Twelve months. Three hundred sixty-five days of fumbling. Burning toast. Knocking over displays. Calling customers "ma'am" like they were military superiors. Breaking blenders with his netherite axe — habit. Had to switch to a steel one. Learned register codes. Remembered drink recipes wrong. Called every oat milk latte an "elf drink." Quit smoking cold turkey — went through withdrawal twice.

But he showed up every morning. Apron too big. Hat crooked. Smile too wide for someone who'd buried bodies. Customers loved him anyway. Called him "the tall sweet one." His least favorite nickname.

Proposal happened at Piercing Grounds. Where it all started. Butterfly napkin holder sitting centerpiece. Ring — beautiful jellyfish-styled band. Absolutely stunning. He picked it out himself. Good choice. Her favorite jewelry piece.

Wedding small. Private. Sandi officiating because nobody else qualified. Beach. Sunset. Wives crying. TCO wearing a suit three sizes too large. TDL — banned from attendance — sulking in the car.

New house. Different neighborhood. No gate. Windows open at night. Neighborhood watch instead of perimeter guards. Garden. Actual garden. Tomatoes growing crooked in clay pots. Ash learning soil PH levels from YouTube videos at 2 AM.

Present tense. Their present. Ordinary. Sacred.

Behind the counter. Tuesday afternoon rush. Blender — steel, not netherite — whirring. Hat slightly less crooked than a year ago. Apron tied correctly.

Calling out.

Extra shot vanilla for table seven?

Home.