Chapter 37
Mia
T he past two weeks have been insanely amazing since the café opened. We hosted the grand opening just three days after our successful soft opening.
Today is the busiest yet. It’s been non-stop all morning, with more customers than we could have ever expected. I’m behind the counter with the baristas, but it’s too much. Why did I think I could do this? I don’t have enough staff. My breath grows heavier, and the familiar tightening in my chest returns.
Not again.
“Hey, you, okay?” Cyndie looks over at me, concern in her gray eyes. She has her pastel pink and blue hair pulled up into two buns.
I lean back against the wall. “Go, go help the customers. I’ll be fine.” I wave her off, but she hesitates before returning to the counter.
I try to breathe in and out, but everything blurs, and I slide down to the floor. “Hey, baby, I’m here.” A warm voice reaches out to me. I love that voice a lot. For a second, I think it’s my imagination. Strong arms grab my shoulders. “Breathe with me.”
Inhale.
Exhale.
I follow his voice, slowly opening my eyes. There they are, those green eyes that always calm me.
They take me back to the forest. C alm.
The waterfall. Soothing.
“I’m here, baby girl. Are you okay?”
“Yeah, better now,” I whisper, wrapping my arms around his neck. Better now that you’re here.
“What happened?”
“It just got super busy, and I only have one barista. I should have hired more people. Maybe I can’t do this.”
“Hey, you’re doing it. It’s busy because people love the place. And you can always hire more people.” He helps me up and wraps his arms around me.
“Thank you.”
“Always.”
“Cyndie, I need to go back to help Cyndie.” I head back to the front, and Jake follows me, jumping in to help. Slowly, the line cuts in half, and the mid-morning rush winds down.
Now, the café has settled into a relaxed pace. A few guests linger over tea, and couples lounge upstairs in our cozy area. They recline on blankets and throw pillows, using iPads to place orders without leaving their snuggle nooks.
One customer in particular catches my eye. Jake has always been gorgeous, but now, with his tattoo sleeve showing under his black t-shirt, he’s dangerously sexy.
His gaze follows me as I walk over, focusing intently on my face. Despite looking worn out from the day’s chaos, he watches me as if I’m the most captivating sight in the room.
“Hi,” I say, tucking a loose curl behind my ear.
“Hi.” His grin is broad and warm, setting off a flutter in my chest.
“You know you didn’t have to stay here all day, I’m fine.”
“I know, but there’s a girl here that I like.”
“Is that so?” I smile timidly at him. He still makes me nervous. “Would you like something to drink?” I ask, attempting to sound composed.
“Un baiser volé,” a stolen kiss, his voice low and slightly teasing, and I’m pretty sure he’s not asking for one of our teas.
Though we’ve gone on a couple dates, we haven’t really kissed. I love the fact that we’re taking things slow. I treasure our quiet walks by the garden and beside the mini waterfall, where the world seems to fall away, leaving just the two of us.
He’s rented a cottage in my grandmother’s vineyard, a choice that puts him tantalizingly close—just a short walk from my place. This proximity, combined with our promise to keep things slow, has only heightened the sense of anticipation that seems to crackle in the surrounding air.
“Can I steal the owner for the rest of the day?” His boyish grin has a way of melting my heart every time I see it.
“We’re closing in 45 minutes.”
“I’ll wait,” he says, leaning back in his chair. “Maybe I’ll take a baiser volé tea in the meantime.”
“Sure.” I smile back at him. Though we rarely serve customers outside the designated snuggle nook upstairs, I make an exception for him—he’s my special customer. After a few minutes, I return with his tea, but he’s not at his table. He’s in the book section. I set the tea down and head over to him.
“Since when do you read?” I ask quietly, though the cafe is nearly empty, just us and the staff preparing to close.
“Since I found someone important to me who is both a writer and a reader,” he says, not looking up from the books, but I can hear the smile in his voice. “I was looking for one of those smutty books you love so much, but thought better of it.”
“Who says I love smutty books?”
“Because every time I catch you reading, you’re always biting your lips.” The dark center of his eyes expand, devouring the green color around them. They lock onto my lips as if he’s imagining the taste of them. I fight the urge to bite my lip as the sight of him consume me.
“I’m opting for something fluffy instead.” He picks up two copies of a romantic comedy.
“Can I pay for these?” He follows me to the register where Cyndiee rings him up. He returns to his table , drinking his tea while we finish cleaning up.
Once we’re done, the three of us head out, and I lock up the cafè.
“Walk or Uber?” he asks as I turn to face him. Despite feeling a bit tired, I love our long walks, especially here where the serene setting makes time fly.
“Walk, but you have to buy me an ice cream,” I negotiate.
“Deal.” He grins as we start our walk.
We stop at a small ice cream shop around the corner. I choose cappuccino flavor ice cream, and he goes for salted caramel. “You know, you owning a bookstore cafe is perfect. You love coffee and books almost as much as you love sleeping,” he teases as we resume our walk.
I laugh, a sound light and freeing, unlike any I’ve made in months. My laughter fades as I notice a woman holding a little girl’s hand as she bounces happily on her step. The sight brings back memories of afternoon walks to the park with my mom.
“So, how’s it going with your books?” And then he stops walking when I don’t immediately respond. “Come on,” he says, guiding me to a nearby bench. “I know that look—talk to me.” He has always had a way of reaching deep, pulling out my biggest fears and insecurities.
“It’s just… I’ve been querying for almost six months now,” I confess, the weight of my fears settling in, “and I still don’t have an agent.” Each denial is a heavy blow to my confidence. “I know I could just self-publish, but what if I can’t get an agent because my writing isn’t good enough? What if self-publishing changes nothing? What if people don’t want to read my work?”
“Hey,” he says, lifting my chin to meet his gaze. “Your writing is amazing. I’ve read some pieces you shared with me. You just haven’t found the right person for your story yet. But you will.” His voice is earnest and convincing, making me want to believe him, to hold on to the hope he offers.
“Thanks,” I smile, grateful for his support. He always knows how to make me feel better, and maybe he’s right.
Then my thoughts scatter as I watch him lick his ice cream. I curse myself for suggesting ice cream, for watching him, for not being able to look away, and for imagining what else that tongue could be doing. He turns to look at me, and whatever he sees on my face makes him smirk.
“Patience, princess. I’ll be enjoying something far sweeter soon.” His words, low and sultry, intensify the throbbing desire between my thighs.
“Baby, it’s leaking,” he adds, snapping me back from my daze.
“Huh?” I say, confused, wondering how he could know—
“I’m talking about your ice cream, baby,” he clarifies with a chuckle, nodding toward my hand.
Oh, right—the ice cream. I look down to see it melting over my hand. Get a grip, Mia . I wrap my lips around it, gently sucking while maintaining eye contact with him. I let out a small moan as the cold sweetness hit my throat.
“You’re very naughty, princess.” The corners of his eyes crinkle, and his lips curve into a slow, teasing smile. The green of his eyes darken to a more intense shade, while his nostrils flare and his jaw tightens.
I finish my ice cream, licking the last traces off my fingers, aware of his eyes on me the whole time. Once done, I get on the bench, and he gets up to stand in front of me. “But you like naughty girls, don’t you?”
“I like you,” he says, smiling warmly. “I like you very much.” He presses his lips to my forehead, making my body shiver. My body responds to everything he does.
I’m cheesing so hard my face hurts. “I like you too.” My arms wrap around his neck. “Very much.” He lifts me up and places me on my feet.
I more than like you very much.
We continue our walk to the vineyard. The crisp evening air carrying the scent of grapes nearing harvest. “How’s it going with the hotel?” I ask, eager to distract myself from the fluttering in my chest.
He takes a moment, enjoying his ice cream before answering. “It’s going great.” He pauses to take another bite. I catch myself staring a little too long. “We’re almost done with the expansion and getting new reservations.”
“That’s amazing. I’m really proud of you,” I say, warmth spread through my words.
He stops mid-stride, his eyes widening momentarily as he processes my words.
“What?” I stop, turning around to look at him. My eyebrows shoot up as I try to figure out why he stops.
“Come here.” He opens his arms. As I step into them, he wraps one arm around me while the other still holds his cone. People continue to stroll around us, probably wondering why we’re standing in the middle of the cobblestone. He leans down, and whispers against my hair, “Thank you.”
“You’re too much.” I laugh, but I can’t ignore the butterfly wings that beat against the walls of my heart.
He pulls back slightly, looking down at me. “It might not seem like a big deal, but it means a lot to me.”
“Well, you welcome,” I say as we resume our walk toward the vineyard.
I stop when he heads toward his cottage instead. “Come on, baby, I promise to behave,” he teases, holding out his hand with that boyish grin that always disarms me. Hesitating only a moment, I take his hand as we walk toward his cottage.
Inside, his cottage mirrors the layout of mine: an airy, open-plan living room flows into a small kitchen, with a balcony overlooking the vineyard.
“Make yourself comfortable. I’ll be right back,” he tells me before heading upstairs. When he returns, his presence commands the room. “Come on,” he says, leading me upstairs.
To my surprise, he’s prepared a bath with floating rose petals and flickering candles around the tub. “I also have fresh pajamas for you,” he points to a neatly folded set on the chair next to the tub. My heart swells with affection. Every time I think I couldn’t love him more, he does something incredibly thoughtful like this.
Now, I’m no longer scared of falling for him because when he looks at me, his eyes soften with tenderness, hinting that he’s falling for me too. I want to confess how deeply I feel for him, but hold back because I fear it might be too soon.
Instead, I lean against him, comforted by his presence. He wraps his arms around me, a secure embrace that makes the world outside melt away. I silently savor the warmth of his hug and the steady beat of his heart.
I love you.
“You’ve had a long day, so take your time, relax for a bit.” He pulls away, his eyes cradle mine with a gentle caress. “I’ll wait for you downstairs,” he plants a soft kiss on my forehead before stepping out and closing the door behind him.
Alone, I undress, shedding my clothes along with my sticky underwear, and lower myself into the warm, lavender-scented water. And no bubbles, he remembered that I’m sensitive to bubbles.
I sink deeper into the bath, letting the fragrant steam envelop me as I close my eyes and let go of the day’s tension.
After a few blissful minutes of soaking in the bath, I step out and find my favorite jasmine scented body lotion. He remembered my favorite lotion.
Drying off, I grab the pajamas off the chair. It's cute green shorts and a white top that says, Do Not Wake Me Up Before 8 AM. I laugh, remembering how he used to wake me up with his blender. I put on the set, and they fit perfectly. Also they’re unbelievably soft on my skin, it's fuzzy and feather like.Once dressed, I head downstairs but don’t find him in the living room. Instead, I notice the light spilling in from the patio where he has set up a table with food, snacks, and the two books he bought earlier. He’s laughing at something on his laptop, his face bright with a big smile. He's also wearing pajamas that match mine, with long green pants and a white tee.
“I got to go, I love you,” he says into the laptop before hanging up.
I pause, processing the words I’ve never heard him say before; they stir a complex emotion in my chest that I can’t quite name.
“How was your bath?” he asks as I approach the table. I choose the seat across from him instead of beside him. Part of me wants to ask who he was talking to, but I resist, not wanting to come off as jealous.
“What’s with the frown?”
“Nothing.” I look down at my hands.
“Come here,” he says, his tone both serious and commanding.
I hesitantly move toward him, and as I do, he pulls me closer. His gaze is soft yet intense as he looks up at me from under his lashes.
“Let’s try that again.” He intertwines our fingers together.
“It’s just you were talking to someone when I came out, and you hung up as soon as you saw me.”
He chuckles softly, which deepens my frown—not the reaction I was hoping for.
“I hung up because I want to focus on you. I was talking to my sister.” He rubs my knuckles, his eyes never leaving mine.
“Sister?”
“You probably don’t remember, but I mentioned last year that I found out I have a little sister. She’s two years old now.” He reminds me of how Jessie had emailed him about her, making me a bit foolish for my earlier suspicions. I want to know more, but I don't want to pressure him to talk about it.
“You’re so adorable when you’re jealous,” he teases.
I’m about to deny it, but his lips meet mine before I can speak. Any thoughts of protest dissolve between our kisses, and I’m swept up in the moment, not sure I’m even breathing.