“You saw?”
“I saw. And I heard.”
Nobody wants you.
His voice lowered.
“She’s wrong.”
“How do you know?”
His eyes held hers.
“Because I want you in this dance, in this moment, and maybe after too.”
Willow could barely breathe.
He asked for coffee the next day. She told him she worked at her own coffee shop. He told her he would come there.
“Why?” she asked.
“Because in a room full of people pretending to be important,” he said, “you’re the only one who seems real.”
By the time the music ended, Willow felt seen for the first time in years.
Celeste, across the room, looked like she had been slapped by fate.
Patricia recovered faster. Her eyes turned cold and calculating.
If Giovanni was interested in Willow, Patricia would make sure that interest died.
The next morning, Willow panicked over every detail of Hayes Coffee and Books. She rearranged books, checked the espresso machine, fixed flowers, and worried the little shop would never be enough for a man used to private clubs and five-star restaurants.
Rosie told her to breathe.
“It’s real,” Rosie said. “It’s you.”
At 10:10, Willow was sure he would not come.
Then the door opened.
Giovanni stepped inside in dark jeans, a white shirt with sleeves rolled up, and sunglasses he removed the second his eyes found hers.
“You came,” Willow said.
“I said I would.”
He looked around the shop, touching the vintage bookshelves, noticing the photographs, the warmth, the details.
“This place is yours?”
“It was my dad’s,” Willow said. “It’s the only thing Patricia couldn’t take from me.”
Giovanni turned to her.
“It’s perfect. Like you.”
Willow blushed and made him a cappuccino with an extra shot of espresso and a touch of cinnamon. The foam held a heart.
He tasted it, closed his eyes, then smiled.
