Kiara's POV
"Table three needs a refill," Tara called out, smirking at me. "And try not to trip this time, okay?"
I shot her a glare. "One time, Tara. One time."
Grabbing the coffee pot, I weaved through the café, dodging chairs like it was a professional sport. The familiar hum of jazz music and the soft clatter of dishes filled the air. It was just another ordinary day—until the door chimed.
"Hey, is that Mr. Tall, Dark, and Handsome, or am I imagining things?" Tara's voice floated over, laced with teasing.
"Stop it," I hissed, but my curiosity got the better of me. I glanced up—and immediately regretted it.
He stood there, his suit sharp enough to cut glass, his dark hair tousled in a way that screamed effortless perfection. And his eyes? Electric blue, like they'd been stolen from a summer sky.
"Kiara," Tara whispered, nudging me as I stood frozen. "You're staring."
"I'm not—"
"Excuse me?" a voice interrupted. The customer at table three raised an eyebrow.
"Right. Sorry!" I mumbled, pouring the refill with shaky hands. My gaze flicked back to the stranger, who was now approaching the counter.
"Can I get an espresso?" His voice was smooth, deep, and annoyingly self-assured.
I nodded, fumbling with the machine. "Coming right up."
"Do you always stare at your customers like that?" he asked, leaning casually on the counter.
My cheeks flared. "I wasn't staring."
"Of course not," he said, a smirk tugging at his lips. "You were admiring."
I narrowed my eyes, trying to focus on the espresso machine instead of his ridiculously perfect face. "Your coffee will be ready in a minute."
"Take your time," he said, his gaze lingering.
Ethan's POV
I wasn't supposed to be here. A small café on the corner of a sleepy street wasn't my usual scene. But something about it caught my eye—a quiet charm that stood out against the chaos of the city.
The girl behind the counter wasn't what I expected. No polished act, no fake smiles. Just her—messy bun, smudged apron, and a distracted look that somehow made her more intriguing.
When our eyes met, it was like the world paused for half a second. Not that I believed in clichés, but there was something about the way she froze, coffee pot in hand, that amused me.
"Here's your espresso," she said, sliding the cup across the counter.
"Thanks…" I let the word hang, waiting for her to fill in the blank.
"Kiara," she said, her voice softer than I expected.
"Kiara," I repeated, testing the name on my tongue. "I'm Ethan."
She nodded, clearly trying to act unbothered, but the faint blush on her cheeks betrayed her.
I took a sip of the espresso, raising an eyebrow. "Not bad. Did you make this?"
"Yeah," she said, her tone steady despite the flicker of nerves in her eyes.
"Impressive," I said, setting the cup down. "Do you own this place?"
She laughed, shaking her head. "Hardly. I just work here."
"Interesting," I said, studying her for a moment longer than necessary. There was more to her than met the eye. And for the first time in a while, I felt curious.
Kiara's POV
I watched as he walked out, the little bell above the door chiming softly behind him.
"Who was that?" Tara asked, appearing at my side.
"I have no idea," I said, still staring at the door.
My phone buzzed on the counter, snapping me out of my thoughts. The screen lit up with Dave's name, and I couldn't help but smile.
"Hey," I said, picking up.
"Hey, babe," Dave's warm, familiar voice greeted me. "How's work?"
"Same old, same old," I replied, leaning against the counter.
"Thought I'd call to see if you're free tonight. Dinner at my place?"
"Sure," I said after a pause. "What time?"
"Seven. I'll make your favorite."
"Sounds perfect," I said, forcing a smile he couldn't see.
Dave was everything a girl could want: sweet, dependable, and attentive. But lately, it felt like something was missing—a spark, maybe.
And then there was Ethan.
I shook my head, scolding myself. One conversation with a stranger didn't mean anything. Right?
"Earth to Kiara," Tara teased, waving a hand in front of my face. "Still thinking about Mr. Espresso?"
"Drop it, Tara," I muttered, grabbing a rag to wipe down the counter.
But no matter how hard I tried, Ethan's piercing gaze lingered in my mind, a stubborn memory I couldn't shake.
The evening air was crisp as I stepped off the bus, the streetlights casting long shadows on the pavement. My thoughts were a tangled mess—Dave, the dinner plans, and Ethan's unsettlingly blue eyes. I shook my head, trying to snap out of it. Focus, Kiara.
I reached for my keys as I approached my apartment door. The sound of footsteps behind me made me pause. They were heavy, deliberate, and too close for comfort. My heart quickened as I turned my head slightly, pretending to fumble with my bag.
A figure stood at the corner of the street, half-hidden by the shadows. I couldn't make out the face, but they weren't moving, just watching.
"Can I help you?" I called out, trying to sound braver than I felt.
No response.
I turned back to my door, hastily unlocking it and stepping inside. My hand hovered over the deadbolt, ready to secure it, but something stopped me.
A folded piece of paper lay on the floor just inside my apartment.
I picked it up with trembling fingers, unfolding it slowly.
"We'll meet again, sooner than you think. – E."
I stared at the note, my breath caught in my throat. Ethan? How? Why?
Before I could make sense of it, my phone buzzed in my pocket. The screen lit up with a message from an unknown number.
"You're not as safe as you think, Kiara."
I stumbled back, clutching the phone as if it might explode in my hand. My heart pounded so loudly I could barely hear my own thoughts. Who sent this? How did they get my number?
I locked the door and bolted it this time, my hands trembling. My apartment felt suffocatingly small, the shadows in every corner suddenly too dark, too alive.
I reread the text, hoping I'd imagined it. But there it was, glaring back at me:
"You're not as safe as you think, Kiara."
The note in my other hand was no better. Ethan. It had to be him. But why? He didn't seem dangerous—just charming, a little too confident. Had I misread him completely?
I needed to talk to someone. Dave. My fingers hovered over his name in my contacts. But what could I say? "Hey, babe, I think a guy I met today might be stalking me"? He'd either freak out or tell me I was overthinking it.
I shoved the phone into my pocket and grabbed the biggest kitchen knife I owned. It felt ridiculous, but it was better than nothing.
Suddenly, the phone buzzed again.
Unknown Number: "Don't call anyone. Don't make this worse for yourself."
My breath hitched. They knew. They were watching.
I sprinted to the window and yanked the curtains shut. My apartment felt more like a cage now, each locked door and covered window a reminder that I was trapped.
The phone buzzed again.
Unknown Number: "Look outside."
I froze. My grip tightened on the knife as I crept toward the window, my heart hammering against my ribs. I didn't want to look, but the curiosity was unbearable.
Slowly, I pulled the curtain back just an inch.
A sleek black car sat idling across the street, its windows tinted so dark I couldn't see inside. My stomach twisted into knots.
Then the driver's side door opened.
And Ethan stepped out.