Bittersweet

Is it possible for an object to taunt someone? The espresso machine at the rental house is so above my pay grade that it’s laughable. There are knobs and buttons, and I think it would take an advanced degree to work it. I long for my decade old automatic coffee pot with my giant pile of filters and can of Folgers that’s sitting on the vinyl kitchen counter of my apartment at home. Does it produce an impressive cup of coffee? No. But I can at least turn out some of the liquid elixir. As far as I’m concerned, this is the most expensive piece of junk I’ve ever laid eyes on. Impressive. Incomprehensible. Completely unnecessary. There is no manual in sight so I’m at a loss.

I look back at my phone to see Lily’s text,

Han, can you make me a latte downstairs? Hair and makeup has begun! I’m so excited! Thanks babe xoxo

It hits me for the 50 millionth time that my little sister is getting married… today. My sister, who is moving to another state next month, and still hasn’t told me. I’m itching to talk to her about it, but not today.

But I digress, back to meeting my baby sister’s coffee needs on her big day. I glare at this monster of a machine and admit defeat just as my phone vibrates in my pocket. It’s Lily again

Don’t forget I can’t have dairy! My stomach has been weird lately

I type out a quick response - I’m going to go to the coffee shop down the street to grab you something special. Want me to get anything else?

You are the best! Could you get an iced matcha for Kelsey? xoxo

Kelsey is Lily’s best friend from college. I wouldn’t say she’s terrible but I can’t stop myself from resenting her. It has been weird to share the maid of honor duties with her. And of course, there is the fact that I know Lily and Kelsey will be moving to Chicago with their husbands in a month. And that Lily doesn't know I know... it has been exhausting. I always imagined myself being Lily’s number one… I also thought I would be married by now, so I guess I’m no prophet. I reply in the affirmative and get moving.

I throw my clogs on and look down at my outfit. Cut off jeans, an old worn out tshirt (not in the trendy vintage way, in the ‘you probably should have thrown that away years ago’ way), my hair is a mess. At least my face is washed? Oh well. The bride must have her coffee.

____________

It is a beautiful day in Charleston. Everything about this wedding seems perfect, most excruciatingly: the couple. So, of course, the day they get married is glorious. No surprise there.

The coffee shop recommended by the owners of the rental is two blocks away, so I make the decision to walk there with the hopes of resetting. My mood is not matching what this day calls for, and I need to get it together. I reach the door in no time and take a deep breath as I step inside. It’s adorable in a way that feels a little pretentious. I bet the walls are judging my outfit. There are three people inside: a barista with a nose ring, a man hunched over a laptop like it’s personally offended him, and—of course—someone directly in my way.

I stop abruptly before he walks into me.

“Oh—sorry,” I squeak, at the exact same time he says, “Pardon.”

We both step to my left. Then my right. Then freeze.

I laugh, because that’s apparently what I do now when my nervous system short-circuits. “Wow. We’re doing great.”

He smiles—easy, not trying—and steps fully out of the way. “Please. After you.”

I take in the essentials in the two seconds I have: tall, dark hair, boots that look like they’ve actually been worn, a flannel rolled up to his elbows. When did we decide forearms were sexy? I cannot recall, but I assure you, his are. He’s holding a coffee cup and a paper bag folded neatly at the top, like he respects baked goods.

“Thanks,” I say, and immediately regret how breathy it comes out.

The menu is handwritten in looping chalk, which feels like a trap. I squint at it, panic blooming. Why are there so many ways to order coffee now? Why is nothing just called coffee?

The barista looks at me expectantly.

“Hi,” I say. “I need a latte. Dairy-free. Very dairy-free. Extremely dairy-free.”

The barista nods, nonplussed. “Oat or almond?”

“Yes,” I say, then blink. “Sorry. Oat. Definitely oat.”

“Anything else?”

“Well… how about you give me one oat and one almond. And—” I glance at my phone. “Also a matcha. Also dairy-free. Obviously. Oh, and iced! And can I add a half dozen muffins?” That last part was decidedly louder than the first bit. Like a crescendo of an order, because of course.

Behind me, I hear a quiet snort. Not unkind. More… amused.

I turn. It’s him again. I look at his boots. Are they for work or for show? How does one gather that kind of intel?

“Big morning?” he asks

“You could say that,” I reply. “Wedding.”

“That explains the urgency,” he says, nodding toward my phone like it’s vibrating even when it’s not. “And the look.”

“What look?”

He considers this. “The ‘if I don’t get caffeine soon I might cry in public’ look.”

I laugh harder this time. “That obvious, huh?”

“Only to someone who’s been there,” he says.

The barista calls my name. When did I give her my name?

I step forward, juggle the drinks, and immediately regret not asking for a tray. One cup tilts dangerously.

“Oh—” I say.

He’s there instantly, steadying it with one hand. His fingers are warm as they brush mine. Confident. He smells faintly like espresso and sugar.

“I got you,” he says. “Crisis averted.”

“Thank you,” I say, breathless. “That would have been… bad.”

“Something tells me you would have handled it.”

I finally get the courage to really look at him. His eyes crinkle when he smiles, and he has one dimple in his right cheek - that’s alarmingly disarming. There’s something unhurried about him, like he’s not constantly sprinting toward the next obligation.

“I’m Hannah,” I say, because it feels rude not to.

“Elliot,” he replies. “Nice to meet you, Hannah-with-the-wedding-emergency.”

I laugh. “I’m the maid of honor. It’s basically my entire personality today.”

“Ah,” he says. “You’re doing great. No visible fires.”

I thank the barista, gather the drinks and muffins more carefully this time. As I turn to leave, Elliot lifts his coffee cup in a small salute.

“Good luck,” he says. “And hey—don’t forget to drink one of those yourself.”

I hesitate. “Oh. They’re not for me.” It didn’t occur to me to get something for myself. Somewhere along the way, it became easier to be useful than to want things.

He tilts his head. “You sure?”

I am. And I’m not.

“I’ll survive,” I say.

He doesn’t argue. Just smiles and gives me a nod and I’m left with the feeling of being seen for the first time in a long while, which is bizarre. Maybe I do need some caffeine.

“See you around, Hannah,” he says.

I walk out into the morning, heart beating faster than it should.

____________

I’m slightly out of breath when I get back to the house. Lily and Kelsey are chatting in the kitchen huddled next to each other at the island when I walk in. Their conversation ends abruptly, which puts me on alert. I go to hand Kelsey her matcha, she looks up at me and says “Why didn’t you just order delivery?”

“I, uh, hadn’t thought of it” I set the matcha down at her elbow and back away.

Kelsey’s tone isn’t mean, exactly. It’s practical. Efficient. The same way she probably approaches group projects, career moves, and five-year plans. This must be why Kelsey was named co-maid-of-honor. Because she thinks of things like this while I’m in the prehistoric times where mankind must manually procure their beverages.

“Oh,” Lily says quickly, smoothing it over like she always does. “It’s fine. I’m sure Hannah wanted to walk.”

I turn to my beautiful sister and hold up the remaining drinks, “One oat and one almond. Which would you like? Maybe the extra can be for Alexis.”

Kelsey chimes in, “She’s already done up and gone, I think she ducked out to meet up with her boyfriend.” Alexis, the third bridesmaid who has been Lily’s friend since grade school and keeps to herself. I’m pretty sure she’s in the bridal party for symmetry purposes.

Lily smiles at me from the island, her makeup already done—skin glowing, eyes bright, joy practically vibrating off her. She grabs the oat milk. “You’re an angel!” I love her so much it almost hurts.

“Did you guys eat breakfast? I got muffins” I venture.

“Oh, no thanks. I’m saving my calories for the cannolis later” Kelsey says while raising her eyebrows, as if it’s an inside joke. Here and Lily look at each other and burst out laughing, back to their huddle.

I step back, suddenly very aware of the cup in my hands, of my outfit, of the fact that I’ve just had a moment with a stranger in a coffee shop and now I’m back in a kitchen with two of the most put together women I know.

Kelsey grabs her matcha, scrolling on her phone. “Hair and makeup is ready for you upstairs, Hannah. We’re running a little behind.”

Of course we are.

“I just need one second,” I say, surprising myself with how steady my voice sounds.

Lily looks at me. “Everything okay?”

“Yeah,” I say. “I just—” I lift the cup. “I’m going to drink this before I do anything else.”

It’s nothing. Barely a thing at all. But it’s something to me.

I don’t miss the glare off the espresso machine watching from the corner, smug and disparaging as I lift the paper cup. The first sip is grounding. Warm. Almond milk and espresso and something faintly sweet. I close my eyes for half a second longer than necessary.

For just a moment, I’m back in the coffee shop. Elliot’s smile. How at ease he made me feel. Not rushed, not on constant alert to fill a need, not the responsible older sister handling things, but someone who is allowed to want.

“Okay,” I say, setting the cup down. “I’m ready.”

Lily hops off her stool and wraps her arms around me, careful of her hair. “Thank you for everything,” she murmurs into my shoulder. “I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

I hug her back, breathing her in. “You don’t have to,” I say. “I’m always here for you.” I wince, wondering if I said that as a jab at her lack of communication or if it was genuine.

And somewhere two blocks away, a man with kind eyes and forearms that should honestly be illegal is probably doing something ordinary—living his life, unburdened by the rollercoaster of emotions that that this wedding is putting me through.

I head upstairs for hair and makeup. It smells like hairspray and peonies and something warm and sweet that might just be anticipation. Halfway through my updo, Lily walks in to get her makeup touched up and watches me for a beat.

“You okay?” she asks, catching my eye in the mirror. “You’ve been very… quiet.”

“I’m fine,” I say automatically. Too quickly. I soften it. “Just tired.”

“Hannah,” she says gently. “You’ve been incredible this weekend. I don’t know how I’d do this without you.”

There it is again. The gratitude. The weight of it.

I nod. “I’m glad I could help.”

“I mean it,” she says. “I know this hasn’t been easy for you. Being here. All of it.”

My chest tightens.

Ben told me you’re moving.

The words press forward, insistent.

Instead, I say, “You don’t have to worry about me today.”

Relief flickers across her face, she squeezes my hands once, then turns back to the mirror. Already moving forward.

“Things are going to be a little different after this,” she adds carefully. “But that doesn’t mean you’re not… important.”

Not included. Not considered. Just important.

“Yeah,” I say. “Of course.”

She reaches for her bouquet, exactly where she’s supposed to be. The moment passes—not dramatically, just decisively.

There was a time when Lily told me everything first.

There was a time when we were a team.

I don’t think she meant to leave me out. I don’t think she even realized she had.

Someone knocks on the door. It’s time.

I smooth my dress, lift my chin, and smile at my sister in the mirror. Her reflection smiles back.

________

To absolutely no one's surprise, every detail of the wedding was perfect. Lily and Ben are tooth-achingly gorgeous, smitten with each other. I swear, Ben has a permanent look on his face that communicates ‘How did I get so lucky?!” Watching Mom walk her down the aisle was a beautiful testament to how she stepped in to be everything we needed from two parents. It felt like I blinked and I was watching Lily and Ben Carter hand in hand walking towards their perfect future together. The ceremony is over, and Kelsey is following the happy couple, helping Lily with her train.

“Photos starting in five,” someone says. “Cocktail hour’s ready.”

“I’m just going to check the reception space,” I say, even though no one asked me to. “Make sure everything’s set.”

The reception hall is tucked behind the garden, string lights already glowing softly even though it’s still daylight. The room smells like citrus and greenery and expensive optimism. The tables are set, centerpieces in place, candles are lit, and the seating chart is artfully arranged.

Perfect. Just like Lily.

I let out a breath I didn’t realize I’d been holding and run straight into a wooden box suspended in front of a man’s chest with a leather strap harness.

I pull back and get my bearings.

Inside the box: rows of pristine cannolis, dusted with powdered sugar, ends dipped in chocolate and pistachio, like they’ve been arranged by someone who respects baked goods.

I blink.

After assessing that his goods were not mangled by our collision, the man looks up.

It’s Elliot.

Elliot from the coffee shop. Elliot with the boots and the forearms and the calm voice, now inexplicably dressed like a very charming, very handsome dessert cowboy.

“Oh,” I say, intelligently.

His face shifts from professional-neutral to surprised to—there it is—that easy smile, that singular dimple.

“Well, Hannah,” he says. “This is better than ‘see you around.’”

I stare at him. Then at the cannolis. Then back at him. “You work here?”

He laughs. “Define work.”

He gestures to the station like a game show prize. “I’m the cannoli guy.”

“You’re the… cannoli cowboy,” I say before I can stop myself. Lily and Kelsey would not stop gushing about how hot the cannoli guy was… is. They weren’t wrong.

His grin widens. “That’s what my mother calls me. Glad it’s catching on.”

I press my lips together, trying very hard not to smile like an idiot. “I just had coffee with you.”

“Did we?”

“And now you’re… circulating desserts.”

“Life’s funny that way.”

He glances around the room, then back at me. “You look… different.”

I look down at myself, dusty blue, floor-length dress, hair pulled back, makeup done properly this time. A far cry from cutoffs and existential exhaustion. The color washes me out, but I don’t think I should derail where this is going with that information.

“Oh,” I say. “Wedding.”

“I gathered,” he says, eyes flicking to the flowers, the lights, the soft chaos beyond the doors. Then back to me. “You clean up nice, Hannah.”

Heat crawls up my neck. “So do you. Very… thematic.”

He beams as he lifts one shoulder. “I lean into a brand.”

Someone calls his name from across the room. He nods in their direction, but doesn’t move yet.

“Listen,” he says. “I didn’t mean to ambush you with pastries.”

“I don’t know,” I say. “It’s kind of my favorite way to be ambushed.”

He reaches into the box and pulls out a cannoli, offering it to me like a peace offering.

“For quality control,” he says. “Occupational hazard.”

I hesitate for half a second.

Then I take it.

Our fingers brush. Again. Like the universe has a sense of humor and is committed to the bit.

I take a bite.

It’s absurdly good. Creamy, crisp, just sweet enough. I close my eyes despite myself.

“Oh my,” I whisper. “This is… dangerous.” My tongue darts out to lick a bit of cream off of my lip.

His eyes are on me like he’s enjoying watching me eat.

“Good,” he says. “I was hoping you’d say that.”

From the doorway, I hear my name and Lily is there, laughing, radiant, already pulling me back into the swirl of her perfect day.

I look at Elliot. At the room—beautiful, intentional, exactly suited for my sister’s future. Then down at the cannoli in my hand, powdered sugar dusting my fingers, a small, unexpected sweetness I didn’t plan for.

“I should go,” I say.

He tips his hat. “I’ll see you around.”

And for the first time in a long while, the idea doesn’t feel like pressure. It feels like a possibility.