He gives me a small smile, a hint of something I can’t quite read in his eyes.
He says almost shyly, “I brought you an Italian soda. I wanted to thank you for last night. I rarely talk about it much, but I thought you needed to know.” He shrugs, his usual gruffness softening.
His voice is low and almost hesitant, like he’s not used to giving gifts or making small gestures. It makes my chest tighten just a little.
He doesn’t seem to realize how rare that is. A man showing up the next morning with something thoughtful just to say thank you? That kind of gesture isn’t just rare. It’s meaningful.
I smile back, trying to hide the flutter in my stomach. “Oh, uh, thank you? I’m just glad you got what you needed off your chest,” I say, leaning across the counter. “Your usual?” I ask, hoping for a bit of normalcy, a chance to act like this is just another day.
He looks me directly in the eye. “Surprise me, Bumper,” he says, a mischievous grin tugging at the corner of his mouth.
That grin is dangerous. It slides under my skin like a secret. My fingers go a little numb, and I have to clear my throat to stop myself from blushing.
God help me. That smile should seriously be illegal. At the very least, have a warning sign before it’s showcased.
That’s unusual. I raise an eyebrow, trying to keep my expressionneutral. I take this as an opportunity to make him something I think he’ll like—something a little outside of the box. My fingers move quickly as I prepare a drink, trying to think of something that would show him I’m paying attention. I move to the new espresso machine and make a double shot. While it’s brewing, I mix up raspberry milk, blending raspberry with a hint of cake batter syrup to add some sweetness. When the espresso’s done, I pour it over the milk, garnishing the drink with a dusting of cocoa powder and a few fresh raspberries on top.
I take a second to steady myself before handing it over. I don’t want to look too eager handing it to him. It’s a simple thing, but if he doesn’t like it, that’ll be the end of the moment.
“One pink velvet macchiato,” I say, typing in the order on the cash register, already feeling proud of myself.
Gabriel’s eyes widen as he catches the unexpected color of the drink. He takes a sip and nods approvingly, sliding a twenty and a ten, saying, “Keep the change, Bumper.”
“You sure?” I ask.
He nods. “You made it with raspberry milk. No one’s ever done that.”
I pause. “Do you like it?”
“I don’t like it. I love it.”
His approval feels like a tiny victory. Not because I want to impress him, but because he’s letting me in—just a crack in that tough exterior.
There’s a quiet moment charged with electricity where I swear we’re just standing there seeing each other a little differently.
I watch him saunter over to a table, pushing Aura’s pram ahead of him. My heart skips a beat at the sight of her, tiny and peaceful in her little world. I can’t help it—my gaze follows them as they settle in.
Taking a deep breath, I grab a plate of pastries and walk over to them, trying to act casual, though inside I’m anything but.
“I know you probably don’t want me to come over here, but here are some pastries for you to eat,” I offer with a warm smile. “Do you mind if I hold her?” I offer with a smile.
Gabriel looks up at me, blinking as if caught off guard. His eyes soften, and I raise my eyebrows, silently asking,Well, can I hold your daughter?
He nods, albeit slowly, and I pick up Aura, cradling her to my chest with all the care I’ve seen Gabriel give her.
The moment she’s in my arms, it’s like something in me settles. Aura nestles against me like she belongs there. Maybe she does. Maybe this is exactly where I’m supposed to be.
I don’t rush the moment. Holding her gently, I feel a quiet peace wash over me—unexpected, but deeply welcome.
“Hi, my sweets. How is your day today?” I coo, my voice naturally adopting that high-pitched baby talk we all use.
Aura looks at me with wide eyes, blinking like she’s unsure whether she should smile or cry. I bounce her gently in my arms, talking to her about my day, hoping she’ll warm up to me.
I read somewhere that you should tell babies everything around them to expose them to as many words as possible in their first year of life.
“You’re good with her,” Gabriel comments, his voice soft as he watches me. “I can tell she likes you.”
“I like her too,” I reply, my heart swelling in my chest.
