He came Back
462 Words
đź’Ą Episode 2: Cold Eyes, Hot Tempers
Zara didn’t talk about the coffee guy for the rest of the day.
Not to Nia. Not to herself. Not even to her paintbrush.
But he was in her head.
The way he’d looked at her—like she was a puzzle he wasn’t used to not solving. Like she was a challenge. And Ethan Blackwood didn’t seem like the kind of man who walked away from a challenge.
Still, she had a gallery to prep for, rent to stress about, and a busted headphone cord she couldn’t afford to replace. There was no space in her life for grey-eyed billionaires, no matter how annoyingly attractive they were.
But fate wasn’t done playing.
---
Two days later.
Zara was painting alone in her tiny Brooklyn studio, deep into a piece she couldn’t seem to finish, when a knock came at the door.
She wasn’t expecting anyone.
She wiped her hands on a towel and opened it, half-distracted—only to freeze.
It was him.
Ethan Blackwood. Suit. Stare. Smirk. Trouble.
“Seriously?” she said, already reaching to shut the door.
He held it gently, not forcing it, just steady. “You left this.”
He held up a small sketchbook. Her sketchbook. The one she kept in her bag—the one she must’ve dropped at the café.
Zara snatched it. “You could’ve just tossed it at the lost and found.”
He didn’t move. “I opened it.”
Her breath caught.
“You shouldn’t have,” she whispered.
“I saw you drew me.” His voice was calm, but his eyes were searching. “You made me look... angry. Cold.”
“You were.”
Silence.
Then he stepped back, raising his hands. “Fair enough.”
Zara narrowed her eyes. “You tracked me down to what? Critique my art?”
“I came to say thank you,” Ethan replied. “Most people only see what I show them. You saw past that. Even if it wasn’t pretty.”
Zara folded her arms. “You still sound like you want something.”
He didn’t deny it.
“I want to talk. Properly. One coffee. I’ll stand in line this time.”
She blinked. “Is that supposed to be charming?”
Ethan smiled—genuinely this time. “I don’t do charming. But for you... I might learn.”
Zara stared at him.
She hated how curious she felt. How shaken. How this was probably the dumbest idea she’d ever had.
“Fine,” she said. “One coffee. But I pick the place. And if you pull any rich-guy crap, I’m throwing something hotter than espresso.”
His smile widened.
“I’ll take my chances.”
---
- Writer
