Chapter 6 Lila
Lila
The offer was insulting. Below market value, like we’d be too stupid or desperate to notice.
A slap in the face after everything we’ve built and of course, he delivered it with that infuriating calm, like he was doing us a favour.
What’s really driving me mad is how much space he’s taking up in my head.
The way he looked at me like a stranger.
It’s ridiculous. I should be focused on the fight ahead, not getting thrown off balance by a man I haven’t seen in fifteen years.
Not letting old feelings tangle up with new fury.
Damn it, Lila. Get a grip.
The bell above the door chimes, and every muscle in my body locks up.
No. No fucking way.
But there he is. Ben Ashcroft, standing in the doorway like he owns the place.
His eyes scan the room until they land on me.
He’s not in a suit today, but somehow, that’s worse.
Fitted navy shirt rolled to the elbows, tailored trousers, an expensive watch glinting from his wrist. He looks ridiculously put together for someone who should have no business showing up here again.
What the hell is he doing here?
I fight the instinct to bolt and keep my expression neutral as he strides toward the counter. My pulse kicks up anyway.
“Good morning,” he says, his voice just as smooth, just as irritatingly confident as it was yesterday. “Thought I’d stop in for coffee.”
I fold my arms, narrowing my eyes. “Doing some early reconnaissance before you knock the place down?”
Ben chuckles softly, like he’s actually amused. “If I wanted to knock it down, I wouldn’t need coffee first.”
“Right.” I tilt my head, giving him a tight smile. “Coffee. Because there’s absolutely nowhere else in the city to get one, is there?”
His eyes glint, and he leans just a little closer over the counter. Too close.
“I wanted to apologize,” he says, his voice soft but deliberate.
“Oh, so you’ve decided to cancel the plans after all?”
He blinks, caught off guard for a split second, before his lips curl into a faint smile. “No.”
“Shame,” I say, folding my arms. “That might’ve made this conversation more interesting.”
Ben chuckles softly, recovering far too quickly. “I was… surprised to see you,” he continues, his eyes never leaving mine. “Didn’t handle it the way I should’ve. It’s been a long time, and I’d like to…” He pauses, a faint smile curving his lips, too polished to be innocent.
“Start again.”
The words hit harder than they should, echoing in my head, swirling around like smoke I can’t quite clear.
Start again.
Does he mean now? Or fifteen years ago, when he walked away without so much as a goodbye? My stomach tightens. It’s too much, all at once, and for a split second, I can’t speak.
But then I remember who he is now. Ben Ashcroft, the man trying to take away everything I’ve built.
He rests his hand on the counter, the tendons flexing beneath his tanned skin, forearm corded with muscle. He leans in slightly, close enough that I catch the faint scent of his cologne—dark, expensive, with just a hint of something warm and masculine.
The air feels heavier, warmer. His fitted shirt stretches across broad shoulders, emphasizing just how much he’s changed since the scrappy, reckless boy I once knew.
“It’s good to see you again, Lila,” his voice is soft, low, and deliberate, sending a ripple of something unsettling down my spine. My breath stutters, heat coiling low in my stomach. No. Not this time.
“Oh, so you do remember me. How unexpected.”
“Some things are hard to forget.”
“Funny,” I say, my voice sharp, “you didn’t seem to remember me at all before.” I fold my arms, tilting my head.
The smirk fades from his face, replaced by something quieter, almost hesitant. His eyes soften, that familiar confidence dimming just a little. “I deserved that,” he admits, his voice lower, almost regretful.
His gaze lingers on me for a beat too long, his brow furrowing slightly. “It was the name that threw me. Ng, not Lau.” He tilts his head.
My breath catches.
“I got married,” I say, the words slipping out before I can stop them.
What the actual fuck, Lila?!
Ben’s body tenses, his jaw tightening so fast it looks painful. His eyes flick to my left hand. Bare. Glaringly bare, then back to my face. The softness is gone, replaced by something darker.
His nostrils flare, his jaw clenching. “I figured.” His voice is dangerously low, his smile gone.
Shit. I should backtrack, but it’s too late now and my pride kicks in full force.
“Happily married,” I say, too bright, too steady.
His lips press into a thin line, his eyes glinting with something sharp, something raw.
His knuckles whiten as his hand curls into a fist on the counter.
He forces a slow, deliberate breath through his nose, but it doesn’t quite mask the storm in his eyes.
“He’s a very lucky man,” Ben says, his voice low and clipped. Controlled. But I don’t miss the edge beneath it, the bite hiding behind the words.
I cross my arms, willing my heart to slow down. “Yep,” I say again, popping the ‘p’ like I’ve got everything under control.
His eyes drop to my left hand. “Where’s your ring?”
The question slices through the air. Casual tone, but his eyes are sharp. Waiting.
My brain scrambles. “I… I don’t wear it when I’m working,” I blurt. “It’s impractical.”
Ben lets out a soft chuckle, but there’s nothing warm about it. “Right. Wouldn’t want to risk damaging something so… precious.”
The silence between us crackles like static. His eyes don’t move from mine. I grip the counter tighter, trying to ignore the flush creeping up my neck.
Keep it together, Lila. Don’t crack now.
“Well,” I say, straightening, trying for nonchalance. “Can I take your order?”
My voice is steady, but inside I’m scrambling, desperate to push this conversation back to safe territory.
He pauses, his eyes searching mine for a beat longer than I’m comfortable with. Then, he nods, slipping back into that calm, composed shell. “Black coffee. No milk. No sugar.”
Of course.
I nod, grabbing a cup and turning to the coffee machine. “Black coffee. Got it.”
I pour the coffee into the cup, the rich, dark liquid swirling as I set it down in front of him. “One black coffee. No milk, no sugar.”
He picks it up, smiling slightly. “Simple.”
“Convenient,” I say flatly. “Well, enjoy.”
I’m already halfway turned toward the register, hoping he’ll take the hint, but his voice stops me cold. “Actually,” he says casually, “I’ll have something sweet too. Cake, maybe.”
I glance back over my shoulder. “Seriously?”
His smile widens. “Your recommendation.”
Of course he wants to drag this out.
I sigh, turning toward the display case. “Matcha chiffon. It’s light, fluffy, a little bitter. Not for everyone.”
His gaze flicks to the cake, then to me. “Good thing I’ve never been afraid of a challenge.”
Cocky bastard.
I grab a plate and cut a slice, setting it down on the counter with more force than necessary. “Enjoy it. Or don’t. Makes no difference to me.”
He takes the plate, but his eyes linger on me, not the cake. Watching. Waiting. I hate that a stupid slice of cake feels like a power move.
“Thanks,” he says, his lips curving into that maddening smirk.
I cross my arms, refusing to give him more than a bored expression. “That’ll be ￡9.20.”
He slides a twenty-pound note across the counter, his eyes never leaving mine. “Keep the change.”
“Generous,” I mutter, putting the change in the Guide dogs for the blind collection pot next to the till.
“Always,” he replies smoothly, taking a sip of his coffee.
For a second, the air between us thickens, heavy with unspoken tension. But I don’t crack. I keep my face calm, unreadable.
“Anything else?” I ask flatly.
His gaze lingers. “Not today.”
He turns toward the door, but just before he steps outside, he glances back over his shoulder.
“I meant it, you know,” he says softly, his voice low and deliberate. “It really is good to see you again.”
Then he’s gone, the bell above the door chiming softly as it swings shut.
The cafe falls quiet, his presence lingering like the scent of dark roast and his cologne, deep, warm, and annoyingly hard to ignore.
I grip the counter, my heart pounding harder than it should. What the hell is his game?
Fortunately, the day doesn’t give me much time to dwell on it. The door swings open again, and a flood of customers pours in. A mix of regulars and students with laptops, already eyeing the best seats.
I inhale deeply, forcing a smile as I serve one cappuccino after another, grateful for the constant hum of activity.
The orders come in fast. It’s easier this way.
Busier is better. Busier means less time to think about him, about the strange tension lingering between us, or the way his voice sounded just a little too sincere when he said it was good to see me.
I clear a table, tossing crumpled napkins into the bin with more force than necessary. Focus, Lila. Focus on what matters, Bloom and Brew, keeping everything afloat.
5 o’clock.
I yank open the supply cupboard, needing something, anything to distract me. Flour. Sugar. Rice flour. Perfect. I’ll bake something for tomorrow. Keep my hands busy so my brain doesn’t have time to spiral.
I grab my mum’s old recipe for nian gao, her favourite sticky rice cake.
Mum always makes nian gao during Spring Festival.
It’s supposed to bring good luck, right now we need all the luck we can get.
I start mixing the ingredients. The motions are soothing, familiar, grounding me in a way that nothing else has since the moment Ben walked through that door.
It’s ancient history. So what if he’s back?
You’re a grown woman, not some heartbroken teenager.
As I stir the batter, the sweet scent of the nian gao fills the air, tugging me back to that spring afternoon.