Late May, 2003
Watery buzzed with anticipation. For the first time in years, Memorial Day weekend meant more than just picnic blankets and mosquito spray. The signs were up. The gravel paths were swept clean. Bumper boats bobbed in the pond like lazy ducks, and the Ferris wheel—tall, creaking, freshly painted—loomed over the trees like some benevolent metal giant.
Coffee World was almost ready.
Jaakko wasn't.
He stood behind the counter of the small café kiosk at the park entrance, wiping down the espresso machine for the third time in ten minutes. Ilmo had disappeared somewhere into the arcade area to rewire the coin slots again, and Jaakko was left trying not to stare at the new hire folding T-shirts near the merch booth.
Her name was Sari.
She was from Bright Falls—moved back in with her aunt after art school, or so she'd mentioned when they'd both reached for the same box of sugar packets during orientation. She wore her park-issued polo like it belonged in a fashion magazine, somehow managing to make khaki look poetic. Her laughter was soft but genuine, like she'd never had to force it. And when she spoke, she didn't use small talk. She asked questions. Real ones.
Now, she was humming quietly to herself while arranging stacks of mugs printed with the Coffee World logo—a sleepy-eyed bean reclining in a rollercoaster seat.
Jaakko was doomed.
"Your steam wand's clogged," she said suddenly, not looking up.
He jumped, almost knocking over the milk pitcher. "What?"
Sari nodded toward the machine. "You've been fiddling with it like it's haunted. You need a paperclip. Or a safety pin."
Jaakko blinked. "Right. Yeah. Of course."
She turned to face him then, eyebrow raised. "You okay?"
"Fine. Great. Totally not panicking about opening day or espresso-based disaster scenarios."
She smiled—warm, a little crooked. "Good to know you take steam pressure seriously."
Jaakko chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck. "It's sort of our thing around here."
"Coffee?"
"Pressure."
She laughed. It did something to his ribs.
That night, after the lights were off and the last test ride had squealed to a halt, Jaakko found himself walking the grounds alone. The Ferris wheel groaned in the breeze. The trail lights cast soft glows between the trees, and somewhere across the park, a raccoon was trying to break into the churro cart.
He wasn't used to this feeling—this fluttering at the edge of certainty. He'd lived in Watery long enough to know that things either went wrong, or they went weird. And falling for someone felt a little like waiting for the other shoe to drop.
But maybe, he thought, just maybe, the park had brought with it a kind of magic. Not the eldritch kind that whispered through the lake at midnight—but something smaller. Quieter. The kind that began with coffee and ended in laughter.
Tomorrow, Coffee World would open its gates.
Tonight, Jaakko stood beneath the string lights and let himself hope that this summer would bring something new.
And maybe—just maybe—someone new, too.