Kiara
I sat alone in the café, pretending to get things done while I waited for breakfast. Quin had left my place at sunrise, buzzing with that first day at my dream job glow, practically walking on air.
And here I was—no job, plenty of caffeine, scrolling through job listings that wanted five years of experience for jobs that barely paid minimum wage. Great.
The place felt empty. Just me, a couple other lost souls, and the relentless groan of the coffee machine. I stared at my laptop as if it owed me an apology. Rejected again. Third time this morning. I shut the laptop a little harder than necessary.
"That's enough humiliation for today," I muttered. My stomach chimed in—loudly.
My food still hadn't come. The waitress saw my face and scurried back toward the kitchen. I tried to catch her eye and save her from my apparent rage. I swear, I'm not mad, I said to myself, I'm just, like, hungry as hell.
I leaned back, watching cars slide by through the café glass windows. That's when I noticed him. Out in the parking lot. One hand in his pocket, the other holding a phone to his ear. Even from behind, something about him felt too familiar—the way he stood, that weird calm.
And yep, somehow he knew I was staring. He turned.
Bright green eyes, zero warning, locking with mine.
Oh, hell. Stomach: instant somersault.
It was Alfred.
That usual, serious face flickered away. His call wrapped up, phone tucked away, and there was this tiny, knowing smile. I found myself grinning back, a little dazed, just as my breakfast finally showed up.
"Sorry for the wait!" the waitress chirped, setting down my food.
"It's fine," I said. "I was only having a minor emotional crisis."
She blinked, then scampered off.
I looked back at the parking lot—empty. But inside the café, there he was, walking right over.
Of course he was.
His hair was neatly parted, sides faded just so. White shirt, black pants, not fancy but sharp. Effortless and honestly, a little unfair.
"Good morning, Ms. Bradley," he said. Deeper voice than I remembered, somehow worse for my nerves. He pulled out the chair across from me, no hesitation.
"Did you…" I started, then immediately regretted it. "Did you follow me here?"
Nice, Kiara. Real smooth.
He looked amused, cocking his head. "Why would I?" He glanced around. "I come here most mornings. Routine's good for mental stability."
Oh. "Right. Stability. Of course." Recovery of the year.
The waitress—Maria, apparently—came over, smiling way too much. "Good morning, Mr. Winters! Your usual?"
"Yes, please, Maria." He stayed polite.
She was suddenly all fingers, knocking the straws on the ground with an Oscar-level performance. I just stared. Alfred pretended he was fascinated by a picture on the wall, looking anywhere except at Maria as she scrambled.
I had to give him credit. No reaction.
Maria handed over menus, looking both disappointed and flustered. She vanished back to the kitchen. Alfred's eyes flicked back to me.
"So," he said, hands folded neatly. "How was your night?"
I stabbed my omelet. "Not really in therapy mode right now."
He corrected me, smooth as always. "Not a session, just a question."
I raised an eyebrow. "That's what every therapist says before they start a session."
A tiny smile from him. "Then call it a question from a concerned friend."
Friend. That word sat between us for a second.
"We met yesterday."
"And?"
"And… that's fast."
He didn't get a chance to answer. His phone buzzed. He checked the screen, typed something with that laser focus, and I pretended I wasn't dying to know who was on the other end. Did he have a girlfriend? Fiancée? Secret family living off-grid?
He caught me looking. "Something funny?"
"Nope. Just… thinking."
"Dangerous before breakfast." He watched me, all calm and present. "You seem comfortable inviting yourself to my table," I tried.
"You didn't say no."
"Well, I was caught off-guard."
"And now?" He looked at me like he already knew the answer.
His phone buzzed again. This time, he pressed 'do not disturb' and laid it face down.
"It's just work."
I definitely didn't ask. "I wasn't wondering."
"Of course you weren't."
I took a long sip of coffee. "So, do you make a habit of checking up on your patients when you're not on the clock?"
"If I did, you'd never notice."
"Does not make me feel better, Alfred."
He almost grinned. Almost. "Relax, Kiara," he said, softer. "You're allowed to be a person when I'm around."
I studied him. "Then why sit here?"
His look warmed—not much, but enough to notice. "You didn't look like you wanted to eat alone."
Caught me completely off-guard. I looked down at my eggs.
He reached over—took my coffee like he'd said nothing at all, like this was perfectly normal.
And it should have been comforting, right? But honestly, I couldn't decide if it felt good—or like I was under a microscope.