Chapter 2: Bad Boys Want Hons Too

Then, my first male customer showed up—our school’s infamous bad boy, Jesse Ford.

He walked up like he owned the sidewalk, hands in his jacket pockets, jaw set. The crowd parted around him like he was a rock star. The girls whispered and stared, but nobody dared get too close.

He had sharp, chiseled features—seriously handsome, like he’d stepped out of a CW show. Too bad he was kind of a brute. Still, unfair.

His eyes were the kind that made you want to look away but couldn't. Even under the harsh streetlights, he looked like he belonged on a magazine cover. The kind of guy who could make you nervous just by existing.

His deep, magnetic voice rumbled. “Ten orders.”

He didn’t even blink. Just held up ten fingers, expression unreadable. I almost dropped my ladle. Ten? That’s a lot. Is he feeding a football team?

I froze.

My brain went blank. I stared at him, mouth half-open, trying to remember how to speak.

He tapped my forehead. “You spacing out?”

“Oh, sorry, coming right up.”

I scrambled to get my act together, tossing extra pasta in the pot.

It was such a big order, I had to make a fresh batch.

I set a timer, wiped my hands, and tried not to look like I was sweating bullets.

“It’ll be about ten minutes. That okay?”

I said it as confidently as I could, but my voice still wobbled a little.

“Yeah.”

He leaned against the cart, arms crossed, looking like he had all the time in the world. Must be nice.

I focused on cooking, but I could feel a burning gaze on me the whole time.

Every move I made, I felt those eyes. It was like being under a spotlight. I tried to pretend I didn’t notice, but my hands shook just a little.

When it was ready, I handed it to him. “Here you go. Hope to see you again.”

I tried to keep it professional, but my voice was softer than usual. I handed over the bag, careful not to meet his eyes for too long.

Jesse raised an eyebrow, looking a little disappointed. “How come you didn’t call me hon?”

He held the bag for a second, waiting. The girls behind him went quiet, all watching me. My face went hot.

He likes that too? Huh. Didn’t see that coming.

Was this some kind of test? My heart did a weird little flip. I’d never called a guy hon before—not like this.

“Hon.”

It came out quiet, almost a whisper. I felt ridiculous, but Jesse just grinned.

Jesse’s lips curled up. “Ten orders—shouldn’t that be ten ‘hons’?”

He was teasing me now, his eyes dancing. The crowd behind him giggled. I swallowed, feeling like I was on stage.

Judging by his eyes, this guy was something else.

He was enjoying this way too much. I had to admit, he was kind of charming in a scary way.

Maddie Lane, hold it together—he’s a customer, and the school’s top dog. No way I could take him in a fight.

I mentally braced myself, counting out the words on my fingers.

“Hon, hon, hon, hon, hon, hon, hon, hon, hon, hon, hon.”

I rattled them off in one breath, counting in my head.

I even threw in an extra for good measure, just to see if he’d notice.

Jesse chuckled, his gaze playful. “You said one too many. I don’t like taking advantage, so here—‘hon’ back at you.” He winked, tossing the word back like a boomerang. I couldn’t help but laugh, nerves melting away.

He’s got a code, huh.

I decided then and there—never underestimate the power of a well-placed "hon."

Day four: huge success, and the school’s bad boy showed up.

I posted a picture of my cart with a caption: "If you know, you know."

After updating my diary, my die-hard follower finally commented for the first time.

From Your Moon: You call guys hon too?

His username always made me smile—a little mysterious, a little dreamy. I pictured him as some artsy guy with a telescope.

I thought for a moment and replied: To make it big, you can’t sweat the small stuff. He’s just a stepping stone to my success.

I added a winking emoji for good measure. Maybe I was trying to convince myself, too.

From Your Moon: Doesn’t seem like you liked today’s male customer much. You only gave him ten words out of a five-hundred-word post.

He was sharp, I’ll give him that. Always noticed the little things.

School bully—who’d dare like him? It’s not like I can fight or take a hit.

I pictured myself in a wrestling ring, getting body-slammed. Nope, not my style.

Me: Yeah, not a fan. So handsome, but won’t even let me kiss him.

I sent it before I could overthink. If you can’t joke about it, what’s the point?

From Your Moon: …

I could almost hear him sighing through the screen.