Maya sat on one of the empty chairs near the counter, her elbow resting on the table, her phone cradled loosely in her palm.
Her eyes weren't really on the screen.
The numbers she'd been staring at for the past twenty minutes had already begun to blur — expenses, debt reminders, and the latest notice from her landlord.
She rubbed her temple with the back of her hand, a dull pressure building there, and let out a tired sigh.
The quiet should have been comforting, yet it wasn't.
It only made her more aware of the weight pressing down on her chest.
At least Aria was happily distracted.
Rosa had whisked her daughter away to the back room, accompanied by Nora, who was chirping something about filming a TikTok for "Haven Brew's grand opening." For once, Maya was grateful for Rosa's warm interference — though her heart tugged uneasily at the thought of Aria being out of sight, even for a few minutes.
She stood up, brushing her skirt with one hand. I'll just peek, she told herself. Just a peek to be sure she's okay.
She was halfway toward the back door when the small bell above the entrance gave a soft chime.
"Oh, we're not—" she began automatically, turning.
The words stopped dead in her throat.
A man stood in the doorway.
Tall, broad-shouldered, and composed in a black overcoat that fell neatly to his knees.
Rainwater shimmered faintly on the coat's shoulders.
His dark hair was combed back but slightly damp, streaked faintly with silver.
He held the glass door with one hand, his other hand tucked into his coat pocket.
And though he hadn't said a word yet, something about his stillness filled the room — deeply commanding.
Maya froze.
Her throat felt dry.
It wasn't that he was intimidating by appearance — though he was — but the air around him carried something weightier.
Authority.
Discipline.
The sort of composure that made others instinctively straighten their backs.
He didn't seem like the kind of man who would casually wander into a modest café on a rainy morning.
His grey eyes swept over the interior before landing on her.
"Are you closed?" His voice was calm and deep, but it carried easily across the quiet space.
"Sir?" she said, before quickly correcting herself. "Oh—no. No, not at all. We're… we're open."
He studied her briefly then stepped inside and let the door close softly behind him.
Maya's pulse stuttered.
She glanced down at her skirt, smoothing it nervously before rushing behind the counter.
Her fingers fumbled with the neatly stacked menu plaques. She grabbed one and walked toward where he had seated himself — in the corner, by the wide rain-dappled window.
Maya winced as she noticed the half assed mismatched flower arrangements by the window.
But he didn't seem to even care about it.
His gaze wandered briefly toward the street outside, where a black car sat idling by the curb.
When Maya reached his table, she managed a polite smile and extended the menu.
He didn't look at it. "Coffee. Black."
Her hand froze in midair. She quickly withdrew the plaque, nodding. "Right, sir."
She turned to leave, then hesitated. "Sugar?" she asked.
He finally looked at her, though only for a moment. "None."
"Of course," she murmured, retreating to the counter.
She cast a desperate glance toward the back door.
Where were they? Rosa, Miles, anyone.
She wasn't used to serving alone, not anymore — and certainly not someone who looked like he belonged in a glass tower downtown rather than a struggling little café tucked under a photography studio.
Still, she moved with practiced motions.
Grinding. Brewing. Pouring.
Her hands remembered the rhythm — a skill from years ago, back when she was still a highschool girl pretending to have her life together, working part-time at a café just to afford her expensive taste in appearances.
The coffee dripped, the scent filling the air — dark, clean, bitter.
She poured it carefully into the cup, set it on a tray, and arranged it neatly with a napkin and spoon.
She approached the man again, heels clicking softly against the tiled floor.
"Here it is," she said quietly, almost in a whisper.
He nodded. "Thank you."
Maya bowed slightly, retreating again toward the counter.
She picked up a clean glass and began wiping it, pretending to be busy, but her mind wasn't on it.
She glanced at the man. He was seated comfortably, one hand around the cup, scrolling through something on his phone.
Then the bell above the door rang again.
Maya looked up just as another man stepped in — this one was younger a bit younger probably in his late thirties wearing a dark suit and carrying a discreet air of professionalism.
His expression was serious, though not cold, and when his gaze met hers, he offered a curt nod before turning immediately toward the man by the window.
Maya blinked in surprise as the newcomer walked straight to him, bowing slightly.
The serious faced said something in a low voice, and the man by the window — the older one — responded without looking up from his phone.
Whatever they discussed was brief but purposeful.
Maya watched discreetly, hands hovering near the cash register.
She had spent enough years observing the rich — trying to mimic them, to belong among them — to recognize it when she saw it.
Then the man standing turned and lifted a hand, signaling to her.
She nearly startled. "Yes,"
The handsome man seated set his phone aside and reached for his wallet.
"That will be three pounds seventy-five, sir," Maya said softly.
Without hesitation, he pulled out a crisp ten-pound note and placed it on the table.
"Don't bother with the change" he said as he stood up.
"Thank you sir"
Maya bowed as they left. The serious faced man opening the cafe door for his boss.