The morning sun spilled over the city like soft gold as Miranda approached Stone & Steam cafe. The air was still cool, the streets waking slowly, and yet her palms were already warm with nervous heat.
She didn't know why.
No, she knew exactly why.
But she didn't want to admit it.
She paused before unlocking the café door, her fingers hovering over the keyhole. Her breath came out shaky.
"Just forget about him already," she muttered to herself. "He probably won't even remember you if saw him again."
And yet…
Her heart beat faster at the thought, not in fear, not in relief, but in something dangerously close to disappointment.
She shook her head quickly and unlocked the door, promising herself to be content with her life. As the lights flickered on, the familiar scent of roasted beans embraced her and calmed her nerves as expected of the place that had always been her sanctuary.
Miranda cleaned the tables, rearranged pastries in the display, brewed the first pot of coffee, her hands practiced and steady.
This Morning seemed like an off day for her, Every smile she practiced came out too tight. Every movement felt like she was walking around with a secret taped to her chest.
Around 9 a.m., the café door chimed.
Her breath hitched.
But it was only Mr. Hassan, the elderly teacher who came every morning for mint tea and a blueberry muffin. He smiled warmly, and she returned it, though her chest deflated in a way she couldn't pretend not to notice.
"Are you all right, my dear?" he asked.
"Yes," she lied too quickly. "Just a long night."
He chuckled. "I know that feeling, get some rest today if you can."
Miranda smiled and thanked him for his concern as she and her two workers carried on serving the customers.
Mid-morning brought the usual crowd of students and office workers. Miranda moved between them, serving drinks, greeting customers, keeping her smile in place.
The anxiety pressed against her skin, buzzing like electricity beneath her flesh had began to fade as she momentarily stopped thinking about Raphael without realizing it
Then,
Sometime after noon,
The air shifted.
She didn't see him immediately nor did she hear him. She perceived the cologne he had on the last time he was here and she felt a presence like warm pressure on the back of her neck. Her hand froze where it hovered over the espresso machine.
Slowly, too slowly, she turned.
And there he was.
At the café counter with hands in his pockets. His grey eyes locked directly on her as though he'd walked into this café only to find her.
Raphael.
The breath fled her lungs.
He wasn't smiling, not fully, but his lips were curved in a way that made heat pool low in her stomach. His gaze swept over her face, her apron, her fingers.
"Good afternoon," he said, his voice warm enough to melt bone.
Miranda swallowed. "H-Hello."
It came out unbearably soft.
He stepped forward, slow, unhurried, like a man certain the moment belonged to him.
Her pulse pounded so loudly she was sure he heard it. Rafael approached the counter. Miranda instinctively straightened, wiping her palms on her apron.
"What can I get you?" she asked, voice still small.
He leaned slightly against the counter, not lazily, not arrogantly, but with a kind of relaxed confidence that made her fingers tighten on the edge.
"The same as the last time," he replied. "You remember it?"
"Of course, I… remember most orders," she said truthfully.
"But not most faces?" he teased gently.
She blinked, her cheeks warming. "No, I… remember those too."
A spark lit in his eyes.
"Good," he replied.
Her heart stumbled dangerously.
She turned away to prepare his order, needing the distraction, the barrier. The sound of grinding coffee beans steadied her for a moment, but the awareness of him, his gaze following her movements, made her skin prickle with a strange, delicious heat.
When she returned with his cup, she set it in front of him carefully.
He reached for her hand and Just briefly, his fingers brushed hers as he accepted the cup.
But the touch was electric. Her breath hitched quietly.
His didn't. He seemed steady. Controlled. Except for his eyes, they darkened, warm and intent, as though cataloging the effect he had on her.
"I didn't think you would be here again today," she murmured before she could catch the words.
He tilted his head slightly. "Aha, so you've been thinking about me"
She froze, her throat tightened in embarrassment.
Should she deny it? Should she smile politely and should say something safe.
But however, her lips wouldn't move, Her silence was its own confession.
Rafael's smile deepened, not victorious, not smug, but soft, like he had discovered something precious.
"You don't have to be afraid of me," he said quietly.
Miranda stepped back, the words hitting her too deeply.
Taking a deep breath to calm herself "Why should I be afraid? Are you planning something?," she replied with fake bravado.
Slightly taken aback, he smiled mischievously. "Maybe"
She Chuckled. "Enjoy your Latte, please."
"Fine, then." Raphael raised his hands up in playful submission
Rafael stepped back slightly, giving her space, and the air between them loosened enough for her to breathe again.
He took a slow sip of his latte, eyes never leaving hers.
"You work here?" he said casually.
She blinked. "The café?"
"Yes." His gaze drifted around the room and then returned to her.
"Yes, as the owner, so make sure to keep patronizing" Miranda smiled,
"I will," Raphael Chuckled, his voice barely above a whisper.
A group of customers approached the counter then, breaking the moment. Miranda stepped away to take their orders, and Rafael moved to a table near the corner, the same one as the day before.
But this time…
He watched her openly.
Not in a predatory way.
Not even in a seductive way.
He watched her like a man memorizing details he didn't want to forget.
Like she was something fascinating, something rare.
Every time she felt his gaze, her heartbeat fluttered.
Every time she looked up and met his eyes, warmth shot through her chest. She had never been observed like this in her entire life and the sensation overwhelmed her.
---
Around 2 p.m., Camille walked into the Café, Camille spotted her immediately and smiled, until she followed Miranda's line of sight toward the corner table.
Her smile froze. Her brows lifted.
"Oh," she mouthed silently.
Miranda's face burned. Of all days…
Camille approached her quietly while Miranda pretended to organize receipts.
"Who is that?" Camille whispered, eyes sharp with curiosity.
"I don't know," Miranda said too fast. Too defensive.
Camille arched a brow. "And why does 'I don't know' sound like 'I'm in trouble'?"
Miranda glared at her. "well, am i?."
Camille's gaze softened as she studied her sister's face. "Minnie… you look different. Happier, Alive."
A lump rose in Miranda's throat.
"He's just a customer."
Camille snorted. "He's looking at you like you hung the moon."
"Camille, "
Her sister placed a gentle hand on her arm. "I'm not judging you. I'm just saying… be careful."
Miranda nodded too quickly. "I know."
But she wasn't careful.
Because even as she said the words, she couldn't stop looking at Rafael.
The afternoon drifted by slowly. Customers came and went. Sunlight shifted across the floor.
But Raphael stayed.
Hours passed, and he stayed.
Not impatiently.
Not hovering.
Simply present.
A constant, steady warmth in the corner of her vision. He seemed to be engrossed with his Tablet.
When at last he stood to leave, Miranda's breath caught. He walked to the counter, his steps measured, each one drawing her in against her better judgment.
He placed the empty cup down gently.
"Thank you," he said.
"For the coffee?"
" For… the quiet company."
She blinked, caught off guard.
"I didn't really do anything.."
He smiled faintly. "Exactly"
She looked down, suddenly aware of how warm her face felt. "You can't just say things like that."
He leaned in slightly, not close enough to touch, but close enough that his breath brushed her ear.
"Then stop blushing," he whispered.
She turned away pretending to be busy with the coffee machine, "it's just hot in here."
"Prehaps". He stepped back, expression soft.
"I'll see you again, Miranda."
It wasn't a question.
Or a hope.
Or even a promise.
It was a certainty.
And Miranda knew,
She was already waiting for him.