Talia
His hand was warm.
It wasn't like the brief, awkward grip from their first encounter. This was a solid handshake. His large hand wrapped completely around hers. The jolt she felt was real. It was a steady flow of heat that raced up her arm and settled in her chest.
"Jadon," she repeated, her voice sounding breathless.
She pulled her hand back as if burned, her face flushing. She felt like a complete fool.
In a moment of paranoia, she had accused a total stranger—a very handsome stranger—of being a stalker. But he wasn't. He was just a guy. A guy in her field. A guy who, like her, enjoyed the scent of a spice shop.
The "king" from Astra, who had looked like he ran the place, was simply a colleague on vacation. The intensity she noticed... maybe it wasn't possessiveness. Perhaps, like her, he had just been surprised.
"I... I'm so sorry," she stammered, dropping her gaze to the dusty concrete floor. "I just... I've never... I saw you... twice. I thought..."
"You thought I was following you," he finished for her, his voice smooth and deep. It wasn't an accusation; it was a fact.
"Yes. I... I'm an idiot," she mumbled, her cheeks burning. "I should... I should probably just... go."
She couldn't stay here. Even this 'just a guy' persona was overwhelming. He was full of contradictions, and she felt flustered, embarrassed, and very aware of him.
She started to turn, planning her escape.
"Wait."
She froze. The word was not a request. It was a quiet command.
Jadon
He couldn't let her leave. Not now.
He had her. He had Talia. Not the file, not the surveillance footage, but the real, breathing woman. The lie had worked too well. He had disarmed her, and now, in her embarrassment, she was ready to flee.
He had to keep her grounded. He needed to make "Jadon," the culinary professional, real.
"Please," he said, his voice gentler. "I... I scared you. At Astra. And... just now. I'm... I'm sorry."
She turned back, her amber eyes wide and cautious. "You... you were staring. At the restaurant."
"I was," he admitted. He had to tell the truth, but he had to twist it. "I... I recognized you. From the market."
"You... you did?"
"I told you," he said, pointing to the sacks of spices. "You know what you're doing. I saw you with the sumac the other day. You're not just in 'sourcing,' are you?"
He was fishing, using information from Kael's file but presenting it as an observation. He was allowing her to embrace the professional side he had seen in the market, not just the woman in the green silk dress.
It worked. Her stance shifted. The flustered girl faded, slightly replaced by the businesswoman.
"I... I run a small family shop," she said, her voice unsure but filled with pride. "In London. 'Solomon & Daughters.' It's a spice shop."
"Solomon & Daughters," he repeated, testing the name as if it were new to him. As if he hadn't just orchestrated its miraculous salvation two days ago. "I... I like that."
"Thanks," she said, a shy smile appearing on her lips.
He had her. She was engaged. Now... he needed to make a move.
"Look," he said, running a hand through his hair, a gesture he rarely used. It was part of his performance. "I clearly ruined your afternoon. And to be honest, I'm going a little crazy just walking around. My leave... it's too quiet."
He looked into her eyes. "You look," he said, his voice dropping, "like you could use a real coffee. Not the swill they sell up front."
Talia's breath caught.
"Please," he urged before she could decline. "Let me apologize. For staring. For scaring you. Just... five minutes. As colleagues."
He watched her, his heart racing. He saw the conflict in her eyes. The old Talia, the responsible one, was telling her to run.
But the new Talia... the "queen" her aunt was trying to create, the woman who had just received a miracle and a new dress... she was curious.
He realized she was just as interested in him as he was in her.
She bit her lip, a small gesture that sent a shockwave through him.
"Okay," she said quietly. "Coffee. But... where? I... I don't really know anywhere..."
He had to be careful. He couldn't say "Astra." He couldn't mention his penthouse. He needed to be "Jadon," the man on leave. He had to act normal.
He offered a small, hesitant smile. "I think I know a place. It's small and quiet. In Didsbury."
He had pulled the location from her file. He knew her aunt's address. He was aware of the cafés nearby. It was a calculated risk.
Talia's eyes widened, her whole body going still. "Didsbury?"
He feigned surprise. "Yeah. Why? You know it?"
"That's... that's where I'm staying," she whispered, her voice filled with sudden awe. "With my aunt."
Jadon let his own "surprise" show, smiling slowly in disbelief. "No. Really?" He let out a small, genuine laugh. "What a coincidence."
Talia stared at him, her mind racing. The man from the market. The king from Astra. The colleague from London. And now, by some absurd twist of fate... he was in her temporary neighborhood.
This wasn't just a coincidence.
This felt like fate.
"Yeah," she breathed, a dazzling smile finally breaking across her face. "Wow. Okay. Yeah, coffee sounds perfect."