For years, this café has served the community.
Too dry.
Mug cradled between my palms, I pace between the tables.My footsteps echo a lonely rhythm on the clean-swept floor.
Back and forth.
How can words feel so inadequate?
Frustration prickles behind my eyes.I stop, leaning my forehead against the cool glass of the front window.I stare out at the deserted street, feeling the weight of it all settle on my shoulders.
Tap-tap.
The sound is soft, muffled.
I straighten, holding my breath.
Was it the refrigerator in the back?
The dishwasher?
Tap-TAP-TAP.
Louder this time.Sharper.Coming from the locked glass door to my left.
My heart leaps.
What on earth…?
Cautiously, staying back where the shadows are deeper, I peer through the glass.The streetlight on the corner illuminates the figure standing just outside.
Tall.Broad shoulders outlined beneath a dark jacket.And in one hand…
Is that a white takeout bag?
My eyes strain against the dim light and reflections.Dark jeans, a simple T-shirt pulled taut across a broad chest, shoulders defined by a lightweight black jacket, dark hair…
“It’s me, Amy.”His familiar voice reaches me through the glass.
I rush over, unlocking the door and pulling it open.“Matthew?”
He fills the doorway, a solid silhouette against the light.A gust of cool night air swirls around my ankles before he steps inside.His sharp gaze sweeps past me, assessing the empty café and the stacked chairs before landing on the lukewarm mug clutched in my hand.
“Just as I thought,” he murmurs.His voice vibrates in the quiet space.
Before I can even process his arrival, his hand closes firmly over mine.In one smooth motion, he covers my fingers and slides the ceramic mug from my grasp, leaving my hand bare.
“You can’t run on caffeine alone,” he states, leaving no room for argument.“I brought real food.”He holds up the white takeout bag as he walks to the front counter, placing it beside the evidence of my failed writing attempts.
He shrugs the black jacket from his shoulders and places it neatly on the counter.I’m left standing by the open door, the cool air still swirling where he stood.
I shake off the daze, close the heavy glass door, and slide the deadbolt across with a decisive thunk.I turn back to the counter.Matthew stands with his back partially to me.Without the sharp armor of his suit, the simple grey t-shirt does little to hide the reality of his physique.The broadness of his shoulders, the lean muscle in his arms flexing as he moves.Seeing him like this, dressed down in jeans and a plain tee, makes him seem less like the imposing Senior Counsel and more...
Real.
And maybe, dangerously, even more attractive.
A sudden rush of warmth flares through me before I can suppress it.
