Chapter 4
1047 Words
MIRANDA
The rest of my shift passed in a blur.
I kept replaying Jasper’s voice in my head — low, warm, confident.
Maybe after this… you’ll let me take you out for real.
No one had ever asked me out like that.
Not with certainty, interest or with that quiet intensity that made my stomach twist.
I wasn’t used to being wanted.
Not for me, anyway.
Back home, men wanted the Ashford name.
The Ashford money.
The Ashford legacy.
No one ever wanted Miranda.
But Jasper… he didn’t know who I was.
He didn’t know what I’d run from or that I was a girl with a three‑month expiration date.
He just saw me.
And that terrified me more than anything.
Sloane nudged me with her elbow. “You’re staring into space like you’re in a perfume commercial.”
“I’m not.”
“You are. And you’re smiling. Which is even scarier.”
I rolled my eyes, but she wasn’t wrong.
I felt… light. Hopeful. Alive.
The bell above the door chimed again, and my heart jumped — stupidly, embarrassingly — thinking it might be him.
It wasn’t.
Just a group of college students.
I exhaled, trying to steady myself.
Get it together, Miranda. You’re here to find yourself, not fall for the first man who looks at you like you’re a sunrise.
But the truth was, I’d never had a sunrise before.
Only storms.
I was wiping down the counter when I heard a familiar voice behind me.
“Back again?”
My breath caught.
I turned.
Jasper stood there — alone this time — hands in his pockets, eyes locked on me like I was the only person in the room.
He looked even better than he had earlier.
Less rushed. More focused. Like he’d come here for one reason.
Me.
“Hi,” I said, trying not to sound breathless.
“Hi,” he echoed, and the way he said it made my knees feel unsteady.
He stepped closer to the counter. “I was in the area.”
Sloane snorted behind me. “Sure you were.”
Jasper’s lips twitched. “And I wanted another coffee.”
“Right,” Sloane muttered. “Coffee.”
I shot her a look that said leave.
She mouthed never.
Jasper leaned in slightly. “Can I get another one of your surprises?”
I nodded, grabbing a cup. “You’re brave.”
“I like taking risks.”
His eyes held mine, and heat curled low in my stomach.
I turned to the machine, trying to breathe normally.
Or think about how close he was.
Or think about how good he smelled — clean, warm, expensive.
When I handed him the cup, he didn’t take it right away.
Instead, he looked at me.
“Miranda,” he said softly, “can I ask you something?”
My pulse jumped. “Okay.”
“Are you new to New York?”
I hesitated. “Yes.”
“How new?”
“Last night.”
His eyebrows lifted. “Wow. Big move.”
“You could say that.”
“Running from something?”
My heart stuttered.
He said it lightly, casually — but it hit too close to the truth.
I forced a smile. “Maybe running toward something.”
He nodded slowly, like he understood more than I wanted him to.
“Then I hope New York is good to you,” he said.
“It’s been… surprising.”
He smiled. “Good surprising?”
I swallowed. “So far.”
He took a sip of the coffee, eyes still on me.
Then he set the cup down.
“Miranda,” he said, voice lower now, “I meant what I said earlier.”
My breath caught. “About…?”
“Taking you out.”
My heart thudded so loudly I was sure he could hear it.
“I’d like to,” he continued. “If you want to.”
I opened my mouth — but before I could answer, his phone buzzed.
He glanced at the screen.
His expression changed instantly — tightening, darkening, something heavy settling over him.
He stepped back.
“Sorry,” he murmured. “I need to take this.”
He answered the call, turning slightly away.
“Laney, slow down,” he said, voice tense. “What happened?”
My stomach twisted.
Laney.
The woman from earlier.
I tried not to listen, but his voice carried.
“Is Tommy okay?”
A pause.
“Alright. I’m coming.”
He hung up, jaw tight.
“I’m sorry,” he said, stepping toward me again. “I have to go.”
“Of course,” I said quickly. “It’s okay.”
He hesitated — like he wanted to say more — then nodded.
“I’ll see you tomorrow.”
And then he was gone.
The door closed behind him, and the shop felt colder.
Sloane slid next to me, eyes wide. “Okay. Spill.”
I stared at the door.
“I think he has someone,” I whispered.
Sloane frowned. “Who?”
“A woman. And a child.”
She blinked. “Wait. What?”
“He said their names. Laney and Tommy.”
Sloane’s expression shifted — not jealous, not dramatic, but thoughtful.
“Miranda,” she said gently, “that doesn’t mean he’s taken.”
“He left because of them.”
“Maybe they’re family.”
“Maybe.”
But the way he’d reacted…
The urgency in his voice…
The weight in his eyes…
It didn’t feel simple.
It felt complicated. Messy. Dangerous.
Exactly the kind of man I should stay far, far away from.
But when I closed my eyes, all I saw was the way he’d looked at me.
Like he wanted to know me.
Like he wanted to choose me.
And that terrified me more than anything.
That night, as I lay in Sloane’s apartment staring at the ceiling, my phone buzzed.
A message from an unknown number.
Jasper:
I didn’t get to finish asking you earlier.
Can I see you tomorrow?
Dinner. Not coffee.
My heart stopped.
I typed a reply.
Then deleted it.
Typed again.
Deleted again.
Finally, I wrote:
Me:
Yes.
I hit send.
And everything changed.
- Writer
