Coffee and Secrets
1414 Words
Three days after the funeral, the bell above the door chimed just before closing time.
Sofia looked up from the roses she was trimming and felt her stomach flip.
Adrian stood in the doorway, hands in his pockets, looking uncertain. He wasn't wearing the black suit anymore. Just dark jeans and a gray sweater. He looked younger without the funeral clothes. More real.
"Hi," he said.
"Hi." Sofia set down her scissors, suddenly aware of the dirt under her fingernails.
"How are you?
How was the service?"
"It was..." He paused. "It was what it needed to be. The flowers were beautiful. Everyone commented on them."
"I'm glad."
He stepped further inside. "Are you still open?"
"For another ten minutes. Did you need something?"
"Sunflowers," he said. "If you have them."
Sofia walked to the bucket near the window. She had exactly six left, bright yellow and cheerful. "All of them, or just a few?"
"All of them."
She gathered them carefully, wrapping the stems in brown paper. "These are happy flowers. Are they for something special?"
"A friend," he said. Then, after a pause, "Actually, no. There's no friend. I just wanted an excuse to come back."
Sofia's hands still. She looked up at him.
He met her eyes. "Is that okay?"
Her heart was doing that strange thing again. "Yeah. That's okay."
When she handed him the flowers, their fingers brushed. Neither of them moved away quickly.
"Can I ask you something?" he said.
"Sure."
"Would you want to get coffee sometime?"
Sofia should have said no. But there was something about the way he asked that made her say yes.
"Tomorrow's good."
They met the next day at Bar Napoli, the tiny café next to her shop.
Adrian was already there when she arrived. He stood when he saw her, which surprised her. Nobody stood anymore.
"Hi," she said, sliding into the chair across from him.
They ordered. Cappuccino for her, espresso for him.
"So," Adrian said. "Tell me about you."
Sofia laughed. "That's a big question."
"Start small, then. How long have you had the shop?"
"Four years. My mother left it to me when she died."
"I'm sorry."
"It's okay. It was a while ago now." Sofia stirred her cappuccino. "She taught me everything about flowers. She used to say they're like people. Some need lots of attention, some just need to be left alone.”
"And which are you?"
The question caught her off guard. "I don't know. Both, maybe."
He nodded like that made perfect sense.
"What about you?" Sofia asked. "You said you work for your family?"
"Import business," he said quickly. "It's boring.
Mostly paperwork."
"You don't look like someone who does paperwork."
He raised an eyebrow. "What do I look like?"
Sofia studied him. The expensive watch. The scars on his knuckles. "I don't know yet."
Something flickered in his expression.
They talked for an hour. Then another. Sofia told him about growing up in the shop, about her customers. Adrian laughed at her stories. A real laugh that changed his whole face.
"Your turn," Sofia said. "Tell me something real."
He looked down at his cup. "I hate my life sometimes. The one I'm supposed to live. The one my father planned for me."
"So why do you live it?"
"Because I don't know how to live any other way."
The honesty in his voice made her chest ache. "I get that."
He looked at her like he was seeing something he'd been searching for. "Yeah. I think you do."
After that, Adrian came by the shop twice a week.
Sometimes he bought flowers. Roses for his aunt. Lilies for his godmother. The excuses got thinner each time.
Sometimes they just talked while Sofia worked. He'd watch her arrange bouquets, asking questions about why certain flowers went together.
"Red roses are love," she explained one afternoon. "But pink roses are gratitude. White roses are new beginnings."
"What about blue roses?"
"They don't exist naturally. They mean the impossible."
"That's sad."
"Or hopeful," Sofia said. "Depends how you look at it."
They fell into a routine. Coffee every Tuesday and Thursday. Sofia started looking forward to those days more than she wanted to admit.
Adrian listened like every word mattered. He remembered things. When she mentioned loving lemon pastries, he showed up with one from the best bakery in Naples.
She started noticing small things. The way he drank his espresso in two quick sips. The way his phone buzzed constantly but he never answered it when they were together.
One evening, they were walking back to her shop after coffee.
"Tell me about your father," Adrian said.
Sofia hesitated. "He was kind. He worked at a
warehouse. He used to come home with dirt under his nails and lift me up like I weighed nothing."
"How did he die?"
"Robbery. Or that's what the police said. He was working late. Someone broke in." Sofia's voice went flat. "They never caught who did it. The case went cold."
Adrian was quiet. "I'm sorry. That's not fair."
"No. It's not."
They stopped in front of her shop.
"Do you ever feel guilty?" Adrian asked. "For being okay? Moving on?"
Nobody had ever asked her that. "Yes. All the time."
"You're not forgetting them," Adrian said quietly.
"Your mother didn't raise you so you could spend your whole life sad. She wanted you to live."
Sofia felt tears prick her eyes. "You're good at saying the right thing."
He shook his head. "I'm good at saying what I wish someone had told me."
Sofia reached for his hand. Just a brief touch. "She knew you loved her. That's what matters."
He looked down at their hands and laced his fingers through hers.
They stood like that for a moment. Just holding on.
Then Adrian let go and stepped back. "I should let you close up."
He walked away, and Sofia watched him disappear down the street.
Mia noticed the change in Sofia.
"You're glowing," she said one afternoon.
"I'm not glowing."
"Who is he?"
Sofia sighed. "His name is Adrian."
"Where did you meet him?"
"He came in for funeral flowers."
Mia's expression shifted. "And now?"
"We get coffee sometimes. That's all."
"What do you know about him?"
"He works for his family. Import business."
"Sofia." Mia's voice was serious. "Men with secrets are usually hiding something bad."
"He's not hiding anything. He's just private."
"Please be careful," Mia said.
"I will," Sofia promised.
But she knew she was lying. She was already in too deep.
One Thursday, they got caught in the rain.
It started as they were walking back from Bar Napoli. Just a drizzle, then a downpour. They ran the last block, laughing, arriving soaked.
Sofia fumbled with her keys. Adrian stood close behind her, shielding her from the rain.
Finally, she got the door unlocked. She turned around and found Adrian closer than she expected.
Water dripped from his hair. He was looking at her like she was the only thing in the world.
"Sofia," he said quietly.
Her heart hammered.
He lifted his hand and touched her cheek. Just the lightest touch, his thumb brushing away a raindrop.
He leaned in, just a little.
Then he stopped. He pulled his hand back and stepped away.
"I should go," he said, his voice rough.
"Adrian..."
"I'm sorry. I can't... I should go."
He turned and walked into the rain, leaving Sofia standing there, completely confused.
That night, Sofia called Mia and told her everything.
"He almost kissed you and then just left?" Mia asked.
"Yeah."
"That's weird."
"I know."
"Maybe he's married."
"He's not married."
"How do you know?"
"I just know." Sofia flopped onto her couch. "I don't understand him, Mia."
"Men are idiots," Mia said. "Even the good ones. If he wants you, he'll come back."
But Sofia didn't want to wait. She wanted answers.
The next morning, a delivery arrived at the shop.
A single red rose in a glass vase. Perfect.
Flawless.
The card had no name. Just one line in elegant handwriting:
For someone who understands beauty.
Sofia held the card for a long time.
Then she took the rose upstairs. She pressed it carefully between the pages of her mother's old poetry book.
She didn't know what Adrian was running from.
What secrets he was keeping.
But she knew one thing.
He felt it too. Whatever this was between them.
And that was enough. For now.
- Writer
