Robbie playfully jabs me, already dressed in his cafe apron over jeans, hair tied back. "Sleep okay?"
"Yeah," I say, sitting up. "Viktor left a note. Says I can come to the cafe with you. Well, actually, he says Ihaveto. He is kinda bossy."
His eyes light up. "Awesome! I'll make you the best morning coffee ever… extra foam on the hot chocolate, cinnamon sprinkle, the works. Deal?"
I smile, the offer chasing away some of the fog. "Deal."
We get ready quickly—me in yesterday's clothes, freshened up with Robbie's deodorant and a quick face wash. Goldie goes in my backpack, along with my sketchpad and pencils.
The walk to the cafe is short, just a few blocks through familiar streets bustling with morning commuters and dog walkers. Theair smells of fresh bagels from the corner stand and it’s so nice to be out and about like this again.
But it's weird being back—everything the same, but me so changed.
Robbie chats about work drama… a new barista who burns every espresso, a supplier who went bust, all the usual things, but I half-listen, scanning for anything off.
No one follows us.
No suspicious stares.
Alexander must be nearby, but I don't spot him yet. Which, I suppose, is a good thing.
The cafe is cozy as ever… mismatched chairs, local art on the walls, including one of my small sketches from last year, the hiss of the espresso machine welcoming us like an old friend.
Robbie dashes behind the counter and ties his apron fully. The other baristas are working their butts off and high-five Robbie as he moves into his position like he’s never been away.
"Grab your table," he says. "Coffee-choc coming up."
I choose my usual spot by the window—good light for sketching, view of the street for people-watching. Or maybe paranoia-watching on a morning like this. Either way, it’s my seat and I’m not giving it up for anyone no matter what’s going on in my life.
Robbie brings the hot chocolate with a dash of coffee minutes later, steaming latte with a heart in the foam, dusted cinnamon. "Best ever, as promised."
"You're a lifesaver," I say as I sip the drink and it’s perfect, creamy, with that warm spice kick rounding it off to a tee.
Robbie winks and heads back to the counter as a wave of customers enter, each one ready to have their thirst and caffeine craving met.
I pull out my sketchpad, flipping to a blank page. The darker, edgier ideas from the retreat bubble up immediately… those twisted, sexy forms inspired by shadows and secrets, figures caught in tension, edges sharp like Viktor's world.
I start with loose lines… a silhouette emerging from darkness, strong but fractured, light cracking through like hope or danger. As the images form in my mind, guns hidden in embraces, cities crumbling under passionate grips, I feel heat build inside me and my special place tingles with arousal. The passion from yesterday morning flashes back—Viktor's body, the clay under my hands mirroring his strength.
My pencil pauses, cheeks warming as I allow myself a moment to compose myself. These might just be the sketches that will inform my sculptures, but they are powerful images all the same.
That's when Alexander walks past.
He's in civilian clothes—jeans, hoodie, baseball cap—but his build and watchful eyes give him away as far as I’m concerned. But maybe that’s because I’ve had a taste of this life now. Perhaps before meeting Viktor I wouldn’t have had a clue.
Alexander nods subtly at me, takes a seat two tables over, ordering a black coffee from Robbie. Our eyes meet briefly. I blush harder, hoping he doesn't notice. He probably does.
Great.
There’s nothing like getting turned on by art while your bodyguard watches.
Anyhoo…
I dive back into sketching, forcing focus. The ideas flow. Gun barrels twisting into lovers' arms, shadows with teeth, paddles and pegs causing mayhem on bottoms and nipples. It's thrilling, this new direction.
Then, suddenly, a shadow falls over my table.
But it’s Not Alexander.
