After the exam-bound students went off to study and Annika headed out to play with friends during her vacation, I found myself with some quiet time in my room. Apart from a brief ten-minute encounter with my parents, who were heading out to visit a friend nearby, it was shaping up to be a fairly pleasant break.
‘Honestly, any day without work is usually a good one.’
Thanks to the restful time off, the days flew by, and soon it was the weekend again—the day I’d promised to return Everett’s handkerchief.
Dressed in my second-best outfit for going out, I made my way to the fountain where we agreed to meet.
“You’re early?” I called out, noticing that Everett had arrived before me. I thought I was being punctual for once, remembering how I’d kept him waiting last time, but here he was, already waiting.
“I couldn’t let a lady wait,” he replied, offering his hand.
When I placed my hand over his, Everett lightly wrapped his arm around my waist and began leading me toward our destination. But then he glanced at the clock tower and hesitated.
“We still have some time.”
He had reserved a different restaurant this time, but it seemed we were early for our reservation. Sensing his uncertainty about what to do with the extra time, I made a suggestion.
“Would you like to stop by a tea room? There’s a nice one just nearby.”
“Sounds good.”
I thought it was a decent idea, but the tea room I had in mind turned out to be quite popular.
“What should we do? It’s currently full, and there’s a wait,” the staff member said apologetically.
Given its popularity among young ladies, the line had already formed, and waiting for a table would push us too close to our reservation time.
“We’ll come back another time,” I said, deciding to leave the tea room.
This left us with even more awkwardly free time, and as we wandered the streets looking for somewhere to pass the time, we found that every other place was equally packed.
“Since it’s a holiday afternoon, I guess everywhere is busy,” I said, noticing how bustling the commercial district had become, likely a sign of post-war recovery.
“How about the guild?” Everett suggested, referring to the one place in the area that probably wasn’t enjoying this commercial boom.
‘Well, it’s true we won’t have trouble finding a spot there.’
“Sure,” I agreed.
When we arrived at Kyle’s café, the bell over the door chimed as we entered. Kyle appeared from behind the coffee bar, greeting us with the kind of friendly voice and expression you’d expect from someone in the service industry.
“Welcome.”
But his cheerful demeanor quickly faded when he realized it was Everett and me who had entered.
“For a second there, I got excited, thinking we had real customers,” Kyle grumbled, clearly intended for us to hear.
“Couldn’t you have used the back door?” Everett asked, ignoring Kyle’s complaint without batting an eye.
Kyle, apparently accustomed to Everett’s indifference, sighed softly and led us to a table. Without waiting for Everett to speak, Kyle handed him a menu. It was clearly a special one just for him, with the words “No whiskey or water available” printed in bold letters.
‘Looks like he’s asked for water here before.’
It was evident that Everett wasn’t keen on trying any of Kyle’s coffee, given the specific menu.
Everett glanced at the menu Kyle was subtly waving in his face and let out a small chuckle. “Water.”
His voice was sharp enough that you couldn’t even slip a needle through it, making Kyle purse his lips.
“Very well, one glass of water for the gentleman,” Kyle replied, sounding more like a resigned butler than a café owner. Then, as if suddenly remembering I was still there, he turned and offered me the menu with a gleam in his eye.
“And what will Miss Diaz be having?”
It was clear he was hoping I’d order something more substantial.
I was tempted to just follow Everett’s lead and order water.
‘I thought this place’s coffee was basically poison.’
But Kyle’s face—so similar to my father’s—made it hard to say no.
‘Dad.’
It wasn’t that they looked exactly alike, but there was something in the way Kyle carried himself that reminded me so much of my father.
‘Fine, I’ll consider this as filial piety,’ I thought, resigning myself to my fate. Closing my eyes, I ordered a cup of coffee. Kyle’s eyes lit up, his expression immediately returning to its cheerful state, and he quickly headed off to the kitchen.
“Miss Diaz.”
Everett’s slightly sulky voice brought my attention back to him.
“Yes?” I asked, turning my gaze away from Kyle’s retreating figure to meet Everett’s eyes.
Everett’s expression softened a bit.
“Kyle is a notorious playboy,” he said out of the blue. “I know for a fact that he’s been with at least ten different women.”
‘That doesn’t really fit with his appearance, though…’
Kyle looked like the quintessential loyal second male lead, so it was surprising to hear he had such a reputation.
‘Sorry, Dad.’
I mentally apologized to my father for having compared him to someone like Kyle. I tried to keep my expression neutral, but it must not have been very convincing because Everett’s lips curled into a small smile.
“Those ten women are all the ones I know of, mind you,” Kyle interjected, carrying a tray with our drinks. He sounded indignant as he placed a glass of water in front of Everett and a cup of coffee in front of me.
“And for the record, while I may have dated ten women, I never overlapped relationships. I was always faithful—just briefly.”
‘Well, that’s something.’
Even if Kyle was a bit of a playboy, it wasn’t really my place to judge him. Still, it was a bit disappointing to think that a charming supporting character from the original story turned out to be a womanizer.
I nodded politely in acknowledgment, and Kyle turned his gaze to Everett, adding with a smug grin, “And all ten of them were older than me. I’m sure the eleventh will be, too.”
He shook his head dramatically at Everett before disappearing back into the guild’s hidden areas.
‘Did Everett set Kyle up on a blind date or something?’
I couldn’t quite understand why the conversation had suddenly veered into Kyle’s love life. But Everett seemed satisfied, as if he’d gotten the answer he was looking for.
“Miss Diaz, are you sure you’re okay with this?” Everett asked, glancing between the glass of water in front of him and the cup of coffee in front of me.
A bit apprehensive, I replied, “Do you think it’ll taste like the coffee I had last time?”
“Probably. Kyle’s nothing if not consistent,” Everett warned, clearly advising me against drinking it. “You should probably just throw it out.”
But I could feel Kyle’s expectant gaze boring into the back of my head.
Unable to ignore the weight of his silent plea, I lifted the cup and took a small sip.
Seeing me take a drink, Kyle disappeared with a look of pure joy on his face. Meanwhile, I was immediately plunged into misery.
‘Ugh.’
Either my memory had romanticized the taste, or the shock had been so intense last time that my mind had repressed the true flavor.
The taste was a bizarre combination of sourness, reminiscent of spoiled fruit, and a burnt bitterness that lingered unpleasantly. The aroma was almost non-existent, replaced by an odd, off-putting smell.
‘I’m going to be sick if I drink any more.’
I quickly set the cup down, glancing over my shoulder to make sure Kyle wasn’t watching, and then whispered to Everett, “Did I do something to upset him?”
Or maybe Kyle just got a kick out of watching people suffer.
The taste was so bad it brought tears to my eyes.
Everett watched me for a moment before pushing his glass of water toward me.
“I told you not to drink it,” he said in a concerned tone.
I had only myself to blame for ordering and drinking it despite his warning. Frustrated, I grabbed the glass and gulped down the water, but the awful taste of the coffee still lingered.
‘This can’t be normal.’
While I wasn’t exactly a coffee connoisseur, I’d had enough to know this was not how it was supposed to taste.
‘I got so sick of it while preparing for the civil service exam that I stopped drinking coffee altogether—whether it was cheap instant coffee or whatever you get from budget cafes.’
In fact, I couldn’t really tell the difference between instant coffee, cheap café coffee, or the fancy stuff brewed by award-winning baristas.
‘But even I know this isn’t right.’
As the unpleasant taste continued to cling to my palate, I frowned. Everett, noticing my expression, offered an explanation on Kyle’s behalf.
“It’s nothing personal. He’s just never been good at making coffee.”
Hearing Everett’s excuse on Kyle’s behalf made me feel even worse.
“Even the best barista can’t make good coffee if they’re using spoiled beans,” I retorted, my voice rising in frustration as the taste still clung to my mouth. It echoed through the empty café, likely reaching Kyle in the back.
“Spoiled?”
“The beans?”
Both Everett and Kyle, who had reappeared, spoke simultaneously.
I nodded with certainty, despite having never tasted spoiled coffee in either this life or my previous one.
“Yes, I’m certain. The beans are definitely off. 100%.”
Because there was no way it should taste like this if the ingredients were fresh.
