Chapter 2
1299 Words
Chapter 2 — Coffee and Complaints
The sound of my coffee machine struggling for its life was the first thing that greeted my Monday morning. It hissed, groaned, and finally sputtered out half a cup of something that tasted like regret.
Perfect start to the week.
I had barely taken a sip when my phone buzzed. Chloe again.
“Tell me you didn’t do anything embarrassing since the cookie incident,” she said before I could say hello.
“I’m drinking expired caffeine and talking to you, so I’d say we’re at a solid medium level of embarrassment.”
“Lila, please,” she sighed dramatically. “The man is quiet, rich, and potentially broody. That’s a triple threat. What’s your game plan?”
“Not die of humiliation,” I said. “And avoid eye contact for the rest of eternity.”
“Or,” she said sweetly, “you could accidentally bump into him again. You know, casually. With intention.”
I rolled my eyes. “I’m not staging an encounter. This is real life, not a w*****d story.”
She gasped. “Says the girl who names her plants after K-drama leads.”
“Bye, Chloe.”
I hung up before she could argue, but the idea stuck in my head anyway.
Avoiding him for eternity sounded safe.
But seeing him again?
That sounded… fun.
---
By lunchtime, my power went out. Because of course it did. My entire place dimmed, and the air conditioner stopped with a dying wheeze. I checked the fuse box, pressed a few random switches, and achieved absolutely nothing.
Which was how I ended up knocking on Ethan’s door again, holding a flashlight and my dignity by a thread.
He opened it, dressed in a black button-down this time, sleeves rolled up, tie loose around his neck. His hair looked slightly tousled, like he’d been running his hand through it. He smelled faintly of cedar and something warm I couldn’t name.
“Lila,” he said, sounding both surprised and unsurprised at the same time. “Back again?”
“Before you say anything,” I started, “I swear I’m not stalking you. My power’s out, and the electric company is doing that thing where they act shocked about it.”
His gaze flicked to the flashlight. “You came here to borrow electricity?”
“I came here to borrow hope,” I said. “And maybe a socket.”
He didn’t answer for a moment. Then he stepped aside, silently inviting me in.
His house was exactly what I’d expected—minimalist, neat, and expensive. Everything had straight lines, neutral colors, and the faint smell of expensive coffee beans.
“Nice place,” I said, looking around. “Looks like no one lives here.”
“I like order,” he said simply.
“I like chaos,” I countered.
“I noticed.”
“Rude but fair.”
He gestured to a small corner table. “You can plug your phone there.”
I smiled in thanks and crouched beside the outlet, pretending not to notice his gaze following me. The silence between us wasn’t awkward exactly—just thick, like neither of us knew what to do with it.
When I looked up, he was already pouring coffee into two mugs.
“I thought you didn’t drink coffee,” I said.
“I do,” he replied. “I just don’t eat sweets.”
I raised a brow. “Still thinking about my cookies, huh?”
“They were... thoughtful,” he said, pausing for a beat. “Just not edible.”
I gasped. “Wow. The shade. The audacity.”
He almost smiled. Almost. “Honesty is efficient.”
“Well, efficiency is overrated.” I took the cup he offered anyway. The smell was divine. “Thanks. I was starting to think the universe hated me.”
“Maybe it’s testing you.”
“Oh, it’s definitely testing me,” I said, sipping. “And sending me ridiculously attractive neighbors as distractions.”
His eyes met mine for a second too long. “Flattery won’t fix your power.”
“Didn’t hurt to try.”
Something shifted in his expression—so small most people would’ve missed it. But I wasn’t most people.
---
We sat across from each other at his kitchen island. I watched him scroll through his laptop as if nothing could bother him.
“So,” I said, “do you ever talk? Like, recreationally?”
He glanced up. “I’m talking now.”
“That doesn’t count. You’re giving me one-sentence answers. I mean, do you ever have long, rambling conversations about nothing? The kind that make no sense but feel right?”
“No,” he said flatly.
“Tragic,” I sighed. “That’s my entire personality.”
He smirked this time—barely, but it was there. “I’ve noticed.”
For a man who claimed to like quiet, he wasn’t rushing to kick me out. His body language was calm, but his gaze kept flicking toward me like he was still trying to figure me out.
“You work from home?” I asked, sipping my coffee again.
“Sometimes. Mostly from the office downtown.”
“And you live alone?”
“Yes.”
“No pets?”
“No.”
I gasped. “You don’t even have a plant?”
“I don’t like things that die easily.”
“Well, that’s dark.”
“Realistic,” he corrected.
“Okay, Mr. Realistic, you’re officially in need of some joy. I might have to bring you a plant. Or a puppy.”
“Please don’t.”
I grinned. “So that’s a maybe.”
He shook his head slightly, but his lips curved upward again. I was starting to think I liked being the reason he smiled, even if it was rare.
---
An hour later, the lights flickered back on at my house. I stood, reluctantly.
“Looks like the universe decided to forgive me.”
Ethan nodded. “Good. Maybe it’ll give my doorbell a break now.”
I placed a hand dramatically on my chest. “You wound me, Ethan Ward. I thought we bonded over caffeine and sarcasm.”
He closed his laptop. “We tolerated each other.”
I laughed, shaking my head. “Close enough.”
As I reached for the doorknob, his voice stopped me.
“Lila.”
I turned. “Yeah?”
He hesitated, then said, “Thank you for the company.”
It was simple, quiet, but sincere. The kind of thing people said when they weren’t used to saying thank you.
I smiled softly. “Anytime.”
---
That night, I couldn’t sleep. My brain was still replaying the sound of his voice saying my name. The way he’d looked at me like he was trying to read a language he hadn’t spoken in years.
Maybe Chloe was right. Maybe I was in trouble.
But it didn’t feel like trouble. It felt like the start of something slow, unexpected, and oddly safe.
---
The next morning, I walked outside to grab my mail and froze. Sitting on top of my half-broken mailbox was a new, shiny one still in its box—with a note taped to it.
For when you inevitably break another one. — E
I burst out laughing right there in the driveway.
Oh, he thought he was funny now.
Challenge accepted.
I carried the box inside, heart doing that stupid flutter thing I swore I didn’t believe in. Maybe it was just the caffeine. Or maybe it was something else—something that made the quiet feel less lonely.
Either way, I wasn’t planning to stay quiet about it.
- Writer
