Chapter 2- Coffee on the canal
993 Words
Aurora tried to focus on unpacking her art supplies, but her mind refused to cooperate. Every time she reached for a brush, she imagined Dante leaning over the balcony again, that infuriating, charming smile plastered across his face.
He’s just a neighbor, she told herself. A perfectly polite, handsome neighbor… that’s all.
Still, when she stepped outside for her morning coffee, she saw him — standing across the canal, hands in his pockets, watching her like he had memorized every movement. The sunlight hit him just right, highlighting his sharp features and the subtle confidence he radiated.
Aurora’s chest tightened. She felt exposed, caught in a glance she hadn’t expected to feel so… heavy.
Dante’s voice called out casually, cutting through her thoughts.
“Good morning, Aurora.”
She froze mid-step, a little startled by how perfectly he had pronounced her name. “Good… morning,” she replied, forcing herself to sound casual.
“Coffee?” he asked, nodding toward the small café on the corner. His eyes sparkled with a mix of teasing and intent, and she realized she couldn’t say no.
She walked toward him, her heels clicking on the cobblestones. “I didn’t know you drank coffee.”
“I don’t. But I’m willing to make exceptions.” His lips curved in a smile that was equal parts mischievous and sincere.
They slid into a small table by the window. The café smelled of fresh pastries and warm coffee, soft Italian music filling the space. Dante’s presence was magnetic, and Aurora could feel her heart racing even as she tried to act normal.
“So…” he began, leaning back, casual yet impossibly composed. “You sketch a lot.” He nodded toward the strap of her bag where her sketchbook peeked out.
Aurora fiddled with her sleeve. “Sometimes. Mostly when I have time to notice things… like the way the sunlight hits the canal, or a gondola gliding by.”
Dante tilted his head, watching her with an intensity she hadn’t expected. “You notice everything. Most people walk through Venice blind, missing all of it.”
Her lips twitched in a small smile. “Maybe I like noticing things. Makes life feel bigger, somehow.”
“Bigger… or more complicated?” he asked softly, his dark eyes gleaming.
“Maybe both,” she murmured. She looked out the window, avoiding his gaze for a moment, but feeling it on her like sunlight on her skin.
A waiter approached, and Dante ordered his cappuccino smoothly, each word measured and deliberate. Aurora stumbled over her Italian, eventually settling for a latte, her cheeks warming. She felt so ordinary next to him — and yet somehow… that didn’t feel wrong.
After the waiter left, Dante leaned slightly closer. “Tell me something about yourself, Aurora. Something I wouldn’t know.”
She froze, unsure what to say. Should she mention her dream of restoring an old chapel painting? Or the fact that she sometimes talks to stray cats on the street? Before she could decide, Dante added, softly but teasing:
“You can’t say, ‘I’m boring.’ That’s not allowed here.”
Aurora blinked. He was smiling, but there was something beneath it — something that made her pulse quicken. “Well… I’m an art restorer,” she admitted. “I fix old paintings, make them look alive again.”
He nodded, clearly impressed. “That requires patience and precision… and a love for history.”
“Yes,” she said, feeling the warmth of his gaze settle on her. “One wrong move, and years — maybe centuries — of work are gone forever.”
Dante’s eyes darkened, thoughtful. “Much like life,” he murmured, almost to himself.
Aurora frowned. “What do you mean?”
“Nothing,” he said quickly, smiling again. “Just thoughts. You’ll see. Life can be delicate and beautiful… and sometimes you don’t notice it until someone makes you.”
She couldn’t help but laugh softly. “You make it sound complicated.”
“Complicated… yes. But interesting.”
Aurora felt her chest tighten. He leaned back slightly, studying her like she was both a puzzle and a painting he couldn’t stop looking at. She wanted to deny it, wanted to tell herself she was imagining things, but the way her heartbeat picked up when he was near told her otherwise.
She opened her sketchbook, needing a distraction. “I’m going to sketch this,” she said softly. “The café… the sunlight… the city. It’s… beautiful today.”
“May I?” he asked, nodding toward her book.
Her eyes widened. “You… sketch?”
“Sometimes,” he admitted, pulling a small notebook from his satchel. The page revealed faint outlines of rooftops, a gondola, and the canals below — a rough sketch, but precise.
Aurora studied it, impressed. “It’s… good. Really good.”
He shrugged, nonchalant. “Not as good as you, of course.” His dark eyes held hers, and she felt a shiver run down her spine.
“You’re… infuriating,” she whispered, closing her sketchbook.
“I prefer… interesting,” he said with a faint smirk.
Aurora’s lips twitched. She wanted to protest, but the words stuck in her throat. Venice outside glowed gold and pink in the afternoon sunlight, and for a moment, the world felt smaller — smaller and warmer, as if it existed only for the two of them.
Suddenly, a gondola tipped slightly in the canal, sending a small splash toward the dock. Both Aurora and Dante glanced at it, startled, and then burst into quiet laughter. The moment of tension broke, leaving warmth behind.
Aurora realized she didn’t know what would happen next, and for the first time in a long time, she didn’t want to.
Because Dante Rinaldi had entered her life — and for some reason, she suspected he wasn’t going anywhere.
And somehow, she didn’t want him to.
- Writer
