First the Coffee, Then You
“Emily, listen to this—I’ve had a brainwave!” Alex burst into the kitchen, eyes gleaming like a man possessed. “A startup. A game-changer. A delivery platform for *everything*—socks to kebabs!”
“That already exists,” Emily replied lazily, stirring her porridge.
“Not like ours! Ours will use AI—it predicts what you want before you even order!” He gestured dramatically at the ceiling.
“So… it guesses desires?”
“Exactly! A total revolution.”
“And where will you work on this?”
“Well… here. For now. Baby steps. A kitchen co-working space, if you will.”
“Alex. I *also* have a co-working space. It’s called my job. I’ve got deadlines.”
“Love, we won’t get in each other’s way. I’ve already called the team—they’re on board. It’ll be brilliant!”
The “team” turned out to be four people.
At 9 AM the next morning, Emily stepped into the kitchen and froze.
Three lads and a girl in a hoodie reading “Freelancer—What’s Your Excuse?” sat around the table. The room smelled like a barista convention, laptops covered every surface, and the fridge bore a chart titled “Hypothesis Growth: From Pipe Dream to Reality.”
“Morning!” one of the bearded lads chirped.
“I live here,” Emily said flatly.
“Brilliant! So do we. Sort of,” Alex winked. “Meet Jake, Liam, Sophie, and Ethan. The dream team!”
“Temporarily?”
“Till we take off.”
“And if you don’t?”
“No *if*. Only *when*.”
Emily reached for the coffee, only to find matcha in the machine. The kettle held a bath bomb—orange-scented panic. The milk was gone, replaced by a tin of coconut cream.
She retreated to the bedroom and shut the door.
“Work begins,” she muttered, “in hell.”
The next day, she opened her laptop and slipped on headphones. A knock came within minutes.
“Em, have you seen my Mac charger?”
“No.”
“Can you type quieter? We’re brainstorming.”
“It’s a keyboard. It’s made for typing.”
“We’re workshopping a hypothesis—delivering crumpets *before* breakfast.”
“Before breakfast? What’s *now*?”
“Research phase!”
By week’s end, Emily’s home was a co-working hub, and she the unwanted guest.
Sophie air-dried knickers in the lounge. Jake fiddled with the Wi-Fi router. Ethan held Zoom calls at the kitchen table. And Alex? Thrilled.
“We’re *this* close to liftoff! Just need case studies and a touch of marketing!”
“And personal space. A *touch*,” Emily said, pouring coffee from her mug—now flecked with chia seeds.
“You’re just not used to creative energy!”
“I’m used to silence. And my home being *mine*—not an office with plug-in air fresheners and one charger between five.”
When Sophie Zoomed from the shower on Friday, Emily snapped.
First, subtly. She “accidentally” unplugged the router. Five minutes later:
“Your internet working?” Jake asked.
“Must be an outage.”
“*Now*? We’re pitching!”
“Fickle universe.”
The next day, she renamed the Wi-Fi: “*PeaceAndQuiet*.” Alex paced like a caged animal.
“Who changed this? Sabotage!”
“Or a sign.”
“Em, we lost an investor! He couldn’t join the Zoom!”
“Maybe because you’re in a *living room*?”
“This is our sanctuary!”
“Then why do I feel like a tenant?”
Monday brought disaster. The investor bailed, citing “unprofessionalism”—especially after Sophie, towel-clad, yelled from the shower, “Who took my shampoo?!”
Alex slumped onto the bed, silent. Shoes off.
“We messed up.”
“Oh, you noticed?” Emily shut her laptop. “I thought you’d moved in permanently.”
“I wanted to build something.”
“You built a dorm. With the vibe of a Scout camp and a diet of energy bars.”
“Was it a bad plan?”
“It stopped being *our* home. I vanished in it.”
“Why didn’t you say sooner?”
“Would you have listened?”
He didn’t answer.
“I’ve been thinking,” he said quietly, “maybe we rent an office?”
“You’ve *been thinking*?”
“Yeah. Proper setup. Team, but no ‘brainstorms’ over my toaster.”
“And the kettle?”
“New. Guarded.”
“Wi-Fi?”
“Scout’s honour.”
A week later, the lounge was a lounge again. Sophie moved to a co-working space. Jake got a “proper job.” Ethan left for Manchester. Liam vanished.
Alex leased a spot in “The Hive” business centre and proudly texted Emily: “Wi-Fi included. No socks on the chandelier.”
She opened the window. Silence. Coffee in her favourite mug. The kettle no longer reeked of citrus and despair.
“I’m home,” she said aloud.
Then she smiled.
And changed the Wi-Fi password: “*DiscussItWithMeFirst*.”
A week passed. The tap’s drip was a luxury—meditative after grinders, brainstorming, shower Zooms, and matcha in the kettle.
Emily sipped coffee by the window, her spaniel snoozing nearby. A new router hung on the wall: “*Hands Off*.” Alex installed it himself. He’d sworn—no more “open-plan bedrooms.”
He kept his word. Mostly.
“Em, quick visit!” he called from the hall. A bespectacled lad in a hoodie trailed him. “This is Ollie. Developer. Need your monitor—ours is dim.”
“*My* monitor?”
“Just fifteen minutes!”
An hour later, Ollie was at her desk, Alex frying eggs, and trainers (white, on the rug) by the door.
“Planning to move in?” she asked.
“Lamp blew at the office! Cozy here.”
“That’s not ‘cozy.’ It’s my ‘Silent Rage’ candle.”
Alex grinned. “Love your humour.”
“And I love boundaries.” She pointed to the door. “Time’s up.”
That evening, he sat on the bed.
“I get it—you’re angry. But Ollie’s sweet. We barely made noise!”
“You’re *already* justifying. Like last time.”
“You think I’d move the office back?”
“No. I think you’re *sneaking* it in. One person. One laptop. One ‘quick favour.’”
“It’s not the same!”
“It’s worse. Last time, you were honest. Now it’s a slow virus.”
“Virus?”
“Yes. Ending with strangers at my table, their mugs in my sink.”
He went quiet.
“I didn’t mean—”
“But you did. You’re so scared to lose the idea, you’re losing *me*.”
Next morning, Emily left for a co-working space—no drama, just gone. Expensive, plasticky, vanilla-scented. But no Alex. No “team.”
He understood when he found her note:
“Wi-Fi’s on. Kettle’s in the cupboard. I’m out of the startup zone.”
Three days later, he arrived with flowers, panda-eyed.
“I get it now,” he said as she removed her headphones. “I thought the idea was everything. But I was wrong.”
“What is everything?”
“Space. Yours. And trust. No startup survives without it.”
“Nice line—yours or Ollie’s?”
“I thought of it. Alone. In silence. Fancy that.”
“Miraculous.”
They smiled. Went home. To quiet.
But perfect quiet never lasts.
Sophie turned up the next week—ratty hoodie, duffel bag full of chaos.
“Mind if I crash? My place has a screeching cat and a rapping neighbour.”
“Sophie—” Alex began.
“Two days. No shower Zooms,” Emily said.
Sophie beamed, dashed inside, then yelled:
“Wi-Fi password?”
Emily and Alex exchanged a glance.
“Guess,” they chorused.
“*DiscussItWithMeFirst*.”
