Seraphina
The gravel crunched beneath my boots as I crossed the road, Max's treat tin swinging lazily from my hand.
"You know this is a terrible idea," Frank muttered.
"I've had worse."
"Name one."
"..."
"Exactly."
Gerald sighed dramatically from somewhere behind me.
"I give it thirty seconds before she says something strange."
"I heard that."
"I know."
The morning air still carried a bite to it, crisp enough to leave tiny clouds of breath hanging between the pine trees. Across the road, Elias's cottage looked exactly as it had yesterday: neat porch, boots lined beside the door, curtains open just enough to let the sunlight spill inside.
Organized, predictable yet comforting. I climbed the three wooden steps and knocked twice. Silence. Then footsteps heavy and measured. The sort of footsteps belonging to someone who always knew where they were going. The door opened.
Elias stood there in a charcoal Henley with the sleeves pushed to his forearms, dark jeans, and an expression that suggested he'd been awake for hours already. Max squeezed past his legs. The German shepherd made a beeline for me.
"Good morning to you too," I laughed, crouching as he leaned his entire weight against me.
"I see where your loyalties lie."
Max wagged harder.
"Traitor," Elias muttered.
I grinned up at him.
"I like him."
"He likes everyone."
"I choose to believe I'm special."
One corner of his mouth threatened to move. Threatened. It thought better of it. I straightened.
"So, I don’t think I have officially introduced myself to you. I’m Seraphina."
He waited.
"Coffee?"
He blinked.
"Coffee."
"Yes."
He was silent. Just staring at me as if I asked him if he had aliens in the cottage or something crazy.
"You look like you drink coffee."
"I do."
"Perfect."
Another pause.
"You haven't actually invited me in."
"No."
"I noticed."
He folded his arms.
"I was hoping that would discourage you."
"It didn't."
"I can see that."
I smiled brightly.
"Excellent."
Without another word, I stepped around him. There was the smallest hesitation behind me before he sighed.
"You're just walking in?"
"I was under the impression we were past formalities."
"We've spoken approximately twelve sentences."
"Thirteen."
He stared.
"I counted."
Behind me, Frank whispered,
"Liar."
Gerald snorted.
"You stopped counting after 'hello.'"
Max trotted happily into the house as though he'd personally approved the decision. Elias rubbed a hand over his jaw before closing the door.
"I usually lock that."
"I'll pretend that it was directed at the dog."
"It wasn't."
"I know."
I wandered into the kitchen, slowing just enough to glance around as though taking it in for the first time. Simple cabinets. Dark countertops. Everything in its place. Everything… Almost exactly where I'd imagined.
"Hm."
I reached toward one cupboard but stopped.
"No..."
Another.
"No..."
The third. Inside sat two dark ceramic mugs.
"There we are."
Elias raised an eyebrow.
"Lucky guess?"
"I've got the same layout."
I lifted the mug.
"These cottages are basically copy-pasted."
"...Right."
Inside my head, Frank cleared his throat.
“Move your mugs when you get home.”
Gerald nodded solemnly.
“Immediately.”
“Today.”
“Before you forget again.”
I smiled sweetly while setting the mugs on the counter.
"I'll make the coffee."
Elias leaned against the doorway, arms crossed.
"I don't remember agreeing to this."
"You didn't but you looked like you needed saving."
"From what?"
"Terrible coffee."
For the first time… He laughed. Only once. Only quietly but it was enough. Frank looked at Gerald.
"We're in trouble."
"I know."
The coffee machine hummed softly between them, filling the quiet with something other than the sound of their breathing.
I smiled to myself. People hated silence.
They rushed to fill it with weather reports, complaints about traffic, or awkward questions about hobbies they'd never remember the answers to.
Elias didn't. He wore silence comfortably. Like an old leather jacket. It suited him. I leaned against the counter while the coffee dripped into the mugs, stealing another glance in his direction.
He wasn't watching the coffee. He was watching me. Not in the romantic sort of way. More like he was trying to solve a puzzle that kept changing shape every time he thought he'd figured out a corner. It should have made me uncomfortable.
Instead… Warmth curled lazily through my stomach, my nipples hardened, under his stare.
My thoughts running back to this morning wondering if I wore a padded bra today.
I clenched my thighs, my cheeks feeling warm.
His attention settled on me like sunlight through a window.
There was something unfair about the way his eyes held people.
Steady. Unhurried. The kind of eyes that didn't miss much.
I wondered what they looked like when he laughed properly. Not the tiny smile he'd accidentally let escape earlier. A real laugh. One that reached those tired blue eyes and stayed there. The thought lingered far longer than it should have. The coffee finished brewing. I handed him one of the mugs.
"No sugar?" he asked.
"You look like someone who drinks coffee because it functions as fuel rather than because it tastes nice."
He stared at the mug.
"That's strangely accurate."
"I know."
"You know?"
"I guessed."
He took a careful sip. I watched him over the rim of my own mug. I wanted to be that mug. It’s official I am jealous over a mug. The warmth seeped into my palms, but it wasn't the coffee making my pulse feel oddly uneven. He caught me looking. I didn't look away.
"I've got something on my face?"
"No."
"Then why are you staring?"
I tipped my head.
"I'm observing."
"Observing."
"Mhm."
"That sounds suspicious."
"It sounds like curiosity."
"Is there a difference?"
"A massive one."
"And what's that?"
"Curiosity asks questions."
I took another sip.
"Suspicion already thinks it knows the answer."
For the first time since opening the door, he didn't reply immediately. Instead, he studied me with that same unreadable expression. Yeah honey, keep your eyes on me.
"You always talk this much?"
"Usually more."
"I was afraid of that."
"I can stop."
"I didn't say I wanted you to."
The words surprised both of us. He seemed to realize it the same moment I did. His jaw tightened almost imperceptibly as he looked away toward the window. Outside, Max chased a leaf that had absolutely no interest in being caught. A small laugh escaped me.
"You know," I murmured, "I envy dogs sometimes.
They don't care about appearances. They don't get fooled by smiles.
They sense things long before people do.
They know when something isn't right. I wish I knew who was friend and who was foe.
Imagine knowing, from the moment you met someone, whether they were safe... or dangerous."
I could feel his eyes burning into the side of my face, silently trying to solve me as though he could unravel every thought in my head before he finally followed my gaze instead.
"He believes everything is a friend."
"There are worse ways to see the world."
"There are."
His voice carried a weight that didn't belong in an ordinary conversation about dogs.
It made me wonder what he'd seen before Blackridge, not because I wanted answers.
Just because… Some people carried their past in photographs.
Others carried it in the way they looked out of windows. He was definitely the second kind.
Neither of us spoke for a while. Oddly enough… It wasn't awkward. Just quiet. The sort of quiet that didn't ask to be filled.
He cleared his throat, almost as though he'd remembered he was supposed to be the host.
"We should probably sit down."
"Probably."
He picked up his mug, nudging the kitchen chair back into place with his foot before heading toward the living room. I followed a step behind him, trying very hard not to notice the broad line of his shoulders beneath the charcoal Henley.
The living room carried the same quiet order as the rest of the cottage.
A dark leather couch faced a stone fireplace that hadn't seen a flame in months.
Shelves lined one wall, filled with books, framed photographs, and the occasional award collecting dust as though he'd forgotten they existed.
Everything had a place. Everything looked lived in without feeling cluttered.
It felt… Comfortable. Dangerously so.
Max padded in behind us before throwing himself onto the rug with an exaggerated sigh that suggested he'd worked much harder this morning than either of us.
I laughed.
"I think he's exhausted."
"He probably chased butterflies."
"It was clearly very determined butterflies."
A ghost of a smile tugged at Elias's mouth as he lowered himself onto one end of the couch. I settled into the opposite corner, curling one leg beneath me as I wrapped both hands around the mug, letting the warmth settle against my fingertips.
The silence returned. Not uncomfortable or forced. Just… Quiet. The kind of silence that invited wandering thoughts.
Max wandered over with the confidence only a dog could possess before dropping onto the rug directly in front of me. His tail thumped lazily against the wooden floor as I reached down to scratch behind his ears.
"You spoil him," I murmured.
"He'd argue I don't spoil him enough."
"I think he's right."
Max rolled onto his back in complete agreement, stretching his front legs into the air with a contented groan. I laughed, running my fingers through the thick golden black fur beneath his chin.
My eyes drifted upward.
Elias had leaned back into the couch, one ankle resting casually over his knee, his mug balanced effortlessly in one hand.
The morning light spilled through the window behind him, catching against the dark strands of hair that had begun falling across his forehead.
He reached up absentmindedly, pushing them back before rubbing a tired hand along the sharp line of his jaw.