Chapter 9

The morning air was a bit harsh, sweeping through Damian's hair as he had his windows wound down. He couldn't contain the adrenaline pumping through his veins as he stepped on the gas, and in record time he was parked in front of Safe Haven.

He parked his car in such a haste that he had only realized that the pastel-blue Safe Haven sign was not lit up and a crooked 'Closed' sign hung in the window, when he got out of his car.

His jaw ticked.

He hadn’t stopped moving since he stormed out of the gym, hadn’t even gone home to shower. He just drove, like he was afraid if he slowed down, he’d talk himself out of coming here.

He couldn't hide the disappointment he felt. A frown forming on his face.

Just as he was about getting back in his car, he perceived something. Pistachio. It was faint but it was there. With Safe Haven being the only café in the area, it has to be coming from inside.

Maybe she was inside...

With that thought he strode to the door and knocked firmly. Nothing. He tried again, louder this time. Still nothing.

Just as he was about to give up, he caught something out of the corner of his eyes. A silhouette of a person.

He leaned in closer to the door, squinting through the glass.

A figure moved inside. He caught a glimpse of it for a second and then it was gone again. Almost like he imagined it.

He knocked again, harder this time. “Aria!”

Still no answer.

He muttered a curse under his breath, angry with himself for not saving her number on his phone. Just as he turned to leave...

The lock clicked.

The door cracked open just enough for a head to pop through. Aria.

A breath hitched in his throat.

Her curls were tied up messily, flour smeared across her cheek, a streak of chocolate on her apron. Her eyes widened for a moment then she took out her earphones.

Maybe that why she didn't hear me knocking earlier. He thought.

He couldn't help but stare. She wasn't all dressed up with makeup or anything. Infact it was the opposite. Yet she still took his breathe away.

“Damian?” she breathed.

The sound of her saying his name did something to him, something he wasn’t ready to unpack. He stepped forward, relieved and a little annoyed.

“You weren’t going to open the door?”

She blinked stepping outside the door, leaving it slightly opened. “I probably didn't hear you over my earphones. Besides, I'm not open today.”

“I noticed.” His voice was flat. Controlled. “But you’re here though.”

She didn’t reply.

Her hands gripped her apron creasing it, almost like she didn't want to have this conversation. Like he was the last person she wanted to be talking to right now. She straightened, pulling herself back together, her guard coming back up in an instant.

“What do you want, Damian?”

He didn’t miss the ice in her tone. He also didn’t care.

“We need to talk.”

“There’s nothing to talk about.” She moved back inside trying to close the door.

He stopped it with his hand.

Her eyes narrowed. “let go.”

“Not until you hear me out.”

She glared at him. Her frustration building up. “You shouldn'’t be here.”

“Why not?.”

“You think this is a game?”

“Does it look like I'm playing?”

“Damian,” she said, voice going low and warning.

“Aria,” he countered.

Their names hung heavy between them, the air seeming charged.

She released a breath and glanced around nervously. “Trust me, whatever you're trying to do is not worth the hassle"

“Try me”

She looked like she wanted to slam the door, not caring about his hand, but she hesitated. Her defenses faltered for a single second. Her eyes softened, just enough for him to see it, she was drained. Stress and maybe something else.

Fear? She glanced over Damian's shoulder as though she felt someone was watching them.

That did it.

“We’re talking,” he said with finality. He gently pushed through,letting himself in.

She stared at him. Pissed at the intrusion.

Seconds stretched.

Then with a defeated exhale, she stepped back in and shutting the door behind her

“Fine,” she muttered. “what do you want to talk about?.”

Damian's lips stretched into a smile. It was small but, a win is a win.

The café looked quite different today. There were bowls on the counter, half-mixed batter, trays of burnt pastries tossed carelessly aside, and the faint smell of that pistachio again.

Damian walked further into the cafe, scanning the chaos. “working on a new recipe?”

She ignored the comment and walked past him, tying her apron tighter as if putting on armor. “Say what you came to say, Damian. I have work to do.”

He nodded slowly. “You were avoiding me.”

Her jaw clenched. “I’m not avoiding you. I’m just...”

“Busy?” he finished for her. “I can see that.”

She started to pick up random stuffs to try and tidy up the cafe a little, dumping dirty dishes in the sink. Damian walked to the counter and leaned against it. Watching her. Feeling her tension like static in the air. This close, he could see the exhaustion on her face. The eye bags and stress lines.

He couldn't bring himself to say a thing. Didn't even know what to say.

He just stood there in silence.

She tried to ignore him. Whisked. Measured ingredients. Reached for flour. Her hands shook. Just a little. But he saw it.

Finally, she slammed the whisk down and spun to face him. “What?”

“Talk to me.”

“No.”

“Aria.”

“Damian, I don’t even want you here.”

He shrugged. “Too bad.”

Her eyes narrowed dangerously. “You think you can just show up and, what? Fix everything? You think I'm this weak thing that needs saving?”

“I’m not trying to fix everything,” he said evenly. “I just want to understand.”

“There's nothing to understand. This is not your fight.”

“Allow me help you, please.”

She threw her hands in the air. “Why are you acting like you care?”

“Why would you say that?”

Her laugh was cold. Sharp. “Maybe because just a while ago you were delivering my eviction notice, Damian. And all of a sudden you're acting like...like...” She faltered, lost for words.

“Like what?”

“Like you’re someone I can trust! We're not friends Damian”

Her voice hit the room like a slap.

Silence fell. She realized how loud she had been and looked away, breathing fast. Her knuckles turned white as she gripped the counter.

He didn’t flinch. Didn’t take offense. Didn’t throw her words back at her.

He just said quietly:

“We could be though..”

Her head snapped up. “We could be what?”

“Friends .”

His eyes held hers.

“I know you want to trust me. You’re just scared to.”

Her throat worked as she swallowed. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Then tell me I’m wrong,” he said. “Look me in the eye and tell me you haven’t been fighting yourself every second I’ve been here.”

Her lips parted. No words came.

He stepped closer. “Tell me you don’t feel this.”

Her breath hitched. “Feel what?”

“This pull between us,” he said, voice low but steady. “Tell me I’m imagining it.”

She opened her mouth, but nothing came out.

Because they both knew he wasn’t wrong.

He stayed where he was, a little distance between them, but close enough that tension sparked between them, sharp and magnetic. Her heart beating hard against her ribcage .

Then he ruined her defenses completely with six quiet words:

“Aria. I’m not your enemy.”

Her eyes softened, just for a moment, but he saw it. Vulnerability flickered in her eyes but it was gone just as fast.

She shook her head, backing away like she needed distance to breathe. “You need to go.”

“No.”

Her frustration flared again. “You’re being difficult.”

“And you’re hiding something.”

That stopped her.

Her fingers froze around a bag of coffee beans.

He watched her carefully. “And whatever it is… it has you terrified.”

Her stomach tightened.

“So here’s what’s going to happen,” Damian said calmly, like he’d already made up his mind. “I’m not going anywhere. Not today. You don't need to tell me everything right now but I’m staying to help.”

“I don’t want your help.”

“Too bad.”

She glared at him. “Who do you think you are?”

He met her stare without blinking, giving a full smile exposing his dimple on his left cheek. “Your new friend.”

“Fine,” she said tightly. “Since you've refused to leave, at least make yourself useful.”

Damian gave a short nod. Victory didn’t show on his face, but it settled in his chest like a quiet fire.

“What are you making?”

She walked past him, brushing flour off her jeans. “I'm working on a new cake recipe to add to my menu. Grab those trays over there. We’re remaking a batch. The last one burned.”

He followed her gaze, then looked back at the absolutely mangled pile of pastries on the counter. "Burned," he repeated. "These look like a crime scene."

Her eyes narrowed. “Do you want to help or not?”

He held up his hands in surrender. “Helping.”

He moved to grab the trays. They worked in silence for a few minutes, her movements sharp and mechanical, his steady and controlled. She reached for a heavy mixing bowl, but he stepped in just as she got it off the counter.

“I got it,” he said.

“I’m not helpless,” she muttered.

“I didn’t say you were.” His voice softened. “It's okay to let someone carry the weight once in a while.”

Her eyes flicked up to him.

Something unspoken passed between them... She knew he wasn't just referring to the bowl.

She looked away first. Somehow, Damian seemed to have managed to seeped through the walls she built around herself. And she didn't know how to feel about it.