The next morning at the café felt normal again. Familiar faces returned—students tapping away at laptops, the elderly couple who always split a croissant, the woman who ordered her espresso with almond milk and a forced smile.

  But I kept looking at the door.

  He didn’t come.

  I told myself that was good. Better. Safer. I didn’t need the distraction. Or the chills that came every time his eyes met mine.

  Still, by the time my shift ended, I found myself staring at the booth in the corner. Empty. As if it had never held the presence that shook something loose inside me.

  “Elena.” Maria nudged me out of my thoughts. “Earth to barista queen.”

  “Sorry,” I said quickly. “Just tired.”

  “You okay?” She studied me. “You’ve been on edge since yesterday.”

  I shrugged. “It’s nothing.”

  Maria looked like she didn’t believe me, but she let it go. I slipped out the back door, tossing on my jacket, already picturing a hot shower and a book to disappear into.

  The alley behind the café was dim, the city’s hum quieter here. I was halfway down the block when I felt it—that unmistakable sensation.

  Someone was watching me.

  I turned sharply.

  Nothing.

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  Just wind rattling a street sign and the distant honk of traffic. Still, I picked up my pace.

  By the time I reached my apartment, I was practically jogging. Once inside, I locked the door and double-checked the windows. It was ridiculous. Paranoid. He hadn’t done anything.

  But the feeling didn’t go away.

  I sank onto the couch and turned on the TV, letting the noise fill the silence. I needed to forget him. Needed to go back to the routine I worked so hard to protect. Coffee. Rent. Peace. Not dark suits and darker eyes.

  ---

  Two days passed.

  He didn’t come back.

  I began to convince myself it really had been a one-time thing. Maybe he’d been passing through. Maybe he hadn’t meant anything by the way he looked at me.

  By day three, I was finally breathing easier.

  Until he returned.

  It was late morning when he stepped through the door. The air shifted like it recognized him before anyone else did.

  He looked exactly the same.

  Same suit. Same calm expression. Same eyes that scanned the room until they found mine.

  I froze.

  “Elena,” he said when I approached. His voice was smooth as ever, but there was something different in the way he said my name. Familiar. Intentional.

  “You’re back,” I said, surprised by how small my voice sounded.

  “Did you think I wouldn’t be?” he asked, leaning back in his chair.

  I didn’t answer. Just wrote down his order—black coffee, no sugar—and turned before he could ask more questions.

  When I brought it over, he spoke before I could set it down.

  “I’d like to take you to dinner.”

  I blinked, nearly spilling the cup. “What?”

  “Dinner. Tonight.”

  I stared at him. “You don’t even know me.”

  His lips curved slightly. “I know enough.”

  “Like what?”

  He didn’t hesitate. “You work too many hours. You walk home alone. You’re careful but not scared. And you don’t like being asked personal questions—unless you’re the one asking them.”

  I opened my mouth, then closed it. How did he—

  “I pay attention,” he added softly.

  My heartbeat stuttered. “You’ve been... watching me?”

  “Not in the way you think,” he said. “But yes. I notice things.”

  I backed up a step. “That’s not exactly comforting.”

  “I’m not here to comfort you, Elena.”

  His honesty hit harder than it should’ve.

  “I don’t date strangers,” I said finally.

  “Then let’s fix that.”

  He stood and pulled out a sleek black business card, setting it gently on the table. It had only his name and a number.

  “Call if you change your mind.”

  With that, Dominic Moretti left. Just like before. No explanation. No smile.

  Just a lingering presence that stayed long after the door closed behind him.

  ---

  That night, I held the card in my hand for too long. I should’ve thrown it away. Or at least tucked it in a drawer and forgotten it existed.

  But I didn’t.

  Instead, I stared at his name, printed in bold silver.

  Dominic Moretti.

  It sounded powerful. Dangerous. Familiar in a way that didn’t make sense.

  I picked up my phone more than once, then put it down again. I didn’t know what scared me more—the idea of saying yes… or the way part of me already wanted to.

  Dinner with a man I barely knew? A man who radiated control, who noticed too much?

  It was reckless.

  But I’d spent my entire life being careful. Playing it safe. Maybe too safe.

  And something told me that if Dominic had his way, safe wouldn’t be an option anymore.