Five
Nikos sat at a small, corner table near the back, his long legs stretched out in front of him, the toes of his polished shoes nudging the metal base. The scent of roasted espresso beans and cinnamon filled the compact café, mingling with the low hum of conversation and the hiss of steaming milk. Overhead, pendant lights with copper fixtures cast a warm amber glow across the room, while indie music played softly beneath the clatter of ceramic cups and laptop keys.
It was the kind of place built for first dates, final edits, and secret glances over foam-topped lattes. Modern. Warm. Slightly cramped. And absolutely packed on a chilled September day.
He had barely slept last night. His mind had been buzzing. Between the tension radiating off Markos last night and the ghost of Kiki Reese’s mouth against his own, he’d spent most of the night tangled in sheets he couldn’t get comfortable in, thinking about things he had no business wanting.
His body had ached for her. Literally ached. That hadn’t happened since he was a teen who had just discovered sex.
What bothered him the most was that the hunger gnawing at him wasn’t just physical. There was an unsettled pull in his chest—a low, persistent thrum—which was something else entirely.
It was a mystery. A challenge.
A goddamned ache I haven’t felt in years.
He rubbed a knuckle against the edge of his jaw before tapping the table once as he glanced at his watch.
Five minutes to noon.
She was cutting it close.
He resisted the urge to check the door again and instead lifted a finger. Ernie, the freckle-faced barista with a mop of red curls who’d been eyeing him since he walked in, had taken the two hundred-dollar bills and agreed to deliver the order when Nikos gave the signal.
Three minutes later, Ernie set a steaming cup of dark roast coffee in front of him, followed by a tall hot chocolate crowned with a swirl of whipped cream and a chocolate muffin still warm from the oven.
“Thanks,” Nikos said, slipping a folded bill into the teen’s palm. Ernie’s eyes widened slightly when he saw the additional tip, but Nikos only arched an eyebrow.
“If you need anything else, just say the word,” Ernie offered, grinning as he backed away.
Nikos nodded once, but his attention was already back on the front window—watching.
Waiting.
The bell over the café door jingled every few seconds, heralding new arrivals bundled in scarves and jackets, all seeking warmth in the crush of early autumn. He scanned each figure absently… until one made every muscle in his body go taut.
Faded blue hoodie.
A mess of curls peeking from beneath the edge of the hood.
Lips moving like she was arguing with someone—and losing.
His lips curved before he could stop them.
That had to be her.
His entire body came alive as if someone had flipped a switch. A sudden rush of adrenaline shot through him, chasing away the last threads of fatigue. He leaned forward slightly, watching her approach the door, her mouth moving in animated protest. He could practically hear her grumbling, and when their eyes met through the glass—just for a heartbeat—he caught the exact phrase she said.
“Think of Alaska.”
He nearly laughed out loud. God help him, she was unlike any woman he’d ever met.
The door swung open with a gust of wind, tugging at her hoodie and sweeping the scent of chocolate and roasted coffee through the room. She hesitated in the entry, her gaze sweeping the café and then locking on him again.
Her expression changed in stages.
Annoyance.
Recognition.
