Chapter 15- RHEA'S POV
1032 Words
Café Denise had always been my favorite spot.
A hot cup of cappuccino, marshmallows melting into the foam, extra-extra sugar.
Heaven.
I used to sit by the window, right where the light hit just right.
But not anymore.
Not after that night.
Now I sat at the far end, tucked away from the other tables, where no one really looked twice.
I wrapped my fingers around the cup, letting the warmth seep into my skin before setting it down.
I pulled out a book I had just started. How to Love Mr. Rex. A romance novel about a nanny who fell in love with her boss. Cliché, but at least it kept me busy. Busy from thinking about my own boss.
My grip tightened slightly around the edge of the page.
Lana still hadn’t spoken to me.
She said she would… when I told her the truth.
Normally, when we fought, we got over it almost immediately.
But this one?
It had been five days.
Five long, quiet, awkward days.
I tried to fix it. I ordered food for two like I always did, kept her favorite drink in the fridge, left little things around that said ‘hey, your best friend is here’. She ate. But she didn't even say thank you. Just moved through the apartment like I was a ghost.
I exhaled slowly.
There should be a book called How to Make Your Best Friend Happy. I would write it myself at this point. Pretty sure it would be a bestseller.
I flipped the book open to my bookmark, chapter four. Mr. Rex had lost his wife in a plane crash and needed a nanny for his son. So he hired Sara.
My eyes stayed glued to the pages as I sipped my cappuccino between turns. Page after page. Sip after sip. Being a fast reader had its perks. I was already on page fifty, and my cup was empty.
I frowned slightly and lifted my head, ready to call for another.
But the words caught in my throat.
The café was empty.
Completely empty.
I had only looked down for what felt like five minutes. That didn't make sense. There had been people here, conversations layering over each other, the sound of spoons against ceramic, someone's phone playing music too loudly near the door. Now there was nothing and no one.
I pushed my chair back and stood, scanning the space again, my brows pulling together.
"Hello?" I called out.
No response.
I started toward the counter. When I first came in, the barista was a woman, blonde hair, black apron, and a small tattoo on her wrist that I had noticed when she handed me my change. But now there was a man behind the counter. Dressed in a black T-shirt and black apron.
My steps slowed.
His back was turned to me, shoulders broad, posture completely still.
I approached him carefully, measuring each step. "Is the café closed?”
Still no response.
I finally reached the counter and saw him pouring a cup.
For who exactly?
The café was literally empty.
“Hello,” I called out again, and this time I was pretty sure he heard me.
He paused, holding the coffee jug and cup in his hands.
“Hi.”
One word.
Two letters.
And something in me went completely still. My chest tightened in a way I couldn’t explain, like my body recognized something my mind refused to accept.
It can’t be… it’s not possible.
My lips parted, but nothing came out—just air, shallow and uneven.
He set the jug down and finally turned around.
“Here’s your cappuccino. I would’ve added marshmallows, but I think they’re out.”
My jaw slackened. My hands, suddenly unsteady, fell limp at my sides. Jet-black hair. Bow-shaped lips. Light brown eyes I knew too well.
Darnell.
He was the one behind the counter, dressed like a barista, looking at me like I was the strange one for standing there with my mouth open.
He placed the cup on the counter and slid it toward me.
I tried to form words, but my mouth didn’t move.
“This is the first of these I’ve made in a very long time.”
I looked down at the cup and back at him. His eyes stayed locked on mine, completely serious, not even a twitch of a smile.
This doesn’t feel real.
I looked around the café again, trying to find something to anchor myself to. The chairs were empty, each table scattered with cups and paper wraps as if everyone had left in a rush, all at once, mid-conversation. My eyes caught the sign on the door.
It was turned around.
Meaning the café was closed.
My gaze jumped to the clock on the wall. None of this was making any sense. What café closes at 1:55 in the afternoon?
“Try it.”
My head shot back to him. "Where is everyone?" I asked, my heartbeat climbing steadily now.
His eyes moved briefly around the space, almost as if he was checking too. "Not sure."
He was lying. He had to be.
"What are you doing here?" I asked, the real question finally breaking through.
"What does it look like?"
My frustration flared. "No. How are you here?”
He exhaled softly, as if I was the one making things complicated. Then he removed the apron, folding it neatly.
“Rhea,” he said, slowly. “Rhea, Rhea, Rhea.”
My breath caught. Hearing my name from him, just my name, felt unfamiliar in a way that unsettled me.
“So pretty,” he murmured. “Did Maya name you that?”
He stared at me for a response, but I just stared back, dumbfounded. Maya was my mother’s name.
I didn’t understand where this conversation was going.
“What does that have to do with why you’re here?”
“It doesn’t.”
I was starting to get frustrated. “So why are you here?”
He placed the apron down gently, smoothed it once with his hand. "I missed you." His eyes found mine, and my heart stopped. "Did you miss me?”
- Writer
