The Invisible Queen

Chapter 5(Pursuing Flea Market)

Saturday morning, Nica was awake before her alarm. She lay still for a moment, staring at the ceiling.

Thanksgiving

The Fletcher family.

Kane Maddox

Her thoughts lingered more on the latter.

And unfortunately, a farmers’ market she needed to visit.

She sighed and finally got out of bed.

Work never really stopped.

Not even on weekends.

The farmers market sprawls across downtown in the cool November morning, vendor tents bright against grey sky. Nica moves through the crowd with practiced efficiency—ostensibly shopping for produce, actually scanning for Fletcher’s intelligence contact.

She’s examining heirloom tomatoes when the air shifts behind her. Expensive cologne cuts through the smell of fresh bread and coffee. Her spine recognizes him before her brain does.

“The orange ones are better.” His voice is low, too close. “Higher acid content.”

She turns. He’s dressed down—dark jeans, black henley, leather jacket—but the watch on his wrist costs more than most of the cars in the parking lot. He’s holding a coffee cup in each hand, and his hair is slightly mussed like he’s been running his hand through it.

“Decaf oat milk latte.” He offers one cup. “Chloe told me your coffee order when I called the office. Before you ask how I knew you’d be here—” his mouth curves slightly— “your congresswoman mentioned you never miss the Saturday about supporting local agriculture.”

His eyes are sharp, watchful. He tracked her here deliberately.

“We need to talk. Away from aunt’s Very Entertaining Commentary.”

Nica reached for the cup, her eyes never leaving his.

“You did not spike this?” she asked, amusement evident in her voice.

Kane smiled.

They continued walking side by side through the busy farmer’s market, surrounded by vendors calling out prices and shoppers moving one stall to another.

“There’s nothing to talk about, Mr. Maddox,” Nica said, taking another sip pf her coffee. “Unless you want your ego crushed again?”

She smiled sweetly.

Kane said nothing.

For once, he seemed to have no immediate answer.

Nica noticed.

Interesting.

She had seen Kane Maddox confidently handle discussions with Congresswoman Fletcher. She had watched him argue his position without hesitation. But standing there beside her, he appeared almost lost for words.

Before either of them could say anything else, one of the vendors approached them.

“Miss Nica!”

Nica turned immediately.

The vendor handed her a large bag of potatoes.

“Oh, thank you.” she said warmly.

The two began talking, their conversation shifting into a mixture of local concerns, prices, deliveries and things happening around the market.

Kane remained beside her, listening.

He understood almost none of it.

Nica nodded several times, sked a few questions, and laughed at something the vendor said. There was familiarity between them that made it obvious she has been here before.

Eventually, the vendor gave her a final nod and walked away.

She adjusted the bag in her arms. Then she turned to Kane.

“What?” she asked.

Kane glanced at the potatoes.

“I’m beginning to think this coffee wasn’t the dangerous part of my morning.”

Nica raised an eyebrow.

“What is?”

He looked at the bag again, then back at her.

“That wasn’t about potatoes.” Not a question. He shifts the coffee to his other hand and reaches for the bag. “Let me carry that.”

It’s automatic, the gesture, but there’s tension in his shoulders. He’s trying to read a code he doesn’t have the cipher for.

“And my ego survived our lunch just fine. Better than fine, actually”. His gaze drops to her mouth, then away—the first unguarded moment she’s seen from him. “That’s the problem.”

They walk past a flower stall, and he stops abruptly, turning to face her fully. The market crowd flows around them like water around stone.

“I don’t do this. Chase women through farmers markets. Ask my assistant for coffee orders. Host Thanksgiving.” His voice drops lower. “But you walked into my aunt’s office and tilted my entire world sideways, and I need to understand why?”

There’s frustration in the admission, maybe even anger—but underneath it, something rawer. Vulnerability he doesn’t know how to hide.

“Mr. Maddox, I don’t hold the answer to your question.”

Before Kane could respond, a flower vendor approached them and handed Nica a bouquet of lilies.

Nica accepted it with a polite smile.

“Thank you.”

She glanced at the bouquet, then at Kane.

“Pretend you did not see that.”

Kane raised an eyebrow.

“The potatoes,” she clarified, almost reluctantly. “Your aunt and I use codes.”

She continued walking, the bouquet resting against her arm.

“The pudding yesterday meant she wanted intelligence from the local farmers. Things like that help her understand what the people actually need. It helps her serve them better.”

Kane listened quietly.

There was no teasing in his expression now.

They walked a few more steps before Nica finally spoke again.

“Let’s not complicate things, shall we?

Kane looked at her.

“This is my world. Yours is entirely different.” She paused, choosing her words carefully. “And the attention you’re giving me is overwhelming, Kane.”

He stopped.

Not because of what she said.

Because of what she had called him.

Kane.

Not Mr. Maddox.

Not the careful distance she had maintained since they met.

Just Kane.

The sound of his name—his actual name—in her voice does something to him.

His hand tightened around the coffee cup, the plastic lid creaking under the pressure.

For a moment, he said nothing.

Nica seemed to realize it too. Her fingers tightened slightly around the bouquet.

She had said his name without thinking.

And somehow, that small mistake felt far more revealing than anything else she had said that morning.

“Don’t.” His voice comes out rougher than intended. “Don’t do that and then tell me not to complicate things.”

He sets down his coffee on a nearby barrel, needing his hands free. The potato bag hangs forgotten in his side.

“You think I don’t know our worlds are different? I’ve spent twenty years in rooms where everyone wants something from me. Money, access, favors.” He takes a step closer, and there’s something almost desperate in the movement. “Then you stand there and argue policy like you’re not afraid of me, call me on my bullshit, and I---”

He stops himself, jaw clenching. A family with strollers passes between them. When they clear, his eyes are darker.

“The attention I’m giving you isn’t strategy. It’s not a game.” His hands lift, almost touches her arm, then drops. “And it’s sure as hell not something I know how to stop. So, tell me how. Because “check my schedule” and “professional boundaries” aren’t working.

“I don’t know. I just want a quiet life Mr. Maddox.”

Kane looked almost helpless.

For perhaps the first time since they had met, he seemed to realize that every answer he gave only made the conversation more complicated.

Nica released a deep sigh.

I just want a quiet Saturday.

She glanced at the bag of potatoes in one hand and the lilies in the other.

And here I am, walking around a farmers’ market with Kane Maddox.

The problem.

She shook her head and kept walking.

Kane, meanwhile, stopped.

He paced back and forth for a few seconds, apparently arguing with himself about something.

Then he made up his mind.

He turned toward her.

“All right.”

Nica looked up at him suspiciously.

“All right, what?”

“I’ve decided.”

“That’s sound dangerous.”

Kane ignored the remark.

“I’ll pursue you.”

Nica blinked.

“What?”

“I’ll keep bothering you until you finally give in and admit you feel the same way.”

For a moment, Nica simply stared at him. Her brain seemed to need a second to process the sheer bluntness of what he just said.

Then her eyebrows shot upward.

“Are you insane?”

Kane remained surprisingly calm.

“I don’t think so.”

“I just said I want a quiet life!”

“I heard you.”

“Then why are you doing this?”

“Because I also heard everything else you said.”

Nica stared at him in disbelief.

“You are such and asshole. Are you nuts?”

“Yes, to all of it.” He closes the distance between them in two strides. “Insane, nuts, asshole—pick your descriptor, I don’t care. I’ve run billion-dollar deals on three hours of sleep and walked away from senators mid-sentence when they bored me. Quiet isn’t my vocabulary.”

His eyes are blazing now, all that boardroom control stripped away.

“But you? You walked around playing spy games with my aunt, dismantling my arguments over salmon, and pretending you don’t feel this too.” He gestures sharply between them. “So yeah, I’m going to pursue you. I’m going to show up. I’m going to be the most persistent problem you’ve ever had.”

The vendor two stalls over is openly staring. Kane doesn’t notice or doesn’t care.

“And when you finally admit it—not if, when—I’ll make sure your life is anything but quiet.” His voice drops dangerously low. “Because I don’t do halfway Nica. Not in business, not in this.”

The potato bag hits the ground between them. His hands are empty, clenched at his sides.