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I almost drop the tray.

A shiver runs down my spine. I can’t explain it, but there’s something about him that puts me on edge—something that makes me want, inexplicably, not to disappoint him.

I run my fingers through my hair, neatening it instinctively.

“Waitress! Another coffee over here!”

I snap back to reality and return to the rhythm of the floor. For the next twenty minutes, I fall into a groove—taking orders, delivering food, clearing plates. But I remain aware of the man in the corner.

His coffee must be cold by now, but he hasn’t asked for a refill. He just sits and watches.

And sometimes, when I glance over, I find him watching me.

Our eyes meet again across the café. For a moment, the noise around me fades, like someone’s turned down the volume. Hiseyes seem dark—at first. But as I look closer, I realize they’re green. Deep, vivid, emerald green.

He holds my gaze with such intensity that it steals the breath from my lungs. I should look away. I want to. But I can’t.

I had no reason to, but Ismiled. Just a small, fleeting curve of my lips. A polite habit.

His jaw flexed. His fingers tightened around the cup.

But he didn’t smile back. His expression stays cool, unreadable. Unimpressed.

And suddenly I feel naked in the middle of the café—foolish for trying to smile at him.

A crash from the kitchen breaks the spell. I look away, heart pounding. I know it has nothing to do with whatever just shattered.

When I risk another glance, the stranger is calmly sipping his coffee—like nothing ever happened.

I tell myself to focus. The café is getting busier now, and tables are turning faster with lunch just around the corner. The tips are decent—better than I expected. It’s the weekend, after all. People are generally happier, more generous.

By one o’clock, I’ve already made enough to cover at least a quarter of Chiara’s share of the rent.

That’s when the drunk man stumbles in.

He looks to be in his forties, wearing a rumpled business suit and reeking of whiskey. He drops heavily into one of my tables, nearly missing the seat entirely. I approach cautiously.

“Welcome to Brew Haven. What can I get for you?” I keep my voice professional, despite the way his bloodshot eyes travel up and down my body.

“Well, aren’t you a pretty little thing?” he slurs, ignoring the menu. “Turn around for me, sweetheart.”

“I’ll give you a moment to look things over,” I say, already stepping back.

But his hand shoots out and grabs my wrist, fingers clamping down hard enough to hurt. I freeze.

“Don’t be like that,” he says, lowering his voice like he thinks it’s charming. “I’m a big tipper for girls who are nice to me.”

His thumb rubs slow, greasy circles against my skin. “How about we talk about how you like to earn those tips? I’ve got plenty of cash for a pretty little thing like you.”

The implication in his words makes my stomach churn. I try to pull away, but his grip tightens. Then, with his free hand, he pulls out a wad of cash—hundred-dollar bills, thick enough to make my breath catch.

“Look,” he says, watching my reaction. “All of this can be yours if you’d just come out back with me. Just to talk, darlin’.”

Blood pounds in my ears, drowning out the clatter and chatter of the café. All I can focus on is the heat of his hand, his leering smile, and the crushing feeling of being trapped.

There’s something rotten about this man. I feel it in my bones.

“Even if you had a million dollars,” I snap, “I wouldn’t go anywhere with you.” My voice trembles. “So are you going to let go, or do I have to scream?”