Chapter 6 - One Cup Too Honest
The soft clatter of cards being gathered echoed lightly through the quiet café, nearly masked by the sound of steam from the enchanted kettle behind the counter. Devon moved with practiced ease, sliding the final card back into its place, smoothing the cloth with a flick of his fingers.
Across from him, the woman sat still, both hands curled tightly around her empty teacup like it could keep her from breaking. Her makeup was perfect, her posture refined, but her eyes glistened, barely holding back the weight of what she had just heard.
Devon didn't speak. He never rushed people after a reading.
She stared at the table a moment longer, then slowly rose to her feet. Her lips parted, hesitating, and for a heartbeat, he could see the struggle behind her brave face.“…Is there really nothing I can do?” she asked, voice low. Quiet enough that only he would hear.
Devon looked up. His gaze was warm, steady, almost unbearably kind. He shook his head once, slowly. Then, with the faintest movement, he mouthed:
“I’m sorry.”
The woman nodded. Just once. Her throat bobbed as she swallowed hard, blinking away the shimmer in her lashes. She turned and made her way toward the door without another word, her steps graceful, composed — the way people always try to be when they’re falling apart just out of view.
The bell chimed softly as she left.
Devon watched her go with that same gentle expression, but just for a breath, only a breath, it faltered.
Something behind his eyes flickered. A shadow of sadness, quiet and restrained. Like a man holding grief in his hands and smoothing it into silence before anyone else could see it.
Except someone did.
Near the far wall, tucked beneath the glow of a reading lamp and half-buried in a stack of borrowed books, she looked up. The quiet regular. Always seated near the window. Always here on weekdays after lunch, always gone before the evening crowd arrived. She hadn’t meant to listen. Hadn’t meant to watch. But she saw it. Not just the client’s watery eyes, but Devon’s face in that split second between professional calm and quiet heartbreak.
And something else.
The faintest shimmer beneath the fabric of his sleeves. A low, silvery glow that pulsed once, then faded, like the dying echo of a spell trying not to be noticed.
She looked back at her book. Didn’t ask. Didn’t stare.But she couldn’t quite shake the feeling that something sacred had happened just a few tables away, and that she was never meant to see it.
A while later, she was still reading, her cup now long empty, when the soft clink of porcelain on wood pulled her attention again. Devon stood at her table with a smile — easy, warm, like nothing had happened at all.
“Refill?” he asked, gesturing to her empty cup.
She blinked, then smiled gently. “Yeah… I’d like that.”
He nodded. “I’ve been working on a new blend,” he said. “Not on the menu yet. Something for clarity.”
“That sounds intense.”
Devon chuckled. “Only if you’re looking for answers.”
She gave a playful shrug. “Surprise me.”
Devon returned a few minutes later with a fresh cup, steam curling upward with a scent like warm citrus, cardamom, and something harder to define, like old paper. The kind of scent that lingered just behind memory.
She thanked him softly, brought the cup to her lips, and took a careful sip. The flavor bloomed instantly. Layered, thoughtful, unlike anything she’d had before. But then, the café dissolved.
For a moment, she wasn’t at her table. She wasn’t in her own body. She was seated across from a woman with trembling hands and brave eyes. She could feel the flick of cards in her own fingers. The weight of the air. The quiet ache of power meeting its limits.A thought, not her own, whispered inside her skull like a sigh trapped in a bottle:
If only I could help them.
If only seeing was enough.
Then came the sting. Not hers either. A sharp, crawling heat across her arms, like fire etched beneath skin, not burning but hurting. Familiar. Frequent. Carried in silence. And through it all: grief. Not loud. Not consuming. Just… present. Tucked beneath the smile. Neatly folded away like the corner of a handkerchief never meant to be seen.
The vision snapped like thread.
She flinched.
Devon noticed instantly. His hand, halfway to wiping down the counter, paused.
“…Too strong?” he asked.
She blinked, reeling, her heart still thudding somewhere behind her ribs.
“No, I just—” Then, quietly:
“Who was she?”
The question hung in the air.
Devon looked at her. For the first time, really looked at her. And the boyish smile he always wore didn’t come. He didn’t look angry. Or shocked. Just… still. As if someone had knocked over a glass inside him, and he wasn’t sure whether to pick it up or let it spill. For the first time, he was the one being read.
He hadn't meant to let her see. He never let anyone see.
But the cards hadn’t been involved this time. Just a blend not yet ready, and a girl more attuned than he realized.
Devon looked down, just for a breath, as if tucking something back behind his ribs. When he looked up again, the smile returned, softer than usual, a little tighter around the edges. “Don’t worry about it,” he said gently, brushing a hand through his hair like nothing had happened. “It was just… an unfortunate day. Not every reading brings a turning point.”He set the teapot down carefully. “All I can do is wish her well.”
He moved to step away, but paused. His voice, this time, was quieter. Almost careful.
“…This blend shouldn’t have done that.”
Then, with a huff of a chuckle and that trademark smile sliding almost too easily back into place, he added,“
Guess I’ve still got a few kinks to work out before I start charging for emotional breakthroughs.”
And just like that, the cheerful tea-barista persona was back. Almost. But the weight beneath his eyes lingered, like the steam rising from the cup he left behind.