Strawberry Girl at the Strawberry Farm

The first time Ford called her strawberry girl, Jem had been half awake and undercaffeinated.

She had not planned on becoming emotionally attached to a man in a corporate green apron.

It was a Thursday morning, the air warm already despite the early hour, and her favorite café on the corner smelled like espresso, sugar, and toasted vanilla.

The place had hand-painted menu boards and plants hanging in the windows and mismatched chairs that looked expensive.

Jem had been coming there on and off for a few weeks after moving into the apartment complex nearby. It was close, the drinks were affordable, and the music was always low enough that she could hear herself think during her study sessions.

That morning, the usual barista looked up when she stepped up to the register.

He had dark hair gelled back at the nape of his neck in a loose, unimpressed attempt at neatness, sleeves rolled to his elbows, and the kind of loose smile that suggested trouble.

“What can I get started for you?” he asked, then squinted at her for half a second.

“Wait. You’ve been here before.”

Jem laughed softly. “A few times.”

“A few times,” he repeated, like he was deeply offended she had reduced it to that.

“I knew it. You’re becoming one of ours.”

“One of yours?”

He leaned one forearm on the counter. “Caffeine patrons of distinction.”

She should have rolled her eyes. Instead, she smiled. “That sounds like a big deal.”

“It is serious. We have standards here.”

“Mm. Good to know.”

His name tag was pinned upside down on his apron.

She tilted her head, reading it anyway. “Ford.”

He glanced down at the tag and huffed a laugh. “Ah, dang.”

“That does seem on brand for you.”

His grin sharpened, pleased. “So. What’re we getting today?”

She looked up at the menu board. “Today, I wanted to try something different.”

Ford tapped his fingers on the register. “So bold, so dangerous!”

“Oh, I know. I’m evolving.”

“Any preferences?”

Jem pretended to think. “I love strawberry everything.”

That did something to his expression. Just a flicker of amusement, like he’d already found a joke and was deciding whether to say it out loud.

“Oh, that’s adorable,” he said.

She narrowed her eyes. “Adorable?”

“Yeah. Very committed to a theme. Hang on.” He glanced toward the menu board, then back at her. “We just added a strawberry cream iced coffee last week. It’s good. Weird enough to feel interesting, but also safe enough to not ruin your morning.”

“That sounds perfect.”

“Of course it does.” He tapped her cup on the counter and wrote something on it with a marker. “One strawberry cream iced coffee for…” He looked up expectantly.

“Jem.”

He repeated it once, quieter. “Jem.”

Then he smiled and wrote again. “Jem. Like a gemstone.”

Her stomach did a tiny, annoying thing.

When he handed her the drink a few minutes later, there was a small strawberry doodle next to her name.

“There you go,” he said. “One strawberry cream iced coffee for strawberry girl.”

Jem looked up. “Excuse me?”

“I’ve decided that’s your nickname now.”