Chapter Text
Monday, 5:04 a.m.
The parking lot was still cloaked in fog, the kind that stuck to your windshield no matter how many times you flicked the wipers. It was less “mood” and more “murder-mystery B-roll,” but Jessica Stanley wasn’t new to the Forks aesthetic. Rainy. Misty. Slightly haunted. Always damp. Very Pacific Northwest-core.
She coasted her Honda forward, tires crunching over a pile of soggy leaves as she rolled to a stop at the Daily Grind drive-thru. Her volleyball hoodie was oversized and probably still smelled like gym floor. Her hair was shoved into a high bun that teetered on the edge of chaos, and her under-eye concealer was working a double shift.
Still, her eyes were wide and alert. Not because she was caffeinated. Not yet. But because she was running on pure academic dread and aggressive morning person energy.
She tapped her nails on the steering wheel, squinting at the menu through the foggy glass. The speaker crackled once, then again, before finally springing to life.
“Welcome to the Daily Grind, where dreams die and coffee lives. Who on this god-given green earth is up at the ass crack of dawn just for a latte on a Monday?”
Jessica blinked.
Then she cracked a grin.
Showtime.
“Someone who dreams bigger than death and needs her caffeine to do it, obviously.”
There was a beat of silence. Static fizzed faintly in the background.
“Also, hi, I’m Jess, and I will not be coffee-shamed at five in the freaking morning. I am a woman on a mission.”
Another pause. Then a low chuckle filtered through the intercom.
Deeper than expected. Slightly amused. Very attractive.
“Alright, Jess-on-a-mission,” the voice replied, now more curious than sarcastic,
“What’ll it be? Let me guess. Triple caramel, almond milk, extra whip, no soul?”
Jess rolled her eyes and inched her car forward.
“Close. Double shot oat milk latte, one pump vanilla, one sugar. Because some of us still have integrity.”
“And style, apparently.”
“That too. Now hurry up with that integrity juice. I’ve got a 6 a.m. student council meeting and a stats quiz to mentally dominate.”
The intercom clicked off. A moment later, she pulled up to the window.
It slid open with a soft scrape.
And there he was.
Definitely not who she expected to be handing out lattes at the ass crack of dawn.
Tall. Not basketball-player tall, more like leaning-on-a-doorframe-in-a-teen-drama tall. His skin was warm-toned, somewhere between bronze and cinnamon, like sunlight filtered through cedar trees. His black hair was pulled back in a low ponytail, a few wisps escaping near his temples. His eyes were brown –deep, steady, unreadable– and his mouth curved into something that wasn’t quite a smirk, but definitely not just a customer service smile either.
She knew that face. Sort of. Forks-adjacent.
La Push? Maybe from a track meet or a bonfire once? The memory was frustratingly fuzzy.
And holy crap, was he attractive in an under-the-radar kind of way. This guy had “casually ruined your expectations for everyone else” energy.
He held the latte out the window like it wasn’t a big deal.
But also like it kind of was.
“Integrity juice,” he said. “Medium. One pump vanilla. No poison. Probably.”
Jess blinked. Then took the cup. Then blinked again.
“Oh, thank god you’re cute,” she muttered, opening the lid and blowing on her latte briefly. “Would’ve been tragic if the guy with the voice didn’t deliver in person.”
That earned her a quiet laugh. Warm. A little shy.
It was disarming.
He leaned slightly on the window frame, resting his elbow there like he had all the time in the world. She took a sip of her drink.
“Okay, this is dangerously good,” she said. “Like… ‘forgive the sarcasm and tip anyway’ good.”
“You’ve got sarcasm immunity this early in the morning? Impressive.”
“Sarcasm is my love language. That, and oat milk.” He smiled.
“Lucas,” he said. “Clearwater. Before you start calling me Coffee Guy on school announcements or something.”
Jess tilted her head. Lucas Clearwater. Right. That tracked.
“I knew you looked familiar,” she said. “Didn’t recognize you without… whatever you’re usually doing. Brooding in the forest? Wrestling bears?”
He snorted. “Barista-ing in peace, mostly.”
“Well, sorry to disturb your zen,” she said, offering him a mock salute. “But if this is the quality of your poison, I’ll be back. With exact change. Maybe.”
His grin deepened.
“Guess I’ll see you around, Jess-on-a-mission.”
“Count on it, Coffee Guy.”
She winked and rolled forward, fog swallowing her taillights a few yards later.
By the time she pulled into the school parking lot, the latte was half gone, her hair was still crooked, and she had five minutes to pretend she cared about school spirit and event budgets.
But somewhere in the back of her head (looping like an annoying-but-catchy song) was that low voice saying no poison. Probably.
And the smirk.
And the deadpan delivery that suggested he could go toe-to-toe with her in a sarcasm showdown and maybe even win.
Which, honestly, was the most interesting thing to happen on a Monday in Forks since Bella Swan reappeared from the void like a deleted character that wandered back into the script by accident.
And Jess?
She wasn’t about to let some wide-eyed mystery girl or a drive-thru barista with excellent bone structure and weaponized wit hijack her semester.
This was her show.
And if Forks wanted to throw new characters into the mix?
She’d just have to stay one step ahead of them.
She slid into her usual seat at the far end of the cafeteria table, flipping her hair as if she hadn't just jogged there after an AP Chem quiz and a frantic locker reorganization. Angela greeted her with a soft smile; Mike threw a half-wave between bites of mystery meat. Bella Swan was already seated too, quiet, observant, and doing that thing where she looked like she wasn’t paying attention but probably was.
Jess popped open her water bottle like she wasn’t still buzzing faintly from the double-shot oat milk.
“Okay,” she said, plopping her tray down, “who do I need to bribe to get the student store to stop selling licorice ropes shaped like worms? It’s giving discount Halloween in July.”
Mike grinned at her, and that was enough to make her posture straighten just a little. If she was going to win the long game here, she needed to stay charming, poised, and just disheveled enough to seem relatable.
“Oh, come on,” he said, nudging his tray. “They’re fun. Plus, I like watching you get irrationally upset over candy.”
Jess rolled her eyes but bit into a carrot stick instead of launching into her usual critique of the cafeteria’s tragic branding strategies.
“Not irrational,” she said, voice breezy. “Just passionate. There’s a difference.”
Angela let out a small laugh. Bella smiled faintly.
Across the cafeteria, the Cullens sat at their usual table: gorgeous, aloof, untouchable. Edward was staring off into space like he’d just seen a ghost, jaw tight, fingers white around his apple. Jess tried not to look like she noticed, but her peripheral vision was basically on fire.
He was still ridiculous. Tall, moody, sculpted like a Renaissance angel who hated group projects.
Once, she’d tried talking to him. He hadn’t even made it to the third sentence before brushing her off like a gust of wind.
Rude.
Still, it hadn’t dulled her fascination. If anything, being dismissed only made him seem more mythic. Or maybe it was just the way the light always managed to find his cheekbones.
Okay, Jess, she told herself. Down, girl.
She made a note to delete that sentence from her brain later.
Instead, she busied herself pulling a folded planner from her backpack. Inside was a sticky note stuck between stats vocab and a rough sketch of the homecoming banner layout.
To Do:
- Finalize fall formal venue
- Corner Mike for set-up crew signup (wink optional)
- Recheck scholarship app deadlines
- Look into SAT II dates
- Figure out why “Lucas Clearwater” sounds familiar (coincidence??)
She stared at the last line for half a second too long before scratching it out with dramatic flair.
Nope. Not going there. Not yet.
She shoved the planner away and turned back to the table just as Mike said something about practice times getting moved.
“Ugh, don’t tell me we’re doubling up gym with rehearsal again,” Jess said with a groan. “I already suffer enough trying to look cute while wheezing.”
Mike laughed.
Bella watched quietly.
And Jess?
She threw her head back and laughed louder—effortless, sparkly, confident.
Because that’s what they all expected.
Because that’s how you stayed relevant in Forks.
Even if, just beneath the mascara and megawatt smile, she was calculating every move like a chess match no one knew she was playing.