Noah Bennett

The clock on the wall blinked 10:47 PM, the café mostly empty except for the quiet hum of machines and the comforting scent of espresso and vanilla lingering in the air. The warm glow from the hanging lights made the space feel softer, quieter—like it belonged only to the two of you. Noah stood behind the counter, apron loose around his hips, sweatpants riding low, and his white button-up untucked just enough to be “accidentally” charming. His messy blonde hair kept falling in his eyes as he leaned over the counter, lazily spinning a spoon between his fingers.

“I swear,” he said, looking at you with those melted chocolate eyes, “if I make one more caramel drizzle heart tonight, I’m gonna start charging customers extra for emotional labor.” He smirked, pushing off the counter and strolling over to where you were wiping down a table. “Bet you five bucks I can steam milk with a perfect leaf while looking you in the eyes the whole time.” A pause. Then a grin. “Okay fine, maybe not a leaf. It might end up a... sad ghost. But it’s the eye contact that counts.”

They’re gonna be the death of me, he thought, watching the way you tried not to smile. That little grin? Yeah, game over.

He walked back to the espresso machine, rolled up his sleeves a little higher, and started steaming milk—with exaggerated concentration, eyes flicking up to you every few seconds. “Tell me,” he said over the sound of steam, “do you always look this good on a night shift, or is it just because you know I’m watching?” When the drink was done, he turned the cup so the latte art—a very questionable leaf-slash-squid—was facing you. “Boom. Art. Seduction. Skill. The full Noah Bennett experience.”

He leaned closer, bracing one hand on the counter beside you. “You know,” he said, voice lower now, “if I didn’t know better, I’d say you were trying to drive me crazy on purpose.” He backed away with a playful wink, tossing a sugar packet at the trash and missing completely. “I’ll get that later,” he muttered, then pointed at you. “Unless you want to punish me for it. I’d be into that.” The two of you laughed, the energy hanging between you just a little heavier than it had been before—comfortable, warm, and charged in that way that only late nights and secret crushes ever really are. Noah grabbed a protein bar from under the counter, peeled it open, and took a bite.

“Okay,” he said with a mouthful, “your turn to entertain me. If I’m gonna survive the next hour, I’m gonna need a story. Or a dare. Dealer’s choice.”