you will be mine

The red mug sat dangerously close to the edge of the table. A man reached for it just before his elbow could knock it over, curling his fingers around the warm ceramic. Steam curled lazily from the dark coffee as he lifted it to his lips. Bitter. He swallowed anyway. Beyond the window, a bicycle bell chimed twice before a car rolled slowly over the cobblestones outside. Somewhere farther down the street, a shopkeeper called out to someone passing by. He lowered the mug. Ravelle was annoyingly peaceful. People wandered beneath the pale afternoon sky carrying paper bags, shopping baskets, or nothing at all. Couples drifted between the narrow buildings, stopping now and then to look through shop windows. Flower boxes hung beneath old windows, their colours bright against weathered stone and faded stucco. Wooden shutters stood open above some of them, while others remained closed against the afternoon sun. The town looked like something painted centuries ago and then politely asked not to change. Beautiful. At least, that was what everyone else seemed to think. He took another drink. “Sir?” He glanced over. A woman in a white apron and red cap stood beside the table, one hand resting lightly against the back of an empty chair. “How is the coffee?” He looked down at the mug. Then back at her. “It’s fine.” She waited. He gave a small nod toward the cup. “Thank you.” Her smile tightened slightly, the polite sort reserved for customers who clearly didn't want conversation. “Of course.” She walked away. He watched her disappear behind the counter before turning back toward the window. The café had filled considerably since he arrived. Two elderly men near the glass were arguing over something with the seriousness of diplomats negotiating a treaty. “I told you, the horse was already tired.” “The horse was not tired. You simply picked the wrong horse.” “I picked the horse that won last time.” “And lost this time.” “That is how gambling works.” Their voices dissolved beneath the laughter of a young couple at another table. A woman with headphones tapped steadily at her laptop. Someone near the counter stirred sugar into a cup, the spoon striking porcelain with a repetitive clink, clink, clink. The smell of roasted coffee hung thickly in the air, mixed with warm pastry and something faintly sweet from the kitchen. He looked down at his mug. What the hell was he doing here? He leaned back, wondering why he'd chosen to waste his afternoon in this place when he could have been anywhere else—home, another country, a restaurant, somewhere far more interesting than a little café in the middle of Ravelle. Instead, he'd spent nearly an hour sitting here, pretending to drink coffee while repeatedly glancing toward the entrance like an i***t. And she wasn't even going to come. His jaw tightened. Of course she wasn't. He slipped a hand into his pocket and pulled out his wallet. Opening it, he stared at the cards inside, then counted the folded notes without actually needing to. Once. Twice. He closed the wallet and slipped it back into his pocket. He was leaving. He remained seated. Then a small bell rang above the entrance. His head turned before he could stop himself. A woman stepped inside, and for a moment, the noise of the café seemed to thin around him. Golden-brown hair fell naturally around her shoulders, catching the sunlight spilling through the glass door. Her olive skin looked warmer beneath the afternoon light, while a touch of red painted her lips. She laughed at something one of the women beside her said, the sound soft and warm as it carried across the room without effort. He forgot about his coffee. Forgot about the wallet still in his hand. She walked past his table, bringing with her a delicate floral scent that lingered in the air. ‘You came.’ His gaze followed her. ‘Just as I was about to leave.’ The corner of his mouth twitched. ‘Why must you play these games with me?’ She stopped at an empty table with her friends. The woman beside her had short dark hair and a cream-coloured sweater, her sleeves pushed toward her elbows. She dropped into a chair and immediately laughed again. The other had long black hair tied loosely behind her head. She wore a light denim jacket over a pale blouse and was already scrolling through her phone. The woman he'd been waiting for slipped into the remaining chair. She wore a light floral dress beneath a loose cardigan, simple summer clothes that somehow looked far more deliberate than they probably were. He found himself staring for a moment longer than he should have before lowering his gaze, a faint smile tugging at his mouth. You look as lovely as ever. He tried to look away, but his eyes drifted back to her almost immediately. I'm sure you're having a lovely day. She smiled at something her friend said, and warmth settled strangely in his chest. His mouth curved again before he could stop it. My day was pretty boring. But you made it better. He immediately looked away. “No.” The word slipped under his breath, earning a brief pause from the elderly men nearby who had stopped arguing for half a second. He cleared his throat and rubbed a hand over his face, trying to suppress the ridiculous smile threatening to return. “This madness has to stop.” He lowered his hand and shook his head. “I need to stop talking to myself.” Yet despite himself, his eyes wandered toward her table again. ‘Why don't I just go say hi? ‘It was simple. He could walk over, smile, say hello. Normal people did this every day. So why did the thought suddenly feel like he was about to walk into a battlefield? He could negotiate contracts worth more money than most people would see in a lifetime. He could stand in a room filled with executives and make decisions without blinking. Surely he could speak to one woman. He glanced at her again. ‘We agreed we would talk, or...’ His phone buzzed. He pulled it from his pocket. Mr. Sterling, your private jet is ready for departure. Please confirm whether you still require the flight. He stared at the message. His thumb hovered above the screen. Maybe he should leave. Maybe that was the sensible thing to do. He could be on his way home within the hour. His gaze drifted toward the woman's table. Or stay. Before he could decide, a voice cut through the café. “I'm sorry, guys. I have to take this call.” He looked up. She had risen from her chair. Her phone vibrated against her palm as she hurried toward the entrance. “Hello? Yes...” The bell chimed. The door closed behind her. He stared at it. She had walked right past him. Again. His phone slowly lowered. He had met men capable of intimidating entire rooms without raising their voices. He'd negotiated with people who could make most men nervous simply by entering a room. Yet one attractive woman? Nothing. Absolutely nothing. ‘Why do I just freeze whenever I see you?’ His fingers tightened around the phone. Enough. He pushed his chair back. The legs scraped softly against the floor. Several heads turned. He ignored them. He placed some money beside the mug, slipped his phone into his pocket, and headed toward the door. The bell rang as he stepped outside. Cooler air brushed his face. He took one step. Then— Smack. His shoulder collided with someone. Something slipped from their hand and struck the cobblestones. “Jeez, watch where you're going.” He stopped. “Oh, sorry. I wasn't watching. I was—” His voice died. Blue eyes stared back at him. Golden-brown hair shifted in the breeze. Those same red lips parted slightly. And that floral scent returned. It was her. She glanced from him to the pavement. “Uh... okay.” Her brows pulled together. “Look at what you did to my phone.” He followed her gaze. A black phone lay face-down against the stones. “Oh.” She crouched. He crouched at the same time. Their heads collided. “Dude!” She jerked backward, one hand flying to her forehead. He winced. “I'm sorry.” “You really need to work on your spatial awareness.” “I said I'm sorry.” He reached down and picked up the phone. The screen was cracked from one corner to the other. Fuck. His stomach sank. ‘Why am I shaking?’ He looked at his hand. It was trembling slightly. ‘So much for a first impression.’ She was still rubbing her forehead. He held the phone toward her. “Uh... here.” She took it. Her thumb dragged across the cracked glass before she turned it over and inspected the damage. “Look at what you did. This is going to cost me to fix.” “I'm sorry. Let me help pay for it.” She looked up. “Since it was my fault,” he added. One eyebrow rose. “Oh, my knight in shining armour.” He blinked. She slipped the phone into her hand. “I can pay my own bills, thank you very much.” She stepped around him. He moved before he could think. He stepped into her path. She stopped. He immediately realised how that probably looked. “Please,” he said. “It's the least I can do.” She stared at him. He swallowed. “I'd sleep properly at night knowing I put such a lovely lady in this situation.” Her expression changed. Not quite a smile. Not quite annoyance either. “You don't even know me.” She tilted her head. “How do you know I'm lovely?” He opened his mouth. Nothing came out. His eyes settled on hers. “Your eyes.” She blinked. He cleared his throat. “You have lovely eyes.” A pause. “So you must be a lovely person.” Silence. A gust of wind pushed a strand of her hair across her cheek. She tucked it behind her ear. He stood there, suddenly very aware of how ridiculous this entire situation was. For once, no clever thought came to him. No carefully constructed sentence. Just her. He cleared his throat. “So, uh... if I can take down your number, I can—” She raised her hand. The cracked phone rested in her palm. “Oh.” He stopped. “Right.” She stared at him. He reached into his back pocket. “Email, then.” He pulled out a business card. “Or maybe I can give you my business card.” She looked at it. Then at him. “Who even still uses business cards?” “Many people.” “Do they?” “Yes.” She gave him a look that suggested she wasn't convinced. Then she took the card. She turned it over once between her fingers before slipping it into her cardigan pocket. “I'll be in touch.” She stepped around him. He turned slightly. “Alright.” She continued toward the café. “I'll be expecting your call.” The words escaped before he could stop them. She paused. He immediately regretted saying them. She glanced back at him. He offered a small, awkward smile. She shook her head and pushed through the café door. The bell chimed above her. He remained outside. For several seconds, he simply stared at the door. Then he pulled out his phone. The message about the private jet was still open. He pressed the call button. The line connected after two rings. “Mr. Sterling?” He looked through the café window. She was back at the table with her friends. The woman in the cream sweater was saying something that made her laugh. She leaned forward, covering her mouth for a moment as she tried to contain it. He smiled. “Cancel the jet.” There was a pause. “Cancel the flight, sir?” “Yeah.” His gaze remained fixed on the window. The afternoon sun glinted off the glass, throwing his reflection faintly across the scene. He slipped his free hand into his pocket. “I think I might be staying a little longer.”