The café is busier than usual in this rainy weather. Many people stop by to warm themselves with a hot drink. Though the daytime temperature is still pleasant, hovering around 17 degrees Celsius, warmer clothing doesn’t make an appearance until evening. The sun rises around seven in the morning, but the moon doesn’t retire until midday.

  My legs are already numb from pacing back and forth. Even when I have a moment to rest, my mind gives me no peace, breaking my thoughts into pieces.

  Since meeting Jason, a storm has been raging inside me, but not because of him. What haunts me is what might have happened if I hadn’t seen him at the mall.

  What if he hadn’t noticed my body language? What if he hadn’t recognized me? How would I have escaped that awkward conversation?

  The worst part of it all is the guilt. Every single one of Christopher’s questions pushed me toward the conclusion that I should cut all ties with him. At first, I was shocked, then angry, and now I’m just unsettled. How could he imagine that I’d nod along to every absurd suggestion he made? Leave behind my family, my friends, and the life I’ve built for myself?

  He was right about one thing: my friends don’t exactly have the gentlest manners or the calmest temperaments. But I grew up with them. Whenever something goes wrong, they’re the ones who are there for me, no one else.

  I left him sitting at the table like a timid little girl. If I had shared these thoughts with him at that moment, what might have come of it?

  I ran away. We didn’t even give our friendship a chance, and I don’t know if I did the right thing. I shake my head at the thought. Three days have passed, and my mind is still caught up in this mess.

  William and James told me there must be something wrong with the guy, and if he has a doctor’s note to prove it, I’d be justified in feeling bad. But until that’s confirmed, I should stop beating myself up.

  At first, we discussed the situation seriously. By the end of the conversation, we were laughing, and eventually, all of us got irritated.

  William made me promise not to meet any men he doesn’t know. My defiant nature crumbled in an instant. After an experience like that, I think I’ll hand him the leash. It’s time to set aside my pride.

  “Could you make a hot chocolate to go?”

  “Of course, Anthony,” I nod to the man, ending my break.

  I heat the milk with instinctive motions, aided by the machine. My other actions are so mechanical that I don’t even realize the task is complete until it’s time for payment.

  Anthony’s next instruction is for me to take some orders, a task he couldn’t have handed to a worse person. Forcing a smile on my face while this strange storm eats away at me inside is one of the hardest things in the world.

  The worst part of working in hospitality is that you always have to be friendly, soft-spoken, and cheerful. If you’re not, the complaint book comes out quickly.

  In a fraction of a second, I plaster on my friendly smile and head to table five. Opening my small notepad and pulling the pen from my shirt pocket, I finally look at the person seated at the table.

  My pupils begin to pulse at the familiar features. My strength leaves my body, and my pen falls to the floor with a loud clatter.

  His curly hair is damp from the rain, clinging to his pale face as if to frame it perfectly. His steel-blue eyes glimmer faintly when they meet mine, and his full lips are flushed red from the cold air. His soaked canvas coat is draped over the back of his chair, and his shirt clings to his frame from the rain.

  Why does he look like he just stepped out of a painting?

  I let out a nervous sigh, snapping him out of his thoughts. He picks up my pen from the floor and hands it back to me with an awkward smile. As I take the pen from his hand, I flinch at the cold aura emanating from him. It’s strange to think that this was once the warmest hand to ever burn my skin.

  “Good afternoon, sir. How may I serve you?” I ask politely, though the aggression hidden beneath my tone is likely visible on my face.

  “Nina... Damn! Sit down, we need to talk!”

  “How may I serve you?” I repeat myself, tapping the pen against my notepad. After a few moments, Dante realizes how rude his outburst was. He clears his throat and smooths down his damp curls.

  “I’d like a coffee, please.”

  “What kind?”

  “Just coffee.”

  “Would you like anything else?”

  “No, thank you.” I leave the table with the same ease with which he left me in doubt.

  Though my movements don’t betray my emotions, Anthony can clearly see that something is wrong.

  “Nina... want me to take over?”

  “No, I’ve got it. Why?”

  “Because you’re putting salt in the coffee instead of sugar...”

  “I know. That’s intentional.”

  “I’ve never seen you make coffee this passive-aggressively.”

  “This will be the first and the last, I promise.” At my reassuring smile, his eyebrows twitch, but he leaves me to it, he has plenty of tasks of his own.

  I prepare Dante’s coffee “perfectly,” then serve it with a joy I’ve never felt while serving a drink before. Maybe it’s because, for the first time, I “accidentally” nudge the cup with my pinky finger.

  The liquid quickly spills across the tablecloth and onto Dante’s lap. Despite his quick reflexes catching the cup, he doesn’t escape unscathed. He hisses at the heat soaking through his clothes, and his awkward smile matches my own.

  The second thing that makes me happy is watching him take a sip of the coffee, only to spit it out as if it were poison.

  “All right, we really need to talk!” he says.

  “Unfortunately, I’m working.”

  “When do you finish?”

  “That depends on the customers.”

  Dante lets out a loud sigh, running a hand through his hair. He meets my gaze, but I refuse to hold eye contact for too long, it might give me guilt.

  “Fine... I’ll order another coffee, and when I finish it, I’ll come back in two hours for another drink.”

  “Understood.” My sinister smile makes him shake his head immediately.

  “Don’t you make that coffee.”

  “This is my profession, Dante. Trust me.”

  Dante wasn’t lying. Although the previous coffee was on the house, the second was made properly, and he left after paying, promising to return soon.

  That was four hours ago. Since then, he’s been sitting here, sipping tea.

  Even though I’ve dreamed of him countless times, seeing him in real life fills me with an uncomfortable sense of unease.

  He broke my heart, and now he’s casually drinking tea at my workplace, as if hurting me was his favorite pastime.

  His presence unsettles me, making me tense and confused. I don’t understand why he’s so forceful about wanting to talk to me or what he could possibly have to say. There’s nothing left for us to discuss. He disappeared for six months, and nothing he says can justify that.

  Closing time is approaching, and with it, the moment for our conversation. Anthony left me in charge of locking up, so the last person remaining in the café with me is none other than Dante.

  While I sweep the floor, I can feel his intense gaze following my every move. By the time I start mopping, he seems to grow bored of just watching and takes over the dishwashing.

  “They’re not going to pay you for that,” I comment.

  “I don’t want to be here until midnight, so I’m helping out. Do you hate the idea of talking to me that much?”

  “Ahhh... No! I’d love to talk to you, so much!”

  “Encouraging.”

  “I don’t think there’s anything left for us to talk about.”

  “Well, I think there is,” Dante insists, glancing purposefully across half the room to emphasize his point. He does this so well that I almost trip into the mop bucket from the jolt it gives me.

  No matter how much I try to delay my work, the time comes when I have to send Dante out of the building. I turn off all the lights and finally step out through the back door after changing. I assume he’s following the scent of coffee because I didn’t tell him to wait for me here, yet here he is.

  “I wanted to slip away, you know. This isn’t fair.”

  “I figured,” he replies with an awkward smile, which only makes the unease in my chest grow. I don’t recognize this side of him, and I don’t feel safe. Maybe I should text Mark...

  “My patience is running out. You spilled hot coffee on me, made me drink salty coffee, don’t I at least deserve a conversation?”

  “I’m too tired for this, Dante. Can’t we talk some other time?” I take two steps back, but he simply shakes his head, his expression stiff. The thought that once likened him to a beautiful painting in my mind is now replaced by the image of a serial killer.

  “Are you... afraid of me?”

  “Maybe.”

  I barely get the word out before he lets out a soft laugh and closes the distance between us in two large steps.

  “Then how about I drive you home, and we set up another time to talk?”

  “Rule number one for women: never let a strange man walk you home!”

  “But you’ve kissed me before.”

  “Yet I feel like I don’t know you at all.”

  “I could say the same. I’d like to get to know you better.”

  Tentatively, I look up at his face. His features seem much softer up close, perhaps it was the lighting earlier that made him look so intimidating. That must be it. Nothing would seem appealing in this dark, somber parking lot.

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  Almost instinctively, I reach out to touch his face. He reacts with a surprised glance before closing his eyes and leaning into my palm, his hand gently holding mine.

  An unexpected reaction always brings another. My brain doesn’t know how to respond, but my heart instinctively guides my body. Even if I were fully in control, what else could I do? Here he stands, the man who has consumed my dreams, whose presence lingers in my every thought. I wanted nothing more than to slap him, yet this tender, gentle sequence of actions feels just as satisfying.

  “Can I drive you home now? See, I’m completely harmless.”

  “Sorry, it’s just... this moment feels so strange to me.”

  “Me too. Why does it feel strange to you?”

  “Because you’re not drunk.”

  “You’re not being very nice to me today,” he observes as he gently removes my hand from his face. Instead of letting go, he intertwines his fingers with mine and starts walking toward the car.

  I’ve only had one chance to see his car before, and that was when he christened it with the contents of his stomach. So, other than the fact that it has four wheels, I don’t remember anything about it.

  “Is this a Mazda?”

  “It’s a Mazda.”

  “A Mazda RX-8?”

  “A Mazda RX-8.”

  “You’re not fainthearted...” I murmur to myself as I take in the car, its red color even more enticing.

  “Why do you say that?” He chuckles as he lets go of my hand to open the door for me.

  “Because it’s a gas guzzler, and if it breaks down, it’ll cost you a fortune,” I explain while sliding into the leather seat. “And by the way, I could’ve opened the door myself.”

  “I know, but I was afraid you’d slam it,” he says. Immediately after, he slams the door so loudly that his words lose all credibility. He walks around the car, gets in behind the wheel, and smiles at me. “I took care of it for you.”

  “Why would I slam the door?”

  “I don’t know. You put salt in my coffee, and I don’t even know what I did to deserve that.”

  “You could probably come up with a few reasons... But anyway, does this car spit flames too?”

  “If I want it to, yes.”

  “And do you want it to?”

  “No.”

  “But I want it to...”

  “And I don’t want the cops called on us,” Dante says with a soft smile, placing his hand on my thigh.

  Our relationship has reached the point, six months later, where these “accidental” touches no longer happen under the table. The situation feels foreign to me, and I don’t know how I’m supposed to feel about it. Instead of overthinking, I place my hand over his long fingers.

  “Sorry for acting so childish. My head is just a mess right now.”

  “We’ll find the time to talk things through.”

  “But not tonight.”

  Tonight, I need to process all these emotions. My thoughts are darting in every direction, and I don’t know how I should feel.

  Fortunately, he seems to pick up on this, even if his expression suggests he doesn’t fully understand. I might feel angry, but every touch, glance, and smile from him calms me down. Yet the moment my attention shifts away from him, I feel like I might explode.

  “Can I kiss you?”

  “I’d rather walk home!” Before I can open the door, Dante firmly grabs my hand and gently pulls me closer to him.

  He seemed surprised by my outburst, but honestly, what did he expect? God forbid I kiss him again! It seems like every time our lips meet, he celebrates the occasion by disappearing for six months. I don’t want him to vanish for another six months!

  “Sorry! Let’s just go, okay? Buckle up, and we’ll leave right away!” To emphasize his words, he lets go of my hand, buckles his seatbelt, and starts the car engine. I glance at him sideways, but I stay in the car. I fasten my seatbelt and let out a long sigh as I sink into the seat.

  “I took an eight-hour-a-week office job in Vernon,” he says, steering the conversation into neutral territory as though his life depends on it.

  “I’m glad,” I reply curtly. That’s as far as the conversation goes. My sudden defiance leaves him unsure of how to continue.

  “I live near the apartment blocks,” I add after a beat.

  “Okay.”

  I’d be lying if I told the others that I spent this five-minute drive stewing in anger. The truth is, within seconds, I found myself watching Dante as he drove.

  I’ve watched William, Mark, and Jason behind the wheel, but Dante is somehow a completely different sight. Their movements are technically the same, but his carry a unique aura. The way his strong hands turn the wheel while his eyes scan the road, his confident gear shifts, and his disciplined posture... Why does it captivate me so much?

  I want to hit him so badly it’s beyond words, yet every fiber of my being urges me to apologize for my outburst and accept his kiss.

  Caught between these conflicting emotions, I remain silent the entire drive, sometimes watching him and other times observing the small streets he turns into.

  “Can you drop me off a bit farther away?”

  “Are you afraid I’ll find out where you live and start stalking you?” Oh, it’s quite the opposite. I’m afraid that I’ll end up hoping you’ll show up unannounced, especially when your absence becomes unbearable.

  “Yes.”

  “And what if I want to stalk you?” Though I want to blurt out, “Fine, go ahead, do it,” I quietly watch him drive into my neighborhood instead.

  “Just... stop here.”

  “You’ve been walking all day, are you trying to make up for a lack of steps?”

  “No, I live here.”

  After my declaration, he immediately stops, glances back, shifts into reverse, and slowly backs into a parking spot.

  I quickly avert my eyes, but his appearance feels almost lethal, it’s as if his gaze alone cuts through me. His jawline tightens, his skin pulling taut, creating the impression that his face was sculpted from marble by the gods.

  His blue eyes hold a weariness I recognize but can’t fully understand. His pale face reveals years that seem to have gone sleepless.

  I’ve never seen a face so beautiful and so sad in my life. This is the first day in six months that I’ve seen him without a single drop of alcohol in either of our systems.

  With clear minds, we could finally judge each other’s behavior, yet not once have we used the opportunity to truly get to know one another.

  I feel guilty, not just angry at him but at myself as well. When he asked for a conversation, I had the chance to make things right, but I let my anger take over instead.

  Dante parks in the nearest spot, turns off the engine, and timidly turns to face me. His gentle cough draws my attention.

  “So... this is where you live.”

  “Yes, in that building.”

  “You know... I’m a little thirsty.”

  “I’d say you’ve already drained the café’s entire tea supply.”

  “Then I need to use the bathroom!” he blurts out, making me chuckle.

  “We’ll see each other again, Dante.”

  “Okay, but when?”

  “When do you want to?”

  “I’m busy tomorrow, but the day after, I’m free around six.”

  “Then the day after tomorrow at six.” My soft smile makes his brow twitch, and his lips part slightly. “Yes?”

  “You agreed too quickly.”

  “Sorry for being interested in you. Should I stop?”

  “No! Please don’t! It feels nice.”

  He carefully touches my hand as he meets my gaze. His touch isn’t warm, yet it burns my skin.

  “I’m just afraid you won’t show up.”

  “If I don’t, you can come get me, okay?”

  Doubt lingers on his face as he pulls his lips into a line and looks at the dashboard. He lets out a small growl, seemingly unconvinced, but I have no better way to reassure him.

  I want to talk to him, too. He doesn’t seem to be hiding anything. After a heavy sigh, he releases my hand and sinks back into his seat.

  “Couldn’t we stay like this forever?”

  “We both know the answer to that, and neither of us wants to say it.”

  He doesn’t look at me anymore, just lets out a breath and closes his eyes. I take one last moment to admire him fully.

  The farewell doesn’t take long. We agree on which bus stop to meet at on Friday evening, then exchange a meaningful glance as our goodbye.

  Without exaggeration, he parked about four meters from the entrance, yet each step toward my building feels like I’m dragging the weight of my sins. I can’t get his physical presence out of my head, his sober demeanor has completely captivated me, and his melancholy face is etched into my consciousness.

  Once inside my apartment, I feel even lonelier than I did before. What would’ve happened if I had given in to temptation and let him into my private space?

  Would we have talked everything through over a glass of wine, or would we have spent the evening bickering?

  With a deep sigh, I tie up my hair and collapse onto the couch, staring at the ceiling and losing myself in the memory of the last few moments.

  I find myself idealizing this man far too much, even though I barely know anything about him. There’s nothing particularly special or magical about him, and yet... there’s that charm, that allure, those eyes... Those eyes that consume me, and that rare smile that utterly destroys me.

  I pull out my phone and check Mark’s update for the day. While my relationship with him isn’t as close as it was before, we still share updates every second or third day.

  He happily shares everything, his work performance is improving, he’s pushing for a promotion, and he jokes about how I skipped our workout, saying everyone missed me, including him.

  Though we talk about his day, whenever the topic shifts to mine, I deflect. I end the conversation by claiming I have to go because Elizabeth is about to arrive, though it’s a lie, why not make it the truth?

  I immediately message Elizabeth, telling her to haul herself over to my couch because I’ve been hiding a dramatic story that’s about to explode out of me.

  Elizabeth has plenty of questions, but I don’t answer any of them. I simply reply with pre-set reaction emojis, which, of course, irritates her. If she wants to know about my life, she’ll have to come over.

  I don’t prepare much for the conversation. I grab two beers from the back of the fridge and fish out my half-empty pack of cigarettes from a drawer. Too lazy to check, I estimate there are about half left.

  I place everything on the coffee table, turn on a reading lamp for some ambient lighting, and put on some soft music on the TV.

  Even though I prepared more than I initially intended, all I have left to do now is change my clothes.

  Twenty minutes later, my best friend bursts through my front door, holding a massive tray in her hands. I tilt my head in reaction to her unusual arrival, and she mirrors the gesture back at me. Touche.

  “What is that awful outfit?”

  “What’s that tray in your hand?”

  “What gossip do you have?”

  “Tray first...”

  “Outfit first.”

  With a deep sigh, I look down at myself. I’m wearing a loose black tank top with the words “Party Pug” printed in huge pink letters across the chest, paired with gray shorts.

  “I think it’s perfectly fine.”

  “Well... If we’re not expecting anyone else, then it’ll do, but I’d like to remind you that it’s October.”

  “It’s just the two of us. Close the door.” I pat the spot next to me with a smile.

  Elizabeth closes and locks the door behind her. She slips out of her shoes without using her hands, then walks over, placing the tray beside the beers on the table. Its contents are covered in foil. While she shrugs off her brown canvas coat, I start peeling back the silver covering.

  “Homemade pizza, just so you know who you’re dealing with,” she says, placing her coat beside her before finally sitting down herself. She opens her beer, tucks her red hair behind her ear, and takes a large gulp of the drink.

  “It’s like you know exactly what I need.”

  “Do you need food?”

  “No, I need a sedative, coffee, a cigarette, and a solid nap.”

  “I think you need something else...”

  “A hug?” I look at her with softened eyes. Her gentle smile and shining gaze make it feel like she can see right through me.

  “No, a slap. Now, what have you been hiding from me?”

  I take a deep breath, open my beer, and pop open my cigarette box. My gaze darts around the room, hoping some object will whisper to me how to begin this long and ridiculously stupid story about Dante and me.

  I place the cigarette between my lips, but my friend is already lighting it for me. I take a deep drag before finally starting to put our wonderful love story into words.

  I leave nothing out, not a single detail. From our very first meeting to our first accidental touch, all the way to our kiss. Everything. Including how William punched him and how Dante took Mark’s place. Every gifted beer, every hug, every text, I tell her everything.

  I thought it would be hard, but it isn’t. The words pour out of me so effortlessly that Elizabeth chokes on her beer a few times. Her facial expressions shift dramatically—her features twist, her pupils widen, and she often purses her lips. But when I reach the part about Dante’s behavior today, I see genuine anger flicker across her usually calm face.

  “So, let me get this straight. After months of pursuing you, he kissed you... then disappeared for half a year-”

  “Five months.”

  “Apologies... So, after disappearing for half a year, he shows up today acting as if nothing happened?!”

  “Yes.”

  “And he tried to kiss you again?”

  “Yes...”

  “How does he have the nerve?!”