Chapter Text
The autumn wind had some bite tonight in the darkness of this cobble-stoned street. She pulled up the zipper of her pale green hoodie and took a moment to look into the warm glow of the café. The reflection of the moon and its hazy shroud of clouds appeared in the window while she noted how perfectly empty the place was inside. It was past midnight on a Wednesday, after all.
She chose this place deliberately, not for the coffee or the comfort, but because it seemed different. She was drawn to Different. Old stone walls, a massive brick fireplace and aged wood all beckoned her. Plus, it was open 24 hours and a short walk from her new apartment, perfect for those nights when her mind wouldn’t allow her to sleep.
She pushed on the wrought iron handle making the sign over the door swing lightly in the breeze. It waved her in as she stepped into the glow and warmth of the historic building.
Inside, the air was thick with the smell of coffee grounds and the lingering ghost of a sweet aroma, probably the pastries baked hours ago, as if the scent itself were a memory that refused to leave.
It was quiet, only two employees and a small group sitting far away on the other side of the counter. She paid for her coffee and croissant and sat at a tiny table in the darkest part of the room.
Leaning forward in her chair, she warmed her hands around the heat of the ceramic cup and inhaled a waft of cinnamon and nutmeg from her spiced pumpkin latte, the kind she usually dismissed as too seasonal, too obvious.
Her hand slipped into the pocket of her hoodie and pulled out her phone. The screen’s glow lit her face for a moment: 12:29 a.m. Restless. Unable to sleep. Feeling like something’s missing. That was reason enough to be out of her bed, out in the night. An exasperated sigh escaped her lungs as she shut off her phone and shoved it back into her pocket turning her attention to her cup.
She watched as the steam from her coffee rose in soft curls, but instead of drifting straight upward, it seemed to lean, as if caught by a current no one else could feel. Her gaze followed its slow, deliberate path across the room…to the far corner, where he sat.
One arm stretched lazily along the back of the booth, his black sweater pulling across his broad shoulders. The silver bracelet at his wrist caught the low light when he shifted, and the chain at his neck rested against the hollow of his throat.
A toothpick dangled from his mouth, unmoving, as his sharp jaw clenched around a decision that could end someone, maybe even him.
His other hand rested near an untouched cup, fingers loose, as though he’d been waiting for something, or someone, without quite knowing it.
The shadows softened the lines of his face, but not enough to hide the quiet intensity in the way he watched the room with piercing blue eyes framed by soft dark curls.
She might have missed him entirely if not for the way the steam had led her there, like a thread unspooling between them.
Somewhere near the ceiling, a light flickered once, though no one seemed to notice.
He had chosen this café because it was the farthest from where he was supposed to be, a quiet corner where no one would think to look for him at this hour. He told himself he was killing time, but that was not the truth. He was avoiding something that waited for him elsewhere, something that would still be there when he left.
And yet, here he was, watching her.
Dark hair twisted into a messy bun that looked accidental but perfect. A cream camisole peeking from beneath her soft hoodie. Cute glasses that caught the low light, softening her gaze. Thin gold hoops swayed when she moved. A strip of knotted leather at her wrist. Faded jeans, cozy Uggs tucked beneath her chair. Details he shouldn’t have been memorizing, but somehow was, as if noticing her was part of the reason he’d ended up here at all.
She’s smiling at something, not at me. Not yet.
His focus was steady, almost hypnotic, when the muted buzz of his phone against the table broke through. He glanced down.
Matt: Fuck Chris. Where the hell are you?
The words glared up at him, but he made no move to answer. His eyes lifted again, drawn back to her as if nothing else in the world could hold him for long.
She watched him, wondering if he was the sort that could be persuaded to like her. The thought rose slowly, like steam from her cup, curling and dissolving before she could decide whether to hold onto it.
She found him handsome in a way that unsettled her, the kind of beauty that made you look twice, then a third time just to be sure you’d seen it right.
The group in the back laughed at something, the sound muffled and distant, bringing her back to reality. She quickly looked away, dropping her gaze to her plate.
She picked up the last bite, holding it lightly between her fingers. She felt a momentary chill and shivered, staring at the pastry as though listening for some quiet signal.
Then, without thinking, she lifted it to her lips. Her tongue traced the ribbon of chocolate along the pastry’s edge, slow, sensual, unhurried, the motion unfolding with a softness that felt borrowed from someone else, somewhere outside herself. She shocked herself with her own behavior. She would never eat it that way, not here, not in front of anyone, not in front of him. Yet it happened as naturally as breathing.
Across the café, his unblinking stare held. His breath hitched. To him it felt like a subtle invitation, and she could feel the weight of his ocean‑eyed gaze anchoring her in place.
And then, confirmation. He stood.
It was not casual. It was a decision. His boots made a soft, steady sound on the worn wooden floor as he approached.
Her breath caught. A slow, electric tension crawled up her spine, spreading into her shoulders, down her arms, all the way to her fingertips. She reached for her spoon, meaning to stir her coffee as a distraction, but her hand trembled. The spoon clattered against the saucer, too loud in the quiet of this corner of the café.
Before she could try again, he was there.
The scent of him reached her first, warm, clean, with something faintly metallic beneath it, like the air before an autumn storm.
That's it.
He exhaled slowly, the sound hissing between his teeth, as if the breath itself resisted leaving him. His gaze held hers, steady but shadowed, the air between them tightening with something unspoken.
For a heartbeat, it felt like the moment might tip into something irreversible. The kind of step you can’t take back once it’s made.
“I almost…” he began, the words low, as if he wasn’t sure they belonged out loud. His jaw tightened, and for a long second she thought he might finish the thought but whatever it was, he swallowed it back.
Her gaze met his, willing him to continue..
“I just…wanted to…let you know,” he said, each pause a falter, as though he was testing the ground beneath him before taking the next step. He couldn’t get past the invisible caution signs he almost avoided. Almost. “you have chocolate icing on your chin.”
For a moment, she was unable to process the words. She was still caught in the blue of his eyes, still ready to say Yes, I will to a question he had not asked.
Then the meaning landed.
The realization struck her like a cold hand on the back of her neck in an empty room.
Heat rushed to her cheeks. She dropped her gaze to the table, to a small rip in the vinyl tablecloth just left of her cup.
“Thank you,” she murmured and cleared her throat..
By the time she looked up again, he had walked away and slipped through the door into the darkness of the street.
She watched through the window as he passed, a flicker of blue glinting in her direction as his silhouette thinned into the moonlight until it was gone.
The thought struck hard that she would never see him again. A once‑in‑a‑lifetime moment, already slipping through her fingers. Panic swelled, sharp and breathless… and she reached for the only thing that might steady her as she subconsciously raised a hand to her chin, wiping away the icing.
They never give you enough napkins.
She clutched the small, ridiculous thought like a lifeline, because it was easier than holding the weight of what she’d just let go.
But the moment wasn’t entirely hers to lose.
She stared into the depths of her cup lost in thought. He sauntered angrily into the darkness.
Both regretting an opportunity lost.
Yet
Neither of them had noticed the faint shift in the air when he stood.
Neither of them saw the shadow that did not belong to anyone in the room, stretching briefly across the floor between them.
If they had looked closely, they might have seen the way the steam from her latte curled toward him, as if drawn by an invisible hand.
Or how the crumbs from her pastry seemed to scatter in a pattern, like a trail.
Somewhere, in the space between them, something unseen took note.
It was not finished with them.
It had all the time in the world.
And it knew, with the patience of something older than these brick walls and the October‑kissed street outside, that magic worked best when it was slow.
That the right spell was never rushed.