The café was quieter than usual when Ava walked in for her afternoon shift. The smell of roasted beans wrapped around her like a blanket, and for a moment she let herself breathe. Routine always helped steady her mind.
She tightened her apron and stepped behind the counter.
"Morning, Ava," her coworker Mia called.
Ava offered a small smile. "Morning."
But her eyes drifted toward the back corner of the shop—the one table that stayed empty until a certain hour. Recently, someone had been sitting there every day. Not chatting. Not reading. Just… watching.
And today, he was already there.
Damien.
Tall, composed, dressed in black. His posture perfectly straight, fingers resting lightly around a cup he hadn't touched yet. Like he was waiting for something.
Or someone.
Ava's stomach tightened.
She turned away quickly and focused on the orders in front of her, but she could feel his stare—steady, unblinking, following her movements as though he'd been expecting her.
"Is he here again?" Mia whispered, leaning close.
Ava pretended not to understand. "Who?"
Mia jerked her chin toward the corner. "Your number-one fan."
Ava forced a laugh. "Please don't call him that."
"Why? He always comes when you're working."
"He just likes the coffee," Ava muttered.
But even she didn't believe it.
Hours passed
Ava tried to lose herself in the rhythm of work—taking orders, steaming milk, wiping tables. But every time she glanced toward the corner, Damien was still there.
Still watching.
Once, their eyes met.He didn't look away.Ava did.
Her skin prickled.
She could feel it—the subtle pressure of his attention, like gravity pulling her closer even when she tried to distance herself.
Closing time
The café emptied slowly, sunlight fading through the windows. Ava wiped down the last table when a shadow fell across it.
Her heart jumped.
Damien stood directly in front of her.
"Good evening," he said quietly, his voice smooth but carrying something else beneath it—something controlled, something sharp.
Ava straightened. "We're about to close."
"I know." His gaze flicked briefly to the cloth in her hand, then back to her face. "You look tired."
She swallowed. "It's been a long day."
Damien nodded once, as if he'd already known. "I noticed."
Her hands froze mid-wipe.
"You… noticed?"
"You're shaking," he said, eyes lowering to her fingers. "Not much. But enough."
Ava quickly hid her hand behind her apron. "It's just the cold."
"It isn't cold." His tone wasn't accusing—just certain. Too certain.
He stepped aside slightly, giving her space. "Do you walk home alone?"
Ava's breath hitched. "Um… yes."
His jaw tightened as if he didn't like the answer. "You shouldn't."
"Why?" she whispered before she could stop herself.
He held her gaze for a long, heavy moment.
"Because you don't look safe," Damien said finally.
Her pulse skipped.
Ava didn't understand him. Didn't understand his constant attention, his quiet intensity, the way he always seemed to read her too easily. But something in his expression—some flicker of concern or claim—rooted her to the spot.
"I'm fine," she said softly. "Really."
Damien studied her for a moment longer, then straightened.
"I'll walk you home," he said.
A statement.Not a request.
Ava's breath stilled. "You don't have to—"
"I want to," Damien cut in. "Let me."
Her heart thudded in her chest.
But then Mia called from behind the counter, "Ava! I need your help with the register!"
Ava turned reflexively.
By the time she looked back, Damien was already moving toward the door.
He paused with his hand on the handle, glancing over his shoulder just once.
"I'll see you tomorrow," he said.
Then he left.
Ava stood frozen, her pulse echoing in her ears.She didn't know what frightened her more—
The idea of him walking her home…
Or the realization that part of her had almost said yes.