#tw self doubt

You held out the drink with a practiced smile. “Alright, so that’s one Cranberry Christmas Smoothie with extra whipped cream and peppermint sprinkles. That everything?”

The woman nodded, her cheeks slightly pink from the cold as she reached into her wallet. “Thank you!” she said warmly, passing you cash.

You accepted it, glancing down as you carefully counted the bills and coins. The familiar routine grounded you for a moment. “Okay, here’s your change,” you replied, handing it back with a small nod.

She smiled again before heading toward the door, the bell chiming once more as she disappeared outside into the busy winter street.

For a second, you just stood there.

Then you turned back to your station.

You wiped down the counter in smooth, automatic motions, straightening a stack of smoothie cups that didn’t really need straightening. You checked the order screen—nothing urgent—then grabbed a clean towel and polished away faint water spots that only you seemed to notice. Around you, the smoothie bar continued its steady rhythm. A blender kicked on behind you, loud and sudden, while someone nearby called out an order number. The scent of peppermint hot chocolate mixed with fresh strawberries and brewed coffee, creating that signature cozy atmosphere customers loved.

Normally, you loved it too.

Today… it just made everything feel heavier.

You leaned lightly against the counter, your grip loosening on the towel as your gaze drifted toward the large front windows. Outside, the world felt different—brighter, fuller as you watched families passed by bundled in scarves and coats, their arms full of shopping bags. A couple pushed a stroller through the snow-dusted sidewalk, pausing to laugh about something you couldn’t hear. A group of friends walked past together, carrying wrapped presents, their energy loud even through the glass.

Inside, pastel Christmas lights glowed softly along the walls.

For some reason, they didn’t feel comforting today.

They felt like a reminder.

You exhaled slowly, your shoulders dropping as the thought settled in again, unavoidable and frustrating. Under your breath, barely louder than the hum of the smoothie bar, you muttered, “Man… I don’t even have money to spend with everyone… it all went to rent and food…”

Your fingers absentmindedly tugged at the sleeve of your apron as you watched another group pass by outside, their laughter fading into the distance. The decorations hanging from the ceiling—little snowflakes and ornaments—swayed gently from the air vents above, catching your attention for a brief second before your gaze dropped again.

You let out a quiet groan, more tired than angry now.

“Seriously… why am I the only one with no plans?” you murmured, staring out at the street. “This sucks…”

Actually…—

BELL CHIMES

…There was one other person who didn’t have any plans…

Your eyes widened just slightly as recognition hit, and almost immediately, you felt warmth creep into your cheeks before you could stop it.

Ms. Shyann Carlson.

Of course it was her.

Your neighbor… and, whether you liked admitting it or not, the one customer you always seemed to notice a little more than the others.

She stepped inside alongside Jamie Baker, the two of them bringing in a soft gust of cold air that briefly disturbed the cozy warmth of the smoothie bar. The door swung shut behind them with another gentle chime, sealing the winter chill back outside. Shyann paused just inside the entrance, brushing a bit of snow from the sleeve of her soft forest green coat, the wool falling neatly below her knees and wrapping comfortably around her as if it had been chosen more for warmth than style. Her dirty blond hair, threaded with faint gray streaks and soft light green tips, fell loosely just past her shoulders, framing her face in a way that felt effortless rather than styled.

A muted green scarf sat carefully folded at her neck, tucked in with quiet precision, and a matching wool headband held most of her hair back, leaving a few loose strands to soften her face. As she adjusted the strap of her slightly worn tote bag, her dark green mittens shifted gently against the fabric. Beneath the coat, a glimpse of a cream-colored knit sweater showed at the collar, with a small silver locket resting against it. Her winter shoes, sturdy and lined for warmth, made soft, muted steps against the smoothie bar floor as they carried her further inside.

Beside her, Jamie shrugged out of a bit of the cold as well, her beige coat buttoned snugly around her, the thick fabric giving her an easy, comfortable presence. Her soft, wavy gray hair fell past her shoulders in gentle waves, framing her face as she moved. A peach-colored knitted scarf hung loosely at her neck, slightly askew in a way that felt unbothered, and her cream mittens brushed against the strap of a large, well-used handbag at her side. Beneath the coat, a hint of a soft pink sweater showed as she moved, paired with dark winter pants and worn-in brown slip-on shoes that made her steps quieter, more relaxed.

As they moved further inside, their conversation drifted over, slipping easily through the background noise.

Shyann spoke first, her voice soft and warm, touched with that familiar shyness, each word chosen carefully. “Um… I don’t think I have any plans for Christmas. My dad’s staying at the senior care center that day, and I told him I’d look after the bakery while he spends time with his friends there.”

Jamie tilted her head, pulling her coat in a little as she listened, her voice carrying that friendly, slightly gravelly warmth, softened by a gentle Southern drawl. “Oh, honey, you sure about that? Tiffany’s got a whole Christmas Eve get-together goin’ on over at her place.”

Shyann’s fingers lightly adjusted her scarf again, lingering there as she gave a small, apologetic smile. “No, thank you, Jamie… I really do appreciate you asking,” she said gently. “I just still have a lot to take care of—inventory, recipes, planning next month’s menu…” Her gaze dipped slightly. “And… I think I’d feel a little bad leaving everything to my dad, even just for the evening.”

Jamie’s expression softened, her tone turning more knowingly gentle, though there was still a hint of teasing in it. “You do know he’d be just fine on his own for one evenin’, right?”

Shyann let out a quiet, breathy laugh, shaking her head as a few strands of hair shifted against her cheeks. “Maybe…” she said softly, a small, thoughtful smile following. “But I know I’d end up worrying the whole time… like whether he remembered to label the cranberry filling properly, or if anything got mixed up.”

Your brow furrowed slightly as your thoughts caught up with what you had just overheard, the words replaying in your mind in a way that refused to settle.

‘She’s worried about cranberry filling labels… on Christmas Eve?’

You blinked once, then gave a small, almost involuntary shake of your head, like you could physically knock the thought loose before it went any further. Your gaze dropped quickly to the counter, and you grabbed your towel again, suddenly very focused on a spot that didn’t need cleaning.

‘What the hell is wrong with me?’ you thought, scrubbing a little harder than necessary. ‘She’s probably older than my mom… and she’s definitely married or something.’

Heat rushed to your face so fast it almost caught you off guard. Your cheeks burned, and you ducked your head slightly, hoping no one around you noticed as you kept wiping the same stretch of counter like your life depended on it.

Yeah, “great” plan—except your brain had already completely ditched it, the second Shyann smiled.

And somehow—every single time—she made it look effortless. It wasn’t just polite or practiced. It was soft, genuine… the kind of smile that made people feel at ease without even trying.

And…yeah.

It didn’t help that it made her look… really, really pretty.

You immediately looked away, your grip tightening slightly on the towel as if that would help you regain control of your own thoughts. Your eyes drifted down instead, landing on her winter mittens as she adjusted them lightly, her movements small and careful.

‘Why am I even paying attention to this?’ you thought, trying to force your focus back onto literally anything else. ‘She’s probably—‘

The thought cut off abruptly, something clicking in your mind as your hand stilled against the counter and a memory surfaced—clear and immediate.

A month ago. Early morning. You’d stopped by her bakery before work, still half-awake, just planning to grab something quick. She’d been behind the counter, sleeves slightly rolled, flour dusted faintly along the edge of the workspace.

And her hands—there hadn’t been a ring, your eyes widening just a fraction as the realization hit properly this time.

‘…Wait. Oh… right. She’s not married.’

You swallowed, your thoughts stumbling over themselves now as your gaze flickered briefly back in her direction before dropping again just as quickly.

‘How is she not married?’ you wondered, the question coming more naturally than you expected. ‘I mean… someone had to have tried, right?’

Your mind, unhelpfully, filled in possibilities on its own.

‘Maybe someone did… and it didn’t work out. Or maybe her dad scared the guy off…’

You huffed quietly under your breath, almost amused despite yourself, shaking your head faintly as if to reset your brain again.

Meanwhile, Shyann and Jamie had made their way closer to the counter, their quiet conversation continuing as they approached. The soft sound of their footsteps mixed with the background noise of the smoothie bar, grounding you back in the moment whether you were ready or not.

You glanced up again—just for a second—and there she was, standing a little closer now, still talking softly, still smiling that same gentle smile.

Before you could stop yourself, you felt your expression shift—just slightly, just enough—a small smile, unintentional but real.

But unfortunately for you, the small smile on your face didn’t last long.

The second Shyann’s gaze drifted toward the counter—and toward you—it vanished like it had never been there in the first place.

She moved over and gently settled onto one of the stools, her movements careful and composed as always. Her mittens brushed lightly against the edge of the counter as she adjusted her seat, and then her eyes lifted—

Right to you.

The moment she recognized you, her expression softened even more, and she gave a small, gentle wave.

“Oh—good afternoon, Honeybun.”

Your brain immediately short-circuited.

‘Oh no.’

Your hands jerked slightly, and you nearly fumbled an entire stack of smoothie cups, catching them awkwardly at the last second. A sheepish grin spread across your face as you tried to recover, your movements suddenly way less coordinated than usual.

“H-hey—uh, hi. Afternoon, Ms. Carlson,” you managed, your voice just a little too quick as you straightened up.

Shyann tilted her head slightly, her expression shifting with quiet concern, her voice still soft and warm. “Are you… alright?”

You nodded immediately—too fast.

“Yeah. Yeah, I’m good. Totally fine. Nothing’s—uh—nothing’s been dropped today,” you said, forcing a casual tone that didn’t quite land.

Beside her, Jamie’s eyes slowly lowered toward your hands, the stack of smoothie cups you were holding wobbling slightly as she raised an eyebrow, her voice dry but still warm. “Sunshine… you’re holdin’ those upside down.”

You froze, then quickly flipped the stack the right way. “…It’s fine,” you said, clearing your throat, trying to salvage what little dignity you had left.

Shyann’s lips curved just a bit, clearly amused, but she didn’t say anything that would make it worse. If anything, she politely let you recover, her kindness showing even in what she chose not to point out.

Instead, she glanced up toward the menu board, her eyes scanning it briefly.

“Um… could I please have a Holiday Spice Latte?” she asked, her tone gentle and composed.

Jamie leaned forward slightly, already decided. “And lemme get that peppermint hot chocolate—extra marshmallows, please.”

You nodded quickly, grateful for something normal to focus on as you turned to the cash register, tapping in their order.

“One Holiday Spice Latte and one Peppermint Hot Chocolate with extra marshmallows,” you repeated, your voice steadier now. “Got it. I’ll have those right up.”

Shyann gave a small, polite nod, her hands resting neatly together on the counter, her presence calm as ever.

You turned away from the counter before your nerves could settle in too deeply, slipping back into the familiar rhythm of work as you moved behind the bar, the motions coming naturally—almost automatically—as you reached for the milk pitcher and set it under the steam wand. The sharp hiss of steam filled the air as you focused on getting the temperature just right, your hand steady even if your thoughts weren’t.

You poured the milk carefully, then added the flavors—cinnamon, vanilla, a touch of nutmeg—building the Holiday Spice Latte the way it was meant to be, warm and balanced. Right after, you moved to Jamie’s drink, preparing the hot chocolate and topping it generously with marshmallows, letting them pile up just enough to match her request.

Simple, routine, safe… or at least, it should’ve been.

But your eyes betrayed you, drifting downward—just slightly—to the shelf beneath the counter, where the gift box for Shyann sat. Your chest tightened almost instantly.

You’d spent way too long putting it together—way more than you wanted to admit. Every macaron inside had been arranged with careful attention: red velvet macarons, peppermint macarons, cranberry orange macarons, and gingerbread macarons. All lined up neatly in their holiday wrappers, spaced just right so nothing shifted out of place.

It looked good—too good, your stomach twisting at the sight.

‘This might’ve been a mistake.’

Your hand hovered for just a second as doubt crept in, quiet but sharp.

‘This is probably weird. She’s gonna think it’s weird. I should’ve just kept it simple—‘

The espresso machine hissed loudly behind you, snapping you out of it. You blinked—too late now.

You exhaled slowly through your nose, forcing yourself to move again before you could overthink it any further. You finished both drinks, setting them neatly onto a serving tray, adjusting them slightly so they wouldn’t slide.

Then your gaze flicked down again—to the box—and there was a brief pause, a moment where you could still pretend it didn’t exist.

Instead, you reached for it carefully, deliberately, placing it beside the drinks on the tray, and just like that, everything felt heavier.

Not physically—well, maybe a little—but mostly in your chest, in your hands, in the way your heartbeat suddenly refused to stay calm.

You picked up the tray, steadying it as best as you could, and walked back toward the counter. Each step felt just a little more noticeable than usual, like there was suddenly too much awareness in everything you were doing.

You set the tray down gently in front of them.

“Alright,” you said, your voice mostly steady despite everything, “Holiday Spice Latte… and Peppermint Hot Chocolate with extra marshmallows.”

Your hands lingered on the edge of the tray for a second longer than necessary, your palms definitely starting to sweat now.

You stood there for a second longer than necessary, your hands hovering near the edge of the tray before slowly pulling back. Your heartbeat hadn’t calmed down—not even a little—and now that the drinks were in front of them, there was only one thing left.

The gift box.

You swallowed.

Then, quietly, you took a slow breath, trying to steady yourself before your nerves got the better of you. Your fingers brushed lightly against the edge of the counter as you straightened just a bit, forcing yourself to meet her gaze.

“Ms. Carlson, uh—” you started, your voice catching just slightly before you pushed through it. “I made you some macarons for Christmas. No pressure or anything—I just thought you might like them.”

And just like that, there was a pause as Shyann blinked once, her gaze dropping to the box, then back up at you, then back to the box again like she was making sure she’d heard you correctly.

Her eyes widened just a little, the surprise on her face completely genuine.

“You… made these yourself?” she asked softly.

You instantly felt your confidence collapse in on itself.

“Y-Yeah,” you replied, rubbing the back of your neck, already regretting every decision that led up to this moment.

Shyann reached for the box carefully, almost delicately, like it was something fragile rather than just a simple gift. Her mittens brushed lightly against it as she lifted it from the tray and rested it on the counter in front of her.

When she opened it and saw the rows—neatly arranged, each macaron placed with care, their holiday colors soft but vibrant against the packaging—her expression changed immediately, softening.

“Oh… these are—these are lovely…”

It was quiet, simple, but somehow carried more warmth than anything else she could’ve said. Her fingers lightly touched the edge of the box, careful not to disturb the arrangement as she looked at them.

“These must have taken you quite a bit of time…” she said gently, her voice even softer now.

You rubbed the back of your neck, your gaze shifting off to the side for a moment.

“Yeah… took a bit,” you admitted, trying to play it down even though you knew exactly how much time you’d put into them.

Jamie leaned in beside her, peering into the box—and her reaction was immediate.

“Well, ain’t these just the cutest things, sunshine?” she said, her voice lighting up with genuine delight.

Shyann’s smile returned, slower this time—gentler, the kind that didn’t just sit on her lips but reached all the way to her eyes—as she looked back up at you, still holding the box carefully in her hands.

“Thank you… I really mean that,” she said softly.

For a moment, Shyann didn’t say anything else. She just held the box carefully in her hands, her gaze lingering on the neatly arranged macarons like she was quietly taking in every detail.

Then she paused.

Her fingers shifted slightly against the edge of her scarf, adjusting it in that small, familiar way she always did when she felt even a little flustered.

“That was really thoughtful of you,” she said gently, her voice warm but touched with a hint of self-consciousness. “I feel a little bad I didn’t get you anything… especially since we’re neighbors and everything…”

Your eyes widened immediately, and you lifted both hands in a quick, dismissive wave.

“No, seriously—it’s fine,” you said quickly. “You don’t have to get me anything. It’s really not a big deal.”

Jamie, who had already picked up her drink, glanced between the two of you with a knowing look, her lips curving into a small, amused smile. She took a slow sip of her hot chocolate before chiming in.

“Aw, don’t you go feelin’ bad now, sunshine…” she said casually, lowering the cup. “Shyann went and got herself a Christmas gift for somebody too.”

The reaction was instant—Shyann nearly choked on her latte, coughing lightly as she quickly set the cup down, her head snapping toward Jamie with wide eyes full of surprise and embarrassment.

“J-Jamie, please—!” she said, her voice soft but clearly carrying a warning.

Jamie didn’t even flinch—not even a little. If anything, she looked more settled, like she’d been expecting that reaction and was already comfortable sitting in it. She shifted her weight slightly, one hand loosely wrapped around her cup, the other resting near her bag, her posture relaxed in a way that made it clear she wasn’t backing down.

“What?” she replied, completely unbothered. “I’m just tellin’ the truth.”

Shyann’s grip tightened slightly around the box as her cheeks turned noticeably pink, the color spreading quickly across her face. “You’re really not helping right now…” she said, her tone quiet but firm.

Jamie tilted her head, feigning innocence. “Helpin’ what, exactly?”

Shyann blinked at her, then sighed softly, clearly caught. “…That’s exactly what I mean…” she muttered under her breath.

Jamie simply smiled to herself, far too satisfied, and took another slow sip of her hot chocolate like she hadn’t just caused that entire moment on purpose. While Shyann adjusted her scarf again, her movements just a bit more fidgety now, her blush still lingering as she avoided looking directly at you for a second longer than usual.

You, meanwhile, were trying—really trying—not to think too much about what Jamie had just said, but your brain had already sprinted in the opposite direction.

Fast.

‘She got someone a gift?’

Your thoughts immediately spiraled, each one louder than the last.

‘So there’s someone. Yeah… that tracks.’

You kept your expression as neutral as possible on the outside, but internally, it was a mess.

‘Alright, keep it together. Don’t make it weird—‘

Yeah, that wasn’t happening.

Across from you, Shyann seemed to be having her own quiet moment of recovery. She took a slow breath, her fingers once again adjusting her scarf, smoothing it carefully like she always did when she needed a second to compose herself. When she looked back up at you, her expression had softened again, though there was still a faint trace of pink on her cheeks.

“Um… do you happen to have any plans for Christmas, Honeybun?” she asked gently.

You nearly dropped the receipt printer. “Me?” you blurted, a little too loudly, your voice betraying you instantly.

Inside your head, everything went into full panic mode: ‘Hold it together. Just answer her normally. Don’t make this awkward—‘

Your brain scrambled for anything that didn’t sound pathetic.

‘I am not telling her I’m spending Christmas alone— No way.’

You forced a tight, awkward smile. “Uh… I’ve got stuff going on—kinda busy,” you said, the words coming out too fast, way too fast.

Shyann blinked. “Oh… I see.”

It was subtle—really subtle.

But there was a flicker—just a tiny hint of something like disappointment—before her expression smoothed over again.

Jamie caught it instantly.

The shift in Shyann’s expression—the subtle flicker, the almost unnoticeable drop before she smoothed it over—Jamie saw it all. And then, just as quickly, her attention slid right back to you.

Her eyebrow lifted slowly as she looked at you over the rim of her cup, her expression sharpening with quiet motherly suspicion, curiosity settling in like she’d just picked up on something interesting.

“Busy, huh?” she repeated.

You nodded, committing to the lie even as it actively tried to fall apart. “Yeah. Pretty busy.”

Jamie didn’t look convinced. Not even close.

She lowered her cup slightly, tilting her head just enough to study you more directly, her eyes narrowing a fraction—not harsh, but definitely skeptical.

“Mm-hmm… doin’ what, exactly?” she asked.

“…Stuff.”

A pause.

Her expression didn’t change, but somehow it got worse.

“What kinda ‘stuff’ we talkin’ about?”

You didn’t hesitate. “Christmas stuff.”

“Mm-hmm, sure.”

The way she said it made it very clear she did not believe you in the slightest. At that point, you abruptly turned your attention to a container of straws and reached for them without hesitation, suddenly finding them incredibly important.

You adjusted them once.

Then again.

Then, for absolutely no reason, a third time.

Behind you, Jamie watched the whole thing unfold, her expression shifting into something mother-dangerously close to calling you out completely. She lowered her cup slightly, her mouth parting just enough like she was about to say something.

But before she could get a single word out, Shyann gently stepped in.

“It’s alright,” she said softly, her voice gentle as ever. “You don’t have to explain anything if you’d rather not.” She paused slightly, her gaze dropping to her latte as she lightly adjusted her grip on the cup. “Besides…”

There was a small hesitation—then, a little more quietly, “There’s… really only one person I’d want to spend Christmas with… and I was hoping I might be able to ask him to spend it with me at the bakery.”

Your heart didn’t just skip a beat—it straight up stumbled.

Jamie immediately leaned in, her expression lighting up with curiosity. “Well now, don’t do that to me—I gotta know. Who’s the lucky fella?” she asked.

Shyann didn’t even look at her at first, calmly lifting her cup for a small sip of her latte. Then, without missing a beat, she side-eyed Jamie. “I’m not telling you after what happened last Valentine’s Day.”

Jamie blinked, then let out a small, amused huff, clearly not even a little sorry.

Meanwhile, your thoughts had already moved on.

‘So she’s already got someone in mind…’

Of course she does. Why wouldn’t she?

She’s kind, thoughtful—she remembers people, makes things for them.

‘I mean… yeah. Not exactly surprising.’

Your gaze dropped slightly, your hands slowing where they rested against the counter—and just like that, something in your chest sank despite yourself.

A few quiet moments passed, the kind that felt longer than they actually were, before Shyann gently gathered the gift box into her arms. She held it carefully against her coat, almost protectively, as if it were something far more valuable than just a box of macarons. With her other hand, she picked up her latte, her movements as neat and deliberate as ever.

Then she looked back at you and smiled, warm, gentle, familiar—the kind of smile that, for whatever reason, made it incredibly difficult for your brain to function normally.

“Well… anyway,” she said softly, her voice calm and kind, “thank you again for the macarons, Honeybun.”

She adjusted her hold on the box slightly, pulling it just a little closer to herself.

“I’ll definitely enjoy them… I promise.”

There was something about the way she said it—quiet, sincere—that made it feel like more than just a polite response.

Her smile softened just a bit more.

“I hope you enjoy your Christmas break.”

You nodded, managing a small, polite smile in return, even though your thoughts were still tangled somewhere else entirely.

“Yeah… you too,” you said.

Shyann gave one last gentle nod before turning, and together, she and Jamie began making their way toward the front doors. The smoothie bar’s soft lighting followed them as they walked, their figures gradually blending into the brighter winter light beyond the glass.

Jamie, of course, wasn’t done.

She glanced sideways at Shyann, a knowing smile already forming as she lifted her cup of hot chocolate. “Now hold on… was that an ‘I like him’ kinda smile I just saw?”

Shyann froze for half a second, then immediately turned red beneath her scarf. “Jamie… please be a little quieter.” she said quickly, her voice hushed but urgent.

Jamie just chuckled under her breath, clearly enjoying herself far too much.

The front door chimed softly as they stepped outside, the cold air slipping in for just a moment before the door shut behind them again.

From where you stood, you couldn’t hear what they were saying anymore—but you could see them: Shyann walking carefully, still holding the gift box close against her coat, Jamie beside her, talking animatedly, clearly continuing whatever teasing she had started—and Shyann, still flustered, still listening, still holding onto the box.

You watched them until they disappeared into the flow of people outside, then your gaze slowly dropped back down to the counter. The warmth of the smoothie bar suddenly felt… different, quieter, your fingers resting lightly against the surface as your thoughts caught up with you again, settling heavier this time.

‘…Guess it’s better I didn’t say anything.’

You exhaled softly through your nose, your shoulders lowering just a little.

‘If she already has someone she wants to spend Christmas with…’

Your eyes lingered on nothing in particular, unfocused.

‘…then it’s whatever. Not like I had plans anyway..’

[…]

A while later, the waiting line at the cash register had stretched nearly halfway to the entrance, a dense cluster of customers bundled in thick coats and scarves. They shifted from foot to foot, some glancing at their phones, others craning their necks toward the counter as the bell above the door chimed over and over again, each new arrival adding to the already overwhelming crowd. The smoothie bar, once warm and cozy, now felt packed to its limits, the air filled with overlapping voices and movement.

Behind the front counter, the noise was relentless. Blenders roared almost nonstop, their sharp, mechanical whirring cutting through the space in uneven bursts, while the hiss of steaming milk rose and fell like a constant undercurrent. Cups slid across countertops, lids snapped into place, and order numbers were called out in quick succession—each sound blending into a chaotic rhythm that left no room for pause. The cheerful holiday music playing softly through the speakers felt almost ironic against the sheer volume of everything else, nearly drowned out by the rush.

Every table was filled, every chair occupied, every inch of space claimed. Conversations overlapped, coats brushed against chairs, and the steady hum of activity made it feel like the entire café was vibrating with motion.

“Excuse me,” one customer said, holding up a menu as they leaned slightly over the counter, trying to be heard above the noise. “Can I get two Cranberry Christmas Smoothies and a box of Peppermint Macarons?”

At the same time, from the pickup counter, another voice cut in with confusion, “I think my order number just disappeared from the screen!”

A man stepped forward, already holding his wallet out impatiently. “Could I add whipped cream and marshmallows to that hot chocolate?”

Someone else pointed toward the display case, their voice edged with urgency. “Are there any Gingerbread Macarons left?”

Behind them, a woman adjusted the toddler on her hip while trying to catch your attention, her expression apologetic but strained. “Sorry—do you have any kid-sized drinks?”

And from somewhere further back in the line, another voice chimed in, polite but clearly running out of patience, “Excuse me, I’ve been waiting to order!”

Well…

Your earlier claim of being “busy” definitely wasn’t a lie.

You rushed back and forth between stations, your movements quick and practiced, but only just barely keeping pace with the constant stream of requests. Your hands worked almost entirely on autopilot—taking payments, passing out drinks, grabbing cups, checking receipts—while your mind struggled to keep everything from tangling together into one overwhelming mess. Every second demanded your attention, and there wasn’t a single moment to stop and breathe.

“Alright—here’s your change,” you said, handing a mix of bills and coins back to one customer before immediately turning toward the register again. “Hold on—one sec—”

You jabbed at the cash register button—nothing—then pressed it again, still nothing.

Leaning in slightly, you lowered your voice into a frustrated mutter, your patience thinning by the second. “Come on… don’t start this now… this thing really waits till December to break…” As if personally offended by the accusation, the cash register suddenly popped open without warning, the sharp click making you flinch as your shoulders jumped.

“…Yeah. Perfect timing,” you muttered under your breath.

Another customer stepped forward almost immediately, filling the space before you could even recover, and you forced yourself to switch gears, straightening slightly as your voice snapped back into something polite and composed despite the stress pressing in from all sides.

“Sorry about the wait,” you said quickly. “Let me check if we’ve still got those—I think we might be out, but I’ll make sure.”

You stepped away from the register again, already turning, already thinking ahead, your brain juggling multiple problems at once as you called out—

“Mr. Bennett! We ran out of—”

And then you stopped.

Your voice cut off abruptly, like someone had flipped a switch, and your entire body froze mid-motion. Your eyes locked onto the scene in front of you, and for a moment, the chaos around you seemed to blur into the background.

Mr. Bennett stood calmly on a compact steel step stool near the center of the smoothie bar, completely unfazed by everything happening around him. Customers moved back and forth beneath him, orders were shouted, blenders roared—but none of it seemed to touch him. With slow, careful precision, he reached up toward the ceiling, holding a small bundle of green leaves tied together with a bright red ribbon…a fricking mistletoe.

You watched, stunned, as he secured it neatly above one of the busiest walkways in the entire smoothie bar.

Right. In the middle. Of everything.

He stepped back slightly on the stool, examining his work with a small, satisfied grin, as though he’d just completed something particularly impressive. Then, as if only just noticing you, he glanced down.

“Hey, kid,” he said casually. “Just putting up some mistletoe. Gotta set the romantic mood.”

You stared at him. Then at the mistletoe. Then back at him again. Your cheeks flushed almost instantly, heat rising faster than you could control.

“And why are you putting mistletoe there?!” you demanded, your voice rising despite yourself.

Mr. Bennett stepped down from the stool as if nothing about this situation was unusual in the slightest, brushing his hands together lightly once his feet hit the ground.

“Because it’s Christmas,” he replied simply.

“That doesn’t answer anything!” you shot back.

He adjusted his glasses slightly, completely unfazed by your reaction. “People like festive decorations.”

You pointed sharply upward, your disbelief growing. “That’s not festive—that’s asking for trouble.”

“It’s literally one of the most classic Christmas decorations,” he said, his tone steady and unconcerned.

You gestured again, more dramatically this time, your voice tightening. “That’s a liability.”

Mr. Bennett tilted his head slightly, studying you with quiet amusement, like he was trying to figure out how you’d reached that conclusion. “You’re being dramatic.”

You leaned in a little closer, lowering your voice as if that somehow made the situation more serious. “You just turned that spot into a trap.”

Before he could respond, a blender roared loudly behind you, nearly drowning everything out as multiple voices piled in at once—

“Excuse me!” one customer called.

“My smoothie is missing coconut flakes!” another added.

“Can I order six more macarons?” a third chimed in.

Your eye twitched faintly as the noise surged back to full force, your thoughts barely keeping up as you stared out at the overwhelming crowd.

‘Why is it THIS packed today…’

You slowly closed your eyes, clinging to a single, fragile moment of stillness in the middle of absolute chaos.

“I need a break,” you muttered under your breath.

Mr. Bennett reached over and gave your shoulder a light, almost absentminded pat, his expression sympathetic but far too calm for the situation.

“You can take one after Christmas,” he said calmly.

Your eyes snapped open immediately as you side-glared at your boss.

“That’s the worst timing you could’ve picked,” you shot back, flatly.

But Mr. Bennett was already walking away, completely unbothered, softly humming a Christmas tune to himself as he disappeared back into the crowd, leaving you with the customers that are literally giving you a headache, and that mistletoe swaying in the ceiling.

A/N: HA! Bet you weren’t expecting to see a fiction with a new OC and without the “wife x husband” title.