Chapter 28: Changes
Saturday mornings followed a different rhythm at the café.
During the week, most customers were in a hurry. They grabbed coffee on their way to work, checked the time every few minutes, and rarely stayed long enough to finish a proper breakfast. Saturdays moved more slowly, but they were also much busier. Couples lingered over their drinks, families crowded around the larger tables, and groups of friends claimed quiet corners where they could talk for hours.
By nine o’clock, nearly every seat was taken. The bell above the entrance barely had time to settle before the door opened again, and conversation filled the room beneath the clatter of plates, the hiss of the espresso machine, and the quiet music playing through the ceiling speakers.
Somehow, Lauren kept track of everything from behind the counter.
"Two cappuccinos, one without cinnamon," she said as she placed the cups on a tray. "And I added a pastry because someone looks like he skipped breakfast again."
The older man waiting at the counter pressed a hand against his chest. "Are you accusing me of neglecting my health?"
"I’m accusing you of ordering nothing but black coffee four mornings in a row."
"My wife feeds me."
The woman beside him folded her arms. "His wife tries."
Lauren laughed and slid the pastry toward her. "Then make sure he eats it."
"Traitor," the man muttered as his wife picked up the tray.
Similar conversations followed throughout the morning. Lauren remembered which customer preferred less sugar, whose child refused to eat raisins, and which regular complained when his coffee was too hot before complaining again once it cooled. Even with several people waiting and a timer ringing behind her, she made each customer feel like they had her full attention.
Luke had noticed that long before he started working there. Lauren remembered names, asked about details people had mentioned weeks earlier, and seemed genuinely interested in their answers. Customers who could have found cheaper coffee somewhere else kept returning because she made them feel welcome.
She really was the café’s morning sunshine. Judging by how many regulars stopped at the counter just to speak with her, some of them probably came for Lauren more than the coffee.
Luke carried an empty tray toward the counter and almost walked into a chair when she reached for a stack of cups on the highest shelf.
Lauren lifted both arms above her head and rose onto the tips of her shoes. The movement drew her blouse tight across her full breasts while the apron cinched around her narrow waist, emphasizing every generous curve beneath it. Her fingertips brushed the lowest cup, but the stack remained just beyond her reach.
"Mmh..."
The soft sound slipped from her lips as she stretched farther. Her back arched, her shoulders pulled together, and her chest pushed forward so prominently that Luke forgot where he was walking.
The tray tilted in his hand.
Before he could stop himself, his mind returned to the previous night. He remembered Lauren’s breathless moans slipping through her bedroom door and the final broken cry that had left him frozen in the hallway.
The front of his pants tightened.
For one humiliating moment, Luke wondered whether Reinforce had activated on its own and chosen a very specific part of his body.
Lauren finally caught the cups and lowered her arms with a satisfied breath. Her breasts settled heavily against the front of her apron, which did nothing to help Luke calm down.
"Luke?"
He dragged his attention back to her face.
Lauren held the stack of cups against her chest, one eyebrow slightly raised. "You okay?"
"Yeah."
The answer came far too quickly.
She watched him for a moment, and Luke almost expected an invisible system window to appear and punish him for lying. Nothing happened, though the guilt remained.
"I was trying to remember who ordered the tea," he added.
Lauren glanced at the empty tray in his hands. "The tea you’re not carrying?"
Luke followed her gaze and realized what he had said.
"Right."
A small smile touched her lips. "Table seven needs clearing."
"I was going there next."
"Of course you were."
She turned back to the espresso machine, giving Luke a chance to escape before she noticed the problem developing beneath his apron.
He moved between the crowded tables, collecting cups and balancing several plates along one arm. Three days earlier, he would have been nervous carrying so much at once. Now his hands remained steady, and the tray felt surprisingly light.
A gray-haired man seated beside the window watched him clear a nearby table.
"So she finally put you to work."
Luke recognized him as one of the café’s regulars. The man ordered a toasted sandwich most mornings and spent at least an hour reading the newspaper, though he never seemed to make it beyond the first few pages.
"I’ve been helping for a few days," Luke said.
"I’ve seen you carrying boxes before, but that was different. Now you’ve got the uniform."
The plain black shirt and apron hardly felt like a uniform. The shirt had been kept for temporary employees, and the apron had clearly survived hundreds of washes. Still, wearing them changed how people looked at him.
Customers no longer saw a homeless teenager occupying a warm seat for too long. They called him over when they needed napkins, asked him for another drink, and thanked him when he cleared their tables. For the first time in months, Luke looked like he belonged somewhere.
Another regular sitting across from the old man lowered her cup. "Don’t let Lauren work you too hard."
"She doesn’t," Luke replied.
Lauren heard him from behind the counter. "That’s because he refuses to admit when anything hurts."
Several customers laughed.
Luke turned toward her. "Nothing hurts."
"That’s what you said while carrying boxes with bruised ribs."
"They weren’t that bad."
"They were purple."
The woman leaned closer to Luke and lowered her voice as though sharing a secret. "You’re not winning this one."
"I’m starting to realize that."
"Good boy," Lauren called from behind the counter.
Those two words brought Yvonne to mind so quickly that Luke’s fingers tightened around the tray.
Lauren had already turned to greet another customer. She smiled while taking his order, completely unaware of what her innocent praise had done to him.
Yvonne would have noticed. She would have called him darling, glanced toward the front of his pants, and kept teasing until he admitted exactly what was going through his head.
Before his face could grow any hotter, Luke retreated to the kitchen.
The morning rush continued without slowing. He carried orders, wiped tables, restocked the display case, and helped wash dishes whenever the kitchen fell behind. Each task led naturally to the next, and whenever he finished something, he found another job without waiting for Lauren to direct him.
The work should have exhausted him.
Before Lauren took him in, Luke had spent months surviving on cheap food and whatever leftovers he could find. He had lost weight, slept badly, and pushed himself through long shifts whenever someone was willing to employ him. A few proper meals and two nights in a real bed should not have repaired all that damage.
Yet several hours passed without any pain developing in his arms. His breathing stayed even while he carried a heavy crate from storage, his hands did not shake after balancing loaded trays across the café, and the bruises left by the thugs had faded much faster than he expected.
After setting the crate beside the refrigerator, Luke straightened and rolled one shoulder, followed by the other. His back felt fine.
"You all right?"
One of the cooks stood near the sink with a stack of plates in her hands.
"Yeah. I’m fine."
"You looked confused."
"I thought that box would be heavier."
She glanced at the crate. "It is heavy."
Luke looked down at it again.
He had carried similar crates during temporary warehouse jobs. They usually required both hands and left his arms tight afterward. This one had been inconvenient, but it had not felt particularly difficult.
Maybe proper food and sleep had made a bigger difference than he realized. Lauren had fed him three full meals every day since bringing him home, along with more snacks than he could count. Instead of sleeping beneath a bus shelter or across a row of hard plastic seats, he had a comfortable bed.
That should have made him healthier, but it should not have made a heavy crate feel this easy.
Once the cook turned back toward the sink, Luke crouched and gripped the sides of the box again. His arms tightened as he lifted it several inches from the floor, but the weight remained manageable.
He lowered it carefully and checked the room to make sure no one had noticed.
The previous night, Reinforce had sent warmth through his virtual body and made his spear feel nearly weightless. This was not exactly the same. There had been no sudden rush of mana or system notification, but his body still felt more responsive than it had before entering Powerforge Online.
He felt stronger and maybe even faster, though there was no easy way to test that without making himself look ridiculous.
That makes no sense.
Powerforge was a game. The pain and exhaustion inside it had felt real, but his actual body had spent the entire session lying on a bed.
At least, that was what Luke had assumed.
