliding in across from her. “I’m a community college kid with too much caffeine in his blood and a healthy fear of loan debt.”

Sonya smirked. “I like real people. Not walking TED Talks.”

He took a sip. “You’re kind of hard to read.”

“Good,” she said simply. “So,” she continued, resting her forearms on the table, “what’s your deal?”

He shrugged. “Define ‘deal.’”

“Like… why here? Why now? Most people don’t move to nowhere Oregon unless they’re running from something or running toward something. You said your aunt lived around here?”

“Yeah. Aunt Jen. She used to own this little property up in the hills—old hunting cabin turned fixer-upper. Nothing fancy, but it’s home.” He glanced out the window, as if he could see it from here. “She moved into town a few years ago. Needed to be closer to people, and I needed space, so… win-win.”

Sonya watched him quietly, her expression unreadable again.

“What?” he asked, shifting under her gaze.

“You don’t talk like most people.”

He blinked. “That a good thing or a bad thing?”

“Neither. Just different. Like you don’t need noise to fill the space.”

Landon gave a half-smile. “I grew up in a place where silence meant peace. I guess I learned to listen.”

She tilted her head. “To what?”

He hesitated, then exhaled. “Weird stuff, mostly. Nature. Dreams. My gut, when it decides to work.”

Landon nodded slowly, swirling the coffee in his mug. “You ever meet someone and feel like... they’re not new?”

She tilted her head. “You saying I seem familiar?”

“I’m saying it feels like I’ve seen you before,” he said, voice quieter. “Not in some cheesy 'Have we met?' pickup way. I mean like—” he paused, trying to find the words, “—like my bones know you.”

Sonya’s expression didn’t change, but her fingers tightened around her mug just slightly. “That ever happen to you before?”

He shook his head. “No. But then again, a lot of weird things have been happening lately. Dreams. Flashbacks. Stuff that doesn’t belong to me.”

“Like what?”

He hesitated. She was a stranger. But something about her made honesty come easier than it should’ve.

“You ever have a dream that felt like more than a dream?” he asked. “Like… it was trying to tell you something?”

Her silence was answer enough.

“Mine started when I was a kid,” he continued. “But lately they’ve been... intense. There’s fire. Always fire. And a wolf. Huge. Bigger than any I’ve ever seen. It’s never attacking, just… watching. And I’m not scared of it. I should be. But I’m not.”

Sonya’s fingers tightened slightly around her cup, but she didn’t interrupt.

“Last week,” Landon said, voice dropping, “I woke up in the middle of the night outside. Barefoot. Half a mile from my place. Don’t even remember walking.”

“You sleepwalk?”

“Never used to. Not until this year.” He looked at her, and the air between them shifted—thicker somehow. “You ever get the feeling your body remembers something your brain hasn’t caught up to yet?”

She didn’t answer right away. Just met his gaze with those fierce, ice-blue eyes.

“I think,” she said slowly, “sometimes instincts remember truths we’re not ready for. And maybe you’re more in tune than you realize.”

He stared at her, caught off guard by how right that felt. How true.

Landon leaned back in the booth, stretching his arms along the top edge of the seat not wanting for her to sit on how crazy he sounded. “My ex thought I needed therapy. Said I had a savior complex and abandonment issues.”

“She sounds like a peach,” Sonya said, dry as dust, but her voice was soft beneath the sarcasm.

Landon huffed a laugh. “She wasn’t all wrong. I mean, I’ve been taking care of myself since I was sixteen. You pick up a few quirks when your life doesn't come with a manual.”

“You raised yourself?” she asked, voice quieter now. Her eyes had softened, no longer the calculating glacier from earlier but something almost... warm.

“Sort of. My mom died when I was a kid. Dad bailed before I was born. Aunt Jen stepped in, did what she could. But she’s... not the maternal type. Lived on the road most of the time with some weird off-the-grid artist commune in Arizona. She’d send postcards and jars of cactus jelly.”

Sonya tilted her head. “That sounds... colorful.”

“It was lonely,” Landon said simply. “But I learned how to fix a generator before I could drive. So, trade-offs.”

She was watching him again, the way she always did—like she saw more than what was on the surface, like she was trying to decide if he was made of glass or steel.

Landon glanced out the window, where dusk was settling into a haze of deep violet and amber. “But now I took over her place and fixed it up over the last year when I’d make quick trips. Chopped my own firewood. Replaced a damn septic tank by hand.”

“That sounds like hell.”

“Oh, it was,” he said with a crooked grin. “But there’s no noise out there. No lights. Just trees and wind and the occasional coyote scream that sounds like someone’s being murdered.”

Sonya smiled at that, and it lingered. It looked real on her face, like something that didn’t get used often but still fit perfectly when it did.

“I like quiet,” she said, almost like a confession.

Landon looked back at her. “You don’t strike me as someone who gets much of it.”

“Not lately.”

He wanted to ask what she meant, but something about her tone made him hold off. Instead, he tapped a finger against his mug and said, “So, mystery girl. You gonna tell me your deal? Or do I have to guess?”

Her expression didn’t change, but her posture shifted—just slightly. Guarded again.

“I’m just a girl,” she said lightly. “Trying not to burn anything down.”

“That’s oddly specific.”

“I’ve had a weird week.”

Landon nodded, but he didn’t push. The truth was, he liked that she didn’t spill everything right away. Too many people treated vulnerability like currency—offering their worst parts up just to feel like they’d been seen.

Sonya didn’t do that. She held herself with the kind of restraint he admired. Or maybe feared.

“Guess we’ve both had weird weeks,” he said.

“Guess so.”

A comfortable silence fell between them, the kind that only happens when two people don’t feel the need to fill every second with chatter. Outside, the streetlights blinked on one by one, casting pools of gold over the cracked sidewalk.

“You ever feel like you’re waiting for something?” Landon asked suddenly. “Not something you ordered, not something you planned for. Just... something.”

Sonya’s fingers traced the rim of her mug. “Yeah. I feel that all the time.”

He studied her a moment longer, then nodded and leaned forward, elbows on the table. “Well. For what it’s worth, I’m glad you came back in to the coffee shop.”

Her eyes met his. “Why’s that?”

“Because I haven’t had a conversation this honest in a long damn time.”

She blinked, like he’d surprised her. “You don’t even know me.”

“I know enough,” he said. “And the rest... I guess I want to.”

Sonya didn’t smile this time. But something passed across her face—something unspoken, almost wistful. Like she’d heard that before, from someone who didn’t mean it. Or maybe she was wondering if he actually did.

Before she could respond, the old guy in the corner got up, muttering about “these damn kids and their long-ass coffee dates.” They both laughed quietly as he shuffled past.

“I should go,” Sonya said, glancing at her phone. “Class early tomorrow.”

Landon stood with her. “Yeah. Me too.”

They stepped outside together. The air had turned colder, biting through fabric, carrying the scent of pine and something electric—like a storm was waiting just beyond the hills.

Sonya walked to her Jeep, keys dangling from one hand, her hair catching the wind like silver threads.

Just before climbing in, she turned to him. “You’re not what I expected.”

“Good,” he said, stuffing his hands in his pockets to keep from reaching for her. “You shouldn’t expect anything. I’m full of surprises.”

She smirked. “We’ll see.”

And with that, she was gone, tires crunching over gravel as she pulled away into the night.

Landon stood there for a moment longer, watching the taillights fade. Then he looked up at the stars—cold and indifferent—and muttered under his breath, “What the hell are you, Sonya?”

But deep down, something inside him already knew.

She wasn’t just a girl.

She was the match that would set his whole damn world on fire.