Chapter 2 – The Man Who Came Back

Kryzelle Rivera told herself she was imagining things.

There was no way her heart should still be racing thirty minutes after the incident. No way her palms should still feel warm from a single accidental brush of fingers. No way one man—one ridiculously handsome, coffee-soaked stranger—should have thrown her entire rhythm off.

And yet, every time the café door chimed open, her head snapped up.

Get it together, she scolded herself, wiping the counter a little harder than necessary.

“Wow,” Mae whispered beside her, leaning in with a grin that screamed I know something you don’t want to admit. “You look like someone just rewired your brain.”

“I do not,” Kryzelle muttered, refusing to look at the entrance again. “I just… had a busy morning.”

Mae snorted. “Busy? Or distracted by a tall, rich, dangerously charming man who smells like expensive cologne and ruined cappuccino?”

Kryzelle shot her a glare. “Lower your voice!”

But Mae only laughed, clearly enjoying every second of her misery. “Relax. I’m just saying—you haven’t stared at the door this much since we ran out of oat milk.”

“I am not staring,” Kryzelle insisted, though she immediately glanced at the door again.

Still nothing.

She exhaled, disappointed in a way she didn’t want to acknowledge.

The rest of the shift passed in a blur. Customers came and went. Orders were taken, drinks were made, smiles were exchanged. Kryzelle moved on autopilot, muscle memory taking over while her mind replayed a certain smirk, a teasing voice, and eyes that seemed to linger a second too long.

He’s probably gone for good, she told herself. Men like him don’t come back to neighborhood cafés.

That thought should have been comforting.

It wasn’t.

The bell above the door chimed again.

This time, Kryzelle felt it before she saw him.

The air shifted—subtle, but unmistakable.

Her gaze lifted instinctively.

And there he was.

Zander Castillo stood just inside the café, no longer wearing the stained white shirt from earlier. Instead, he was dressed in a charcoal-gray button-down that fit him far too well, sleeves rolled just enough to reveal strong forearms. His jacket was draped casually over one arm, his posture relaxed, confident—as if he belonged there.

As if he had every intention of being there.

Their eyes met.

Kryzelle forgot how to breathe.

Zander’s lips curved into something softer than his earlier smirk, his gaze immediately finding her behind the counter. There was recognition there. Interest. And something that made her pulse quicken in warning.

He walked toward her unhurriedly, every step deliberate.

Mae noticed first.

“Oh,” she murmured. “Ohhh. He came back.”

Kryzelle swallowed. “Be quiet.”

Zander stopped at the counter, resting one hand against the edge. “You look relieved.”

“I—what?” Kryzelle blinked, startled.

He chuckled. “You sighed. Just now.”

Her face heated instantly. “I did not.”

“You did,” he said lightly. “But I won’t hold it against you.”

She crossed her arms, trying to regain some dignity. “What can I get you this time, Mr…?”

“Castillo,” he supplied. “Zander.”

Something about the way he said his name—calm, unassuming, like he wasn’t used to needing an introduction—made her pause.

“Kryzelle,” she said, before she could stop herself.

His eyebrows lifted. “I know.”

Her heart skipped. “You do?”

“You were called about six times in the span of ten minutes,” he replied, amused. “Hard to forget.”

She pressed her lips together, hiding a smile. “So… another cappuccino?”

“Yes,” he said. “But this time, I promise not to get in its way.”

She snorted softly before she could stop herself. “I’ll try not to assault you with it.”

“That would be appreciated.”

As she turned to prepare his drink, she could feel his eyes on her again. Not in a way that felt intrusive—just observant, curious, as if he was studying something unexpectedly fascinating.

“You always this serious about coffee?” he asked.

“Very,” she replied, focusing on the machine. “Coffee is a commitment.”

He leaned closer, lowering his voice just enough. “I like people who take commitments seriously.”

Her hands faltered for half a second.

Why does he say things like that so casually?

She cleared her throat. “You sound like someone who’s very selective.”

“I am,” he admitted. “Which is why I came back.”

That made her turn.

“Excuse me?”

“For the coffee,” he clarified, though his gaze suggested there was more to it. “You said it was perfect. I wanted to make sure that wasn’t just confidence talking.”

She raised an eyebrow. “And?”

He watched her carefully as she handed him the cup. Their fingers didn’t touch this time, but the tension felt heavier.

He took a sip.

Then another.

Kryzelle held her breath.

Zander hummed softly, clearly impressed. “You weren’t exaggerating.”

Relief—and pride—washed over her. “Told you.”

He smiled then. A real one. Less teasing. More genuine.

“I think,” he said slowly, “this might be the best cappuccino I’ve had in a long time.”

Her heart fluttered traitorously.

“Careful,” she said. “Compliments like that might get you free refills.”

“Is that an offer?”

She hesitated. “Maybe.”

Their eyes locked.

For a brief, suspended moment, the café seemed to fade—the chatter, the clinking cups, the world outside reduced to just the two of them.

Then Mae cleared her throat loudly.

“So,” she said, leaning over with a grin, “are you staying, sir? Or are you just here to flirt with my coworker and leave again?”

Kryzelle nearly dropped a spoon. “Mae!”

Zander laughed, genuinely amused. “I was thinking of staying.”

“For the coffee,” he added, his eyes never leaving Kryzelle.

She felt her pulse race.

As he took a seat by the window, Kryzelle busied herself behind the counter, pretending not to notice how often he glanced her way. Every time their eyes met, something electric passed between them—something unspoken, unfinished.

This is dangerous, she thought.

And yet… she didn’t want him to leave.

As the afternoon sun filtered through the glass, Kryzelle realized one thing with unsettling clarity.

The coffee spill hadn’t been an accident.

It had been a beginning.