Melisa POV
"What about a third meeting? Fate?" A silly smile tugged at my lips as his words echoed in my mind. I couldn't answer his question—not only because I was at a loss for words, but the mischief in his eyes suggested that maybe, just maybe, it could be fate.
But it felt too much like a fairy tale to believe in something so whimsical. Of course, I wanted to believe it existed; it just seemed that I wasn't the chosen one. Weeks had passed, and I hadn't seen any sign of him since that day.
I found myself wandering back to the city square, dragging Jessica along in hopes of a chance encounter. Yet, fate didn't seem to favor me. Still, our last meeting lingered in my mind, providing plenty to daydream about.
"You're spacing out again. What's wrong with you?" Jessica's annoyed voice jolted me from my thoughts.
"Sorry, what did you say?" I asked, a bit confused as I turned to face her. She was shooting daggers with her eyes, clearly unimpressed.
I smiled meekly, giving her my best puppy eyes. Jessica stood at the same height as me, her voluptuous figure a testament to her twenty years. She had light skin and short hair dyed the same color as mine. But one glance at her, and it was evident that her body and complexion weren't entirely natural. Her true skin tone was dark, a transformation that came after hitting puberty.
"Can you please fill in for me for a sec? I'll be right back," Jessica pleaded, her silver tray glimmering under the fluorescent lights.
"Only a sec? Yeah, right," I replied, rolling my eyes as I leaned against the counter.
"Oh, come on, Mel! I promise I'll be quick this time." She pouted, her dark lips forming an irresistible curve.
One of the side effects of the medication she took was that it didn't cover her entire body—her armpits, knees, lips, and knuckles still bore traces of her natural skin tone.
"No can do, Jessica. This is the fifth time you've asked me to cover for you. You're getting too comfortable with this, and it has to stop." I firmly shook my head.
I genuinely liked Steven; he brought out the best in Jessica. He was kind, funny, and had a strong moral compass—everything her parents didn't appreciate.
"Please, don't use Steven to get what you want," I warned her.
"Never! I'm just being honest. Please, Mel, pretty please!" She gave me those puppy dog eyes, her lips pouting and blinking like a child.
"No!" I stood my ground, trying to be firm.
"Please."
"No!"
"Pretty please."
"Candy?"
"No!"
"Wine?"
"No!"
"Hot dog?"
"No."
"Chocolate?"
"Yes." The word slipped out before I could stop myself, and I instantly regretted it.
"You..." I gritted my teeth and shot her a glare, but she only laughed triumphantly.
"No, Melisa, no backing out now," she said, wagging her finger at me while stuffing the tray into my hands.
"Hey!" I shouted, but she was already sprinting away, disappearing into the back of the café.
With a deep sigh, I glanced around the bustling café where I worked part-time. The aroma of freshly brewed coffee filled the air, and the sound of chatter and laughter surrounded me, but I couldn't shake off the feeling of exasperation mixed with affection for Jessica.
It was located in the heart of the town, a marquee overlooking the stone lions. Food vendors lined the edges, creating a lively market atmosphere. Inside, it was open-air, like a covered patio with tables spaced comfortably apart.
"Hey, Mel." I turned at the sound of my name and saw the chef, Carl.
"Yes, Carl?"
"We have a customer at table 19." That was all I needed to hear. I quickly tied my goldish apron, grabbed my notebook and pen, and headed toward table 19.
It was June, and the weather was chilly, making it understandable that someone would seek refuge in a coffee shop at noon. The customer at table 19 was dressed heavily, all in black.
Black sweater, black parka, and gloves. I wondered if he was wearing a mask too. I chuckled at the silly thought as I stopped in front of him.
I focused on the notebook in my hand, ready to take his order.
"Welcome to Winter's Coffee Shop. Can I get your order, sir?"
"Yes, a double shot of espresso, please," he replied. I quickly scribbled it down.
"Right away, sir," I smiled and turned to leave, but then I froze in place.
That voice... There was no way the customer could sound like him. Taking two steps back, I spun around and was met with the shock of my life.
"Hello, beautiful," he said, his deep baritone voice laced with mischief, a playful smirk dancing on his lips.
I thought I might be hallucinating, but he was undeniably real.
"Haze?" I blurted out, still trying to process what was happening.
"Haze?" He raised an eyebrow, narrowing his eyes at me.
"I mean, you! Hi, stranger," I corrected myself quickly, realizing I'd slipped up by using his nickname.
"Ouch, I'm hurt you refered me with another's name," he said, placing a hand dramatically over his chest.
I was confused at first, then realized he was reacting to me calling him Haze. Did he think was someone's? As if!
"You didn't call me by name either," I pointed out, trying to make my case.
"I called you beautiful," he shot back, and I had to admit he was good with his words.
"Men use sweet names when they forget a girl's name," I countered, feeling clever.
"Wrong. I find you beautiful, just like your lovely name, Melissa." I couldn't help but laugh lightly; he had me there.
"Double shot of espresso, then," I said, feeling a mix of bashfulness and nerves. I tried to regain my professionalism.
"Why? Running away already?" he teased, his smile infectious.
"Just doing what brought me here—work. You should focus on your coffee," I said, trying to sound unaffected. The last thing I wanted was for him to think I was an easygoing girl.
"Make it hot, then," Max replied, leaning back in his seat, his fingers tapping rhythmically on the table. I had to bite my lip to keep from blushing.
"It has to be hot," I pointed outside, "It's freezing."
"You're hot," he mumbled, but I didn't catch it.
"What?" I asked, leaning in.
"I said you're right. It's cold, which is why I need my order hot." The way he said "hot" made it feel like he meant something more.
I could have sworn I heard him say he thought I was hot. Maybe I was overthinking things.
Shaking my head to clear my thoughts, I forced a tight smile.
"Right away, sir," I said, turning to walk away, catching him checking me out as I went.
All I could think of was, third meeting....fate
A few minutes later, I returned with his order, placing it carefully on the table in front of him. I stood up straight and smiled.
"Anything else, sir?" I wanted to use his name—or the nickname I had for him—but I held back for obvious reasons.
"Can I get your company?" I should have seen that coming.
"I'm sure my company isn't on the menu," I replied, faking a frown. He chuckled softly.
"Can there be no exception?"
"I'm afraid not."
I had my work hours to consider, and I loved this.
"Then can I get your number? After all, it's our third meeting. And if I remember correctly, you said the third meeting is considered...?"
There it was—third meeting equal to his name, my number, and him hitting on me.
"Fate," he said, breaking my train of thought.
"I never said it was fate," I replied, trying to keep a straight face as he raised an eyebrow. "Those words didn't come from me."
"We often don't say what we really want, Melissa," he said, his gaze penetrating.
"Like right now—what do you want to say, beautiful?" His words were charming, designed to coax me into his trap, but I was no fool.
I was eighteen, armed with the wisdom of a businesswoman, thanks to working with Mrs. Harita.
"I... I... want," I stammered playfully, pretending I hadn't noticed his trap.
"I'd like to say that your coffee is getting cold and you should probably drink it." Haze looked shocked, clearly not expecting my comeback, and I couldn't help but feel a surge of pride.
"Smart," he grinned, but then added, "I'm still getting your number, though."
"Of course, I don't go back on my word." I watched as he pulled out his expensive phone, unlocked it, and handed it to me.
But just as I was about to take it, I hesitated, causing confusion to flash across his face.
"Your name first," I said.
"Max," he replied almost immediately
"Just Max?" No last name?
"Just Max," he grinned. "Now," he handed me his phone again, but I didn't take it.
"You said earlier that you don't go back on your promises, right?" he asked, curiosity in his eyes.
"I did, and I'm not backing down. I said you'd get my number in our third meeting, but not directly from me." I fought the urge to smile as I watched his expression shift to one of surprise.
He clearly thought he was the only one who could play with words.
"What? I don't understand what you're trying to say," he said, looking baffled.
"I think what I said was pretty clear. Do you want my number? Sure, but not from me."
"How am I supposed to get it?"
I crossed my arms and took a deep breath, staying calm. "I guess we'll see if you're man enough to figure it out. Enjoy your meal, Max."
With that, I walked back to the counter, not looking back but wearing a wide smile, feeling giddy and exhilarated.
What kind of game was I playing?