Chapter 5
Five
Taylor
The lunch crowd had thinned out, leaving the shop humming with low conversations, the hiss of the espresso machine, and the clink of ceramic mugs. I was wiping down the bar, half-distracted by the playlist Hayley put on—some sultry lo-fi jazz number that made everything feel a little too cinematic.
That’s when the door chimed, and Jiro walked in. Tall. Calm. Sins carved into his forearms.
The sleeves of his black tee couldn’t hide the intricate tattoos crawling over his skin—snakes, koi, maybe a dragon tail disappearing up past the fabric.
His hair was long, pulled back into a low, messy tie, and he wore glasses that looked like they belonged to a software engineer, not a man who probably rode a Ducati and knew how to hotwire a Tesla.
“Customer or vampire lord?” Hayley muttered beside me. “Because either way, I want the novella.”
I ignored her. Barely.
He scanned the menu like he didn’t need it, then looked right at me. “I told you I would come visit your shop,” he said, voice low and even. “I’ve been here before, and I just didn’t realize you were the owner.”
I blinked. Great. Just what I needed—temptation with tattoos and cheekbones. “Maybe we’ve met before and didn’t realize it.”
He smiled. And damn, he had a smile that should’ve been illegal. “Maybe.”
“You walk in here looking like you code malware in the dark but also run underground fight clubs for fun.” I checked him.
His grin stretched wider. “Who says I don’t?”
Hayley, pretending to refill napkin dispensers but very much in earshot, practically giggled. She giggled. I sent her a warning glare, which she ignored. “What can I get you?” I asked, trying to sound unaffected.
“Whatever you recommend,” he said as he perused the menu. “I want something iced and strong. What’s in the Nicki Minaj?”
“It’s an iced spicy, matcha espresso,” I said. “Unpredictable like her.”
“It’s also fucking crazy and past its prime like her!” Hayley adds in.
My embarrassment reaches past my cheeks and slaps me. “So, there’s that.”
He raises an eyebrow, then smiles. “It sounds interesting enough. I’ll take one.
” He glances into the pastry case and purses his lips — and my brain immediately takes the wrong kind of field trip.
“And one of the biscuits with peach jam, please. I also have a special request, if you can serve it to me?”
My hand pauses on the espresso handle. Hayley and I exchange a look. “Oh?”
“I mean,” he adds quickly, “you don’t have to. I just thought it’d be a way we could chat for a bit.”
“Oh.” I try not to show my disappointment. I mean, duh — he’s at my place of business, I serve coffee. Why am I reading into this? “Sure.”
Hayley makes a strangled noise behind the pastry case. I’m going to murder her later.
“You want this to go?” I ask, sliding the drink across.
“I was hoping to drink it here.” He nods toward the window seat. “If that’s cool with you.”
“It’s your coffee. Sit where you want.”
He takes the cup, holds my gaze just a beat too long, then strolls to the window seat like he’s got nowhere else to be.
“Girl,” Hayley hisses the second he’s out of earshot. “He likes you.”
I shrug. “He’s polite.”
“He called you unexpected. That’s Asian man for I’m obsessed with you.” She elbows me. “You like him, too. Don’t front. I saw you checking his arms.”
Was I that obvious? “I wasn’t—”
“Yes, you were, bitch.” Hayley cuts me off. “Bae is built like a romance novel cover but with tech support energy. Dangerous.”
I steal a glance through the espresso steam. Jiro’s sipping slowly, one leg crossed, looking like he belongs here. Like he has time. And for the first time in a while, I wonder what it might feel like to let someone new in — even just a little.
“You’re occupied.”
I blink and turn toward the seasoned voice. “Tesh.”
“Ms. Taylor.” She glances toward Jiro, gives a knowing nod. “Might as well, since Cameron’s acting like a plum fool.”
Hayley covers her mouth. I blow out a breath. “What can I get you?”
“I’ll take the Michelle Obama and a couple of chocolate croissants.” She leans on the counter. “How’ve you been? I miss you and Mia.”
I miss the free babysitting. But mostly, I miss the community at Cameron’s — the birthdays, the holidays, the way everyone looked out for each other. Now, I have a nice condo and none of that. “We’re hanging in there. Just getting used to the routine.”
“Good.” Tesh smiles, but it doesn’t reach her eyes. “He still loves you, you know.”
“I know. But I also know I’m second to the game.” I let out a small sigh. “The game will always be his first love.”
“He realizes that. He’s trying to get you back, but the way he’s going about it...” She exhales. “I’ve warned him.”
If Tesh is warning him, it’s bad. “I’m afraid Mia’s going to grow up not knowing her father.”
“She’ll know.” She reassures, but I still have my doubts. “After he’s done with this, he’ll leave for good.”
“How do you know that?” I press, but I know it’s useless. Tesh is a second mother to Cameron. She was more of a mother to him than Heather. “Ethan’s itching to take him down. Cam is targeting family.”
Tesh grabs her croissants. “It’s not Ethan you should be worried about.”
I catch her tone. “Jamie? Makayla?”
She shakes her head. “Not them, either.”
“Then who?”
Tesh just smiles. “You’ll see.”
I drop off Tesh’s order and grab Jiro’s biscuit.
When I set it in front of him, he doesn’t reach for it right away.
Instead, his eyes lift to mine, dark and unreadable.
“Thanks,” he says, voice low, almost lazy.
Then, like it’s the most casual thing in the world: “Any chance I can take you out sometime?”
The question lands like a spark on dry wood. I blink. “Oh, I don’t know—”
“She’ll go with you!” Hayley calls from behind the counter, loud enough to make me want to throw a scone at her.
Jiro’s mouth tilts in a slow smile. He glances at Hayley, amused, then brings his gaze back to me — steady, deliberate. “Well,” he murmurs, “your girl says yes. But I’m more interested in what you say.”
My fingers tighten on the edge of my apron. “I haven’t decided.”
“Take your time.” He leans back, finally tearing a piece off the biscuit. “I’m a patient man. Mostly.” And then he takes a slow bite, eyes never leaving mine, like he’s got all afternoon to watch me squirm.
I go back to work and handle business, while pretending Jiro is just a regular-degular customer in my store. I’m still behind the counter pretending to reorganize stir sticks when he stands and walks over, empty cup in hand.
“Thanks for the coffee,” Jiro says, placing it gently on the counter. “And for the conversation.”
I blink. “You barely talked.”
He smiles slowly and deliberately. “Sometimes listening tells you more than talking ever could.”
Before I can respond, he leans in just slightly, just enough for me to catch a faint whiff of cedar and something darker, sharper. “Next time,” he adds, voice low, “I’ll do the talking.” And then he’s gone like he didn’t just drop a verbal match in my lap and stroll away from the fire.
Hayley fans herself with the order pad. “Girl, you’re done for.”
She’s probably right.