Ch 5: Adrian—He Still Remembers

Cinnamon. I smell it the moment Marlene sets the cup on her desk. Oat milk latte, extra shot, cinnamon dust on top.

Elena’s exact order from five years ago. The one I memorized after our third date when she mentioned—just once, in passing—that most baristas get it wrong.

"She's in meetings all morning," Marlene says before I can ask. Her tone is gentle. Pitying, maybe. "Then calls with Tokyo. Then a site visit."

It's day four of this routine. I’ve been showing up at Sinclair Technologies at 7:47 AM with coffee she might not drink. "I'll just leave it, then."

Marlene takes the cup but doesn't move toward Elena's office. Instead, she studies me for a while before speaking. "Mr. Kane, can I ask you something?"

"Of course."

"Why coffee?"

"I'm sorry?"

"Why not flowers? Or jewelry? Some grand gestures men like you usually make when you're trying to win someone back."

I consider the question. Down the hallway, Elena's frosted glass door stays shut. Her name etched in emerald letters. She's in there pretending I don't exist.

"Flowers die," I say finally. "Jewelry feels like buying forgiveness. But coffee . . ." I pause, searching for words that don't make me sound completely pathetic. "Coffee is what I brought her every morning when we were together. It's proof I paid attention to the small things. That I—"

"Remembered."

"Yeah."

Marlene picks up the cup. For a second, I think she's going to throw it away right in front of me. But she says, "She drinks them. Every single one. She won't admit it, but I see the empty cups."

I hold back my excitment with a smile too brief for her to notice. "Thank you for telling me that."

"I didn't tell you anything." But she's almost smiling. "Have a good day, Mr. Kane."

I leave the building and slide into my car where Nathan's been waiting.

"Kane Industries?" he asks.

"Sure."

We pull into traffic. I stare out the window at Manhattan blurring past—glass and steel and people who don't spend their mornings delivering coffee to women who hate them.

My phone buzzes. Marcus: “Day 4 of your pathetic coffee delivery service. How's that working out for you?”

I just pocket the phone and try not to think about the fact that my brother's right.

Four days of coffee deliveries. Four days of Elena refusing to see me. Four days of Marlene's pitying looks and my own stubborn refusal to accept that some things, once broken, can't be fixed.

But she's drinking the coffee. That has to mean something. Doesn't it?

***

At Kane Industries, I drown myself in quarterly reports and hostile takeover strategies until Marcus storms into my office without knocking.

"You're pathetic." He drops into the chair across from my desk. "Chasing a woman who won't even see you."

"Good morning to you, Marcus Kane."

"It's been two weeks, Adrian. She's not softening. You're wasting your time."

I lean back, studying my brother. We share Victor's blue eyes, but Marcus's hold bitterness where mine hold regret. Always have.

"You want me to give up."

"I want you to be realistic. The will forced this courtship. She's playing along for her own reasons—probably revenge. You think she's going to fall back in love with you over coffee?"

"No." My voice stays level. "But I think she'll remember I loved her enough to learn her order by heart. That's a start."

Marcus laughs—sharp, humorless. "You're delusional."

"Maybe. But I'm showing up. That's more than I did five years ago."

His face shutters. We don't talk about the wedding that didn't happen. About my disappearing act. About the two years I spent falling apart while Marcus held Kane Industries together.

"Dad would be ashamed," Marcus says.

"Dad's dead. And he was wrong about a lot of things."

"Including her?"

"Especially her." I meet his eyes. "He saw a threat. I see the woman I should've fought for."

Marcus stands, buttons his suit jacket. "When she ruins you—and she will—don't say I didn't warn you."

He leaves. I sit in silence. 

***

The next day arrives like every other day this week. I show up at Sinclair Technologies at 8 AM. Coffee in hand. Marlene's not at her desk.

So I do something stupid. I walk down the hallway and knock on Elena's door.

"Come in."

I push the door open.

Elena sits behind her desk, phone pressed to her ear, mid-sentence with someone in Tokyo. She's wearing emerald green—a silk blouse that makes her eyes attractive.

The color I told her once, drunk on wine and her, was my favorite on her.

Her gaze snaps to mine. A mix of surprise and anger flickers on her face.

"I'll call you back, Yamamoto-san." She ends the call. Sets down her phone with precision. "You can't just walk in here."

"Marlene wasn't at her desk."

"That doesn't give you clearance to—"

"You're wearing green." My voice cracks around the edges.

"It's a blouse, Adrian. Women wear blouses."

"That's my favorite color on you. You know that."

Her pulse jumps in her throat. She knew it when she pulled that silk from her closet this morning. 

She was aware when she fastened every button. Of course she must’ve checked her reflection and pretended she looked professional rather than a woman sending smoke signals.

"Coincidence."

"Is it?" I step inside. Shut the door behind me. "You haven't thrown away a single coffee either. Six days. Six cups. Marlene says you drink them before they get cold."

She bit her lower lips softly. "So you're spying on me through my staff now?"

"Attention isn’t expensive as you think." I move closer—not threatening, just present.

Her breath snags. "Stop."

"I can't." The honesty in my voice could shatter the windows. "I've tried for five years to forget you. I can't. And you're sending me signals—the coffee, the color . . ."

"I'm not sending you anything."

"You are. Even if you don't realize it." I'm close enough now that I could touch her if I wanted. I didn't. "You could restrict me from coming here, Elena. One call to security. One cease and desist. But you haven't."

Her hands curl into fists on her desk. "You're reading into things that aren't there."

"Then tell me to leave. Say you never want to see me again, and I'll go."

The words should come easy for her. She's a woman who hires and fires executives with a single call or text. She negotiates billion-dollar deals without flinching. 

But her mouth won't form the sentence.

I watch her silence stretch. Watch the war happening behind her eyes.

"You can't say it." My voice drops to low. "Because you don't mean it."

"Get out of my office."

"Elena—"

"Now."

I go. But at the doorway, I turn back. "For what it's worth? You're beautiful in green. You always were."

The door clicks shut behind me. I don't see her face. I don’t know if my words landed or bounced off her armor.

But I heard her breath catch. And that's enough for today.