The Café Corner, literally across the street and around the corner from the courthouse, was and always would be overcrowded. It was like sacriment.
The coffee was horrible, the service was even worse, the whole place reeked of burned espresso and echoed of baristas’ impatience and clear disdain for being told to come to work, much less work. If that’s what a person could call the slow crawl that basically just housed lukewarm water that tried and failed, sadly, at becoming coffee.
But it was the closest, most convenient, and had the highest possibility of each and every patron respecting the unsaid rule: Minding their own damn business.
When there was a coffee shop anywhere within a quarter-mile radius of the courthouse, it was unwritten that the only customers and patrons would be… lawyers. DA’s, prosecutors, civil rights attorneys, interns… You name it, if they were in the legal field? They spend every break there, trying to get away from the hassle that moved in at 100 MPH while they were at the courthouse.
It wasn’t even something that had to do with a lawyer’s client, case, or jurisdiction; somehow, someway, said lawyer would get roped into doing something, running from court to court, barely making it in time to meet their client- pro bono or otherwise, which made things all that much more complicated.
That’s why Cooper would put in his AirPods the moment a judge ruled on a case, jury filing out, and his back to the stand, already striding away to the shitty coffee shop that had become a staple for him at this point, it gave him a few moments longer than an hour of peace, at least.
By the time he was settled in, claiming a corner by the window out of habit and his natural fascination with people watching, his fingertips trailing the rim of his just-them-served coffee, the only saving grace was that they knew him enough to deliver his coffee to him, especially this early in the morning.
Why did he have a probate case at 6 in the god damn morning, all the way across town? Why did he agree to it again? ‘Fuckin’ Hastings’ Cooper mueled over in his mind, a semisort of fondness running through his thoughts at the remembrance of his friend and the debt he knew wasn’t expected to be paid back but was still going to be, nonetheless.
His friend asked him to get someone out of the county at 4 am that morning, and Cooper had swung his legs out of bed, half asleep, showered, dressed, donning his usual slate grey suit, muted undertone dress-shirt, and, while some people may find it unconventional, his lucky cowboy boots.
Back to the supposed relaxation at hand.
The coffee was terrible. He drank it anyway.
Halfway through finishing and reordering the too much sugar in his cup that he didn’t want or need, but felt restless enough to feel compelled to do something add to the jittery feeling- was this even his drink?!- Cooper looked up the moment someone stepped into his line of sight.
A pop of red hair was all that he could see as someone stepped up to his table, absentmindedly, not paying him attention as they waited for their cup of horrid bean water. No rushing, nothing that indicated just what it was she wanted from the man, and in a room of life-or-death caffeine demands, as shitty as it may be, she didn’t seem to be bothered a bit by the chaos around her as she walked to him, set her briefcase on the table, and raised a brow at him.
Tailored coat. Precise posture. Nothing wasted. Nothing accidental.
Cooper huffed a quiet laugh before he could stop himself, women like her came up to him all the time but for once… it seemed that it wasn’t for the reason it normally was; drunk at the local bar- high off of the latest victory of a case, a beautiful woman or two on each arm as they made their way to a motel.
He wasn’t stupid.
There was not a chance in hell any of these people would get to see Cooper’s stronghold, his ranch, his peace and sanity.
As her gaze shifted- brief, assessing.
Not startled. Not annoyed. Just aware.
“Sorry,” he said easily, that familiar Texas warmth sliding into place without conscious effort. “Didn’t mean to laugh. Just… wasn’t expectin’ someone like you to come up to me and ecpect me to know just what the reason was.”
Something about her expression shifted. Subtle. The kind of change most people missed entirely.
The barista called out two drinks. Both wrong, of course, but still the same and still not by their respective names but by the name of the drink itself, making it very confusing to many people in the damn shop.
They reached for the same cup.
Cooper paused, then eased back, letting his fingers fall away. “Looks like they mixed us up,” he said, glancing at the label. “Either that or I’ve developed a sudden appreciation for somethin’ fancy.”
She checked the other cup. No reaction he could name- only a moment of consideration.
“Well,” Cooper added, smiling despite himself, “guess we’re both disappointin’ someone today.”
The drawl was there, lazy and unguarded. It surprised him how naturally it surfaced. Maybe it was the morning. Maybe it was the way the air felt lighter standing there. He hadn’t realized how tightly he’d been holding himself together until just now.
They exchanged cups. Her fingers brushed his- quick, unintentional, but enough to send a brief spark up his arm. Cooper barely registered it before his attention snapped back to her face.
She was watching him. Measuring, maybe. Or maybe just listening.
“Places like this,” he said, nodding vaguely around them, “feel like they’re always one wrong move away from a riot.”
She tilted her head slightly.
“Not that I’m complainin’,” he added. “Makes the day interestin’.”
Something about her posture suggested amusement… or at least tolerance. Cooper found himself leaning into it without thinking, shoulders loosening, voice warm.
Then the barista spoke again.
“Ms. Sinclair? We gave you his drink instead, here’s yours.”
The sound hit like a clean strike to the sternum.
Cooper didn’t move at first. His smile didn’t fall. It locked in place, suspended between moments. The name echoed once, twice, and suddenly the shape of the morning shifted, edges sharpening into something recognizable and dangerous.
Sinclair.
He looked at her again, slower this time. Really looked. The precision. The stillness. The way the room seemed to bend just slightly around her presence.
Everything recalibrated.
The drawl tightened, pulled back like a rein. His posture straightened without him meaning it to. Whatever ease had been there seconds ago vanished, replaced with the clean, deliberate neutrality he wore in court.
She reached for her cup.
Cooper stepped back half a pace, space returning between them like a line being redrawn.
“Well,” he said, voice cooler now, every syllable measured. “That tracks.”
Her attention lingered on him for a moment longer. Long enough for her to notice the change; he was sure of that. People like her always notice.
“Have a good mornin’,” he added, polite now. Professional. The flirtation was gone, packed away as if it had never existed. “Looks like you’re headed somewhere important.”
He was no longer thinking about inviting her to his table when a thought hit him. She didn’t get his name, at least not to his knowledge… so why not try to wheedle information, whatever he could, out of her?
“Darlin’, I don’t think there’s a single spot in this joint other than my corner, and I’d be a’miss if I didn’t offer you the table with me. What do ya say? Care to join a lawyer, keep some company while makin’ chit chat? Or is the courtroom too much for you to handle, something that's normal?”
There. Challenge thrown down. It was in her court now.
@swxrndagger
“Ms. Sinclair? We gave you his drink by mistake. Here’s yours.”
The barista’s voice cut gently through the fog of her thoughts as he slid the correct cup across the counter.
Usually, her days were relentless, clients stacked back-to-back, court filings blinking like warning lights on her screen. Busy was her natural state, a well-worn suit she slipped into without thinking. But that morning had fractured the routine. One email, flagged urgent, from her good friend Charlotte, and everything else had fallen away.
She cancelled meetings without apology, redistributed cases to other lawyers in the firm, and let her inbox burn unanswered. Coffee cooled in her hand, forgotten. For once, the law could wait. All of her attention belonged to Charlotte now, and whatever storm had compelled that message to be sent.
Scarlett needed to investigate the Vipers, and she had already begun the work the way she knew best. She rattled cages, asked the wrong questions in the right rooms, lingered just long enough to be noticed. It made the group uneasy. It was supposed to.
She was good at this.
Unlike their friend Kassandra, whose talent lay in the clean certainty of a blade, Scarlett wielded language like a weapon. Her words slipped between ribs, twisted, and withdrew without leaving visible wounds. No blood, no fingerprints. Just nerves left humming and men suddenly unsure of what they knew or who they could trust.
The redhead offered the barista a small, polite smile as she reached for her cup. To anyone else, the exchange would have ended there. But the lawyer to her right had gone unnaturally still, tension coiling beneath his tailored calm. Only she noticed. She always did.
Her gaze caught his just as he took a subtle step back, the space between them widening by instinct rather than intention.
“Have a good mornin’,” he said, but the playful lilt and easy flirtation had vanished. His voice was careful now, measured. “Looks like you’re headed somewhere important.”
The words sounded casual, yet something unspoken flickered beneath them, an awareness that made the air feel thinner, sharper, like a room holding its breath.
“Darlin’, I don’t think there’s a single free spot in this joint aside from my corner,” he drawled, thumb hooking lazily against the edge of his table. “And I’d be remiss if I didn’t offer it to you.”
His gaze flicked over her, assessing, amused.
“What do ya say? Care to join a lawyer, keep him some company while we make a little harmless chit chat?” A pause, just long enough to tease. “Or is a courtroom man a bit much for you to handle? Happens more often than you’d think.”
It was a deliberate jab at her reputation. Everyone knew the stories. Ruthless in court, precise and unyielding, her private life locked away from colleagues and competitors alike. Ice-cold, they said.
They never looked closely enough to notice the gentler truth beneath it. The quiet resilience. A softness that survived the harshest seasons, like a snowdrop forcing its way through winter soil.
“Quite the jab,” she said coolly.
She didn’t wait for him to respond. Instead, she crossed the space between them and claimed the table as if it had been hers all along, settling into the chair with effortless confidence. Only then did she gesture to the empty seat across from her, a small tilt of her fingers, an invitation that felt more like a challenge.
When he finally sat, she kept her eyes on him, unblinking, as if measuring the space he occupied. She lifted her cup and took a slow sip of coffee, unhurried, deliberate.
“What information do you want?” she asked, setting the cup back on the table with a soft, decisive click.
His reaction didn’t escape her. It never did.
“You have the look,” she added, her voice calm, almost conversational. A slender finger lifted, gesturing just short of his face, tracing the faint tension pinched between his brows. “Right there. People wear it when they’re not here by accident.”
She couldn’t quite place him. Not fully. His edges were blurred in a way that made her uneasy. She didn’t know who he worked for, or who might be standing just beyond his shadow, but her instincts tugged hard enough to demand attention. He was someone to watch. Someone to catalogue carefully.
She knew the résumé, at least the version that circulated in hushed admiration. A good lawyer. An exceptionally good one. She had read through a handful of his cases, decisive victories that should have made headlines. Instead, they vanished almost as soon as they concluded, publicity curiously thin, praise strangely muted. That absence spoke louder than any article ever could.
It made her wonder if he was one of the quiet few. Lawyers who didn’t merely represent power, but answered to it. Lawyers tucked neatly under the Vipers’ control.
She tilted her head slightly, eyes never leaving his face.
“So,” she said at last, tasting the name like a test, “what is it? Cooper Willson?”