DALTON
Two days. For forty-eight hours, I'd been a professional wallower. I'd moved from my bed to the couch and back again, living in a hazy cocoon of grief and the surprisingly good food Dalton's driver, Marcus, kept depositing on my doorstep like a very solemn, well-dressed food delivery fairy. I'd stopped fighting it. Arguuing took energy, and I was running on fumes.
Grief had weight and it sat squarely on my chest daring me to move.
But today, the fog lifted just enough for a single, terrifying thought to break through..I needed money. The walls weren't going to pay for themselves, and neither was the mountain of debt currently using my kitchen table as a throne.
With a sigh that felt like it came from my bones, I picked up my phone and called Mel.
"Aria? Honey, how are you holding up?" Her voice was gentle, which was worse than her usual stressed-out bark
Mel?" My voice came out rough, like I'd swallowed gravel.
"Oh my god, Aria! Are you okay?"
I lied automatically. "Yeah. I'm... okay. Sort of. I wanted to ask if uh..if I still have a job?"
"Of course, you do!" she said, and I could almost hear her waving a dismissive hand. "We heard about your dad. Mr. Gray actually called to let us know. Take all the time you need."
Mr. Gray called? Of course, he did. He probably sent a formal memo. I pushed the thought aside. "No, I need to work. I'll be in today."
"Okay, sweetie. If you're sure. We'll see you then."
I hung up, a tiny, pathetic spark of purpose flickering to life. I dragged myself through a shower thankfully, the water was still on then
and pulled on my uniform of emotional armor: ripped denim shorts, a cropped tank top, and an old flannel shirt to ward off the cafe's aggressive AC. It was my battle gear against the world.
Walking into The Grind felt like stepping onto a stage. The sympathetic looks from Lena and Ben were a physical weight. "We're so sorry for your loss, Aria," Lena said, her eyes wide and sad.
"Thanks," I muttered, focusing on tying my apron. "But please, just… treat me like you did before. I can't handle the kid gloves."
They nodded, getting the message. The world needed to go back to normal, even if my own would never be the same.
Right on cue, at his usual time, the door chimed and he walked in. Dalton. His eyes found me immediately, that same intense, curious gaze scanning my face as if checking for structural damage. I braced for a cutting remark, a demand, something.
But he just walked to the counter. I handed him his pre-made double espresso. He took it.
"Thank you," he said, his voice neutral.
I just nodded. He paid, left his usual obscene tip, and went to his table. No argument. No fire. It was… unsettling. The whole cafe felt the shift in the atmosphere. It was like watching two rival lions decide to ignore each other at the watering hole.
The moment he left, Ben was on me. "Okay, what was that?" he whispered, his eyes sparkling with gossipy glee. "Since when do you two have a silent understanding? It's giving… tension. The good kind."
I rolled my eyes, wiping down the steam wand with more force than necessary. "There's no tension. There's nothing. He's a customer. I'm a barista. The end."
"A customer who looks at you like you're a complicated math problem he's dying to solve," Ben swooned dramatically. "And that tip? Honey, that's not a tip, that's a dowry. He's a devastatingly handsome, brooding billionaire and he's obsessed with you. It's a romance novel come to life! I have always picked a certain vibe between you two"
"It's a nightmare wrapped in a five-thousand-dollar suit," I retorted, but I could feel my cheeks getting warm. "Now, can we please focus on the line of customers who actually want coffee and not to dissect my non-existent love life?"
The busy day was a blessing. The constant rush of orders, the hiss of the machine, the fake smiles I plastered on for customers it all created a noise in my head that drowned out the quiet, aching thoughts of my dad and the terrifying abyss of my finances. For a few hours, I was on autopilot, and it was glorious.
But at 3 p.m., the noise stopped. The silence rushed back in as I changed and trudged to my car, parked in its usual spot of shame far away from the luxury vehicles. Exhaustion hit me like a truck. All I wanted was to crawl into bed and sleep for a year.
I got home and remembered my duty. Mrs. Evans had gone to visit her daughter and left me in charge of her demonic cat, Lucifer. I let myself in, and the little gremlin immediately hissed at me from the top of the bookshelf, its eyes glowing with pure malice. "Yeah, yeah, the feeling's mutual, you furry gargoyle," I muttered, refilling its food and water.
Back in my own apartment, I headed straight for the shower, desperate to wash the smell of coffee and grief off my skin. I turned the knob. Nothing. Not a drip. I tried again. A sad, sputtering cough came from the pipe, then silence.
The water had been cut off.
I'd forgotten to pay the bill. Another lie I'd told myself. The truth was, I couldn't pay it.
A groan of pure frustration escaped me. Of course. Just… of course. With a sigh of resignation, I grabbed my towel and toiletries, wrapped myself in my robe, and sneaked back to Mrs. Evans's, praying Lucifer wouldn't try to trip me and claim a life for his dark lord.
Twenty minutes later, feeling marginally more human but shivering in my robe, I hurried back across the lawn to my dark, waterless house. I pushed the door open, my mind already on pulling on some sweats and starting the hopeless hunt for a second job online.
And then I screamed.
Because there was a man standing in my living room.
"What the hell ?!" My heart slammed against my ribs until my brain caught up and realized it was Dalton.
"You" I jabbed a finger at him. "You can't just materialize in people's homes like Batman!"
He blinked, a little startled himself, before clearing his throat and of course glancing exactly where he shouldn't. I looked down and realized the robe had come loose, giving him a very unwanted glimpse of my breast. My whole left boob was out. Kill me now.
"Turn around!" I barked, clutching it closed.
He spun so fast it was almost funny.
Almost.
"What are you even doing here, Dalton? Have you lost your mind?"
"I knocked," he said stiffly. "No one answered. The door was unlocked. I thought something happened."
I gaped. "So your solution was to break in?"
"Technically, I walked in," he corrected dryly.
"Technically, you're insane," I shot back. "You can't just wait, why are you looking around like that?"
His gaze had swept over the room the peeling paint, the unpaid bills stacked on the table, the fridge humming like it was dying. He looked… uncomfortable. Out of place.
I hated that he looked out of place. I hated that I felt ashamed for how I lived.
"I was checking to make sure you were okay," he said finally.
"Well, surprise. I'm alive. You can go now you saw me in the morning at the coffee shop."
His eyes narrowed slightly. "You came from Mrs. Evans's apartment. Why?"
"That's none of your business."
"Did you shower there?"
I crossed my arms. "You're crossing a line, Gray."
He stared me down like he had all the time in the world. "Then just tell me what's wrong."
I exhaled, annoyed. "Fine. My water got cut off, okay? I forgot to pay the bill. But I'll handle it tonight."
(It was a lie, and we both knew it.)
He ran a hand through his hair, muttering something under his breath. Then, with that stubborn tone that could make a saint swear, he said, "Get dressed. You're coming with me."
I blinked, then laughed.
"Oh, that's rich. You hide it well, but you're actually funny."
"I'm serious, Aria."
"Of course you are. You're always serious. Look, thank you for your… concern, but I'm not moving in with you. That's not happening."
He sighed, visibly restraining himself. "You can barely afford water. I'm not leaving you here like this."
"Well, guess what?" I snapped. "You don't get to decide that. You're not my dad. You're not my anything. So take your expensive savior complex and go home."
That hit something. His jaw tightened, but instead of snapping back, he just looked tired.
Not angry tired.
"John asked me to look after you," he said quietly. "I made him a promise. I don't break those."
That silenced me. For a second, I couldn't even breathe.
He looked around again this time softer, guiltier and said, "I'll wait until you're ready to talk. But I'm not leaving you alone like this."
"Why?" I whispered. "Why do you even care?"
He hesitated, then looked away. "Because someone should."
I didn't have an answer for that.
So instead, I rolled my eyes, muttered something about stubborn billionaires, and slammed my bedroom door behind me loudly enough for him to hear.
If he wanted to stay, fine. Let him see what it looked like when someone's life fell apart.
Maybe then he'd stop trying to fix it.