Starting my evening shift at the café was usually a quiet affair. People were winding down, grabbing a quick coffee or dessert, and they usually wanted peace, not chatter. But tonight was different. Right around 7 p.m., when I was mid-way through stacking clean cups and humming along to a pop song playing in the background, he walked in.
He was the kind of guy you'd expect to see in an advertisement for… well, pretty much anything. Tall, ridiculously handsome, with blonde hair that seemed to have just the right amount of tousle—as if he'd spent hours perfecting it to look carefree. He had sharp, mischievous eyes and a jawline that could probably was recently shaved, if I'm being honest. He was wearing a leather jacket over a dark shirt, and he had this easy grin, like he was used to getting what he wanted with a single look.
And I just knew he was going to be trouble.
