The morning sun spilled across the windows of the café, golden and warm.
Ella had woken up to a small note tucked into the folds of her blanket, written in Nicholas's sharp, elegant handwriting:
Have a good day, my girl. Driver's outside if you need him. Text me when you're done. –N
She smiled faintly at the note, pressing it to her chest for a moment before slipping it into her bag. Ever since the incident with Adrian, Nicholas had been softer in subtle ways—gentler glances, more lingering touches. He hadn't spoken again about what had happened. He didn't need to. Ella could feel his fear every time he looked at her like he wasn't sure she'd stay.
But she was staying.
For him. With him.
And now, back in her apron, pouring shots of espresso and stacking scones behind the glass, she almost felt grounded again. Like everything outside the café belonged to someone else's life—the drama, the betrayals, the ghosts.
