Chapter 18
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
LUKAS
Iget there early and not by accident. I tell myself it’s because I like to be on time, because it’s easier to settle into a place before it fills up, before the noise builds and the rhythm of it changes.
But that’s only part of it. The truth is, I want a minute.
A moment to get my head straight before she walks in and shifts everything again without even trying.
The café is small, tucked into a quiet street just off the main road, the kind of place that smells like fresh coffee and warm bread the second you step inside.
It’s not fancy, not somewhere that feels like pressure.
That was a deliberate decision. She said she didn’t want anything complicated, and I’m learning quickly that with Kate, I need to listen to what she says, even when she doesn’t say it all out loud.
I order first, and take a table near the window where I can see the street outside. My fingers tap once against the side of the cup when it’s set down in front of me, and the heat feels steady.
I don’t usually feel like this. I lean back slightly in the chair, dragging a hand through my hair as I exhale slowly. It’s not nerves, not exactly. It feels sharper than that. It feels like anticipation layered over something heavier.
“Tabarnak,” I mutter under my breath, shaking my head faintly. Callum would laugh at me for this. Probably is, wherever he is right now.
The door opens, the soft chime pulling my attention up, and then she’s there.
Kate steps inside, pausing as she adjusts to the warmth, the shift from outside to in. Her eyes scan the room, and when they land on me, my chest tightens in a way I’m not prepared for. She looks different today, more relaxed. Or maybe I’m just seeing her differently.
Her hair is down, softer around her shoulders, and she’s dressed simply in jeans and a white shirt, nothing that tries too hard. But she doesn’t need to.
I’m already on my feet before I realise I’ve moved.
“Hi,” she says as she reaches the table, a smile tugging at her mouth.
“Bonjour,” I reply, returning it, softer. “You found it okay?”
“Yeah,” she nods, glancing around briefly. “It’s nice.”
“I thought you would like it,” I say, pulling her chair out for her without thinking.
She pauses as though she’s not used to someone doing such an act for her, then sits anyway. “Thank you.”
I take my seat again, watching her as she settles, the way her hands smooth briefly over the table as she settles herself. Still a little cautious. But she came, and that has to count for something.
“What would you like to drink?” I ask.
“I’ll grab something,” she says quickly, already starting to stand.
I shake my head lightly. “I want to,”
“It’s okay,” she cuts in, but there’s a small smile there, like she knows exactly what I was about to do. “I don’t mind.”
I let her go, watching as she joins the short queue at the counter. There’s something about seeing her in a place like this that feels normal. Easy. Like this could be something simple if we let it.
But I don’t miss the way she takes a breath before ordering. Or how she glances back at me once, checking I’m still here.
When she comes back, she sets her cup down carefully, wrapping her hands around it for the warmth. For a second, neither of us speaks, but it’s not awkward. Not like it could be. It feels like a pause instead of a gap.
“You didn’t run away this time,” I say, tilting my head.
Her eyes flick up to mine, and she chuckles. “Give me time.” She lifts her cup to her lips and takes a sip.
I watch as her throat bobs when the hot liquid slides down. “I am encouraged already.”
She shakes her head, but there’s amusement there now, less tension than before. “You’re very confident about all of this.”
“Not confident,” I correct. “Patient.”
That makes her pause. I can see it in the way her fingers still against her cup.
“You don’t seem like a patient person,” she says after a moment.
“Usually, I’m not,” I admit. “But you’re not usual for me.”
Her eyebrow lifts slightly. “I’m not sure how I feel about that.”
“It is a compliment,” I say, quieter now. “I promise.”
She studies me for a second, she’s trying to decide if I mean it. I don’t look away, and eventually, something in her expression softens. “Okay,” she says.
We fall into conversation after that, easier than before. She tells me about her morning, about Hudson and how he’s currently convinced he could beat half my team if given the chance. I laugh at that, imagining it far too clearly.
“He has confidence,” I say.
“He has delusions,” she corrects.
“Sometimes it is the same thing.”
That earns me a real laugh, one that lingers a little longer, and I feel it settle low in my chest.
I tell her about training, and the way the team never shuts up, even when we’re supposed to be focused. I tell her how they’re more like family now, with all of the banter they give me. She shakes her head as though she can picture it.
“Let me guess,” she says. “Lots of shouting?”
“Too much,” I agree. “And no one listens.”
“That sounds about right for a bunch of young men.”
There’s a back-and-forth rhythm to it now.
And I notice the small things. The way she leans in slightly when she’s listening, and how her smile comes quicker now, less guarded.
Her hand brushes mine once when she reaches for her cup, and neither of us pulls away immediately. It’s subtle, but it’s there.
When we finish our drinks, I nod toward the door. “Do you want to walk?”
She hesitates for a fraction of a second, then nods. “Yeah. Okay.”
Outside, the air is cooler, a light breeze cutting through the warmth from inside the café. The street is busier now, people moving past in both directions, the low hum of conversation and traffic filling the space between us.
We fall into step easily, not quite touching, but close enough that I’m aware of her with every step.
“You’re quieter today,” she says after a moment.
I glance at her. “Am I?”
“A little,” she nods. “Less… charming.”
A quiet laugh escapes me. “That’s disappointing.”
“It’s not a bad thing,” she adds quickly. “It feels more like the real you.”
That stops me in my tracks, because that’s exactly what I’m trying to do. “Good,” I say finally. “That’s the intention.”
She looks at me, and something shifts again. It’s not dramatic or deep, but more quizzical.
We walk a little further, the conversation dipping in and out, comfortable in a way that doesn’t need constant noise. And at some point, without thinking too much about it, I let my hand brush against hers again.
This time, I don’t move it away, and neither does she. There’s a second where it could go either way, then her fingers shift slightly, just enough to meet mine. I don’t make a big thing of it, but I turn my hand, letting our fingers lace together properly.
Her breath catches slightly, but she doesn’t pull back. Instead, her grip tightens, and my heart rate settles in a way I didn’t expect. We keep walking with our hands entwined like it’s normal, and we’ve held hands a million times before.
When we stop outside her car, the moment shifts again and seems to slow down. She turns toward me, our hands still linked, her expression softer, less guarded than it’s been since I met her.
“This was nice,” she says.
“Nice?” I repeat, raising an eyebrow slightly.
She smiles faintly. “Don’t push it.”
I step a little closer, not crowding her, but enough to feel the space between us change. “I’m trying to behave,” I say quietly.
“That would be a first,” she murmurs.
I grin at her cheekiness. “You like it.”
She doesn’t deny it. Her gaze flicks to my mouth for half a second before returning to my eyes, and that’s all I need.
I lift my free hand, brushing my fingers lightly along her jaw, slow enough that she has time to pull away if she wants to.
She doesn’t. Her eyes soften instead, her breath steady but deeper.
“Kate,” I murmur, giving her one last second to change her mind. When she doesn’t, I close the distance between us and kiss her. My lips brush lightly over hers. Not rushed or desperate, but deliberate in a way that feels more dangerous.
Her hand tightens in mine, her body leaning into me, meeting me halfway without losing herself in it.
I don’t push it.
When I pull back, it’s only enough to look at her. She exhales slowly, her eyes still closed for a second before she opens them again.
“Still behaving?” she asks softly.
“Trying to.” My hand cups her cheek as I lose myself in her gaze.
She releases a quiet laugh, now filled with warmth. And when she lets go of my hand to reach for her keys, it doesn’t feel like distance. It feels like a pause instead of an ending.
“Text me when you get home,” I say.
She glances back at me as she opens the car door. “I’m not a teenager, I’ll be fine. You’re very bossy.”
“Only a little.”
She’s shaking her head as she gets in. “Okay, I’ll text you.”
I watch her pull away, my hands settling into my pockets as I stand there for longer than necessary, watching her drive away with a little piece of my heart.