013: Coffee, Croissant, And Unexpected Company

Lily's POV. 

I was running on fumes.

The kind of tired that seeps into your bones and makes your brain feel static. It had been back-to-back meetings since 8 a.m. My heels were killing me. My phone wouldn’t stop buzzing. And Dana had warned me this charity meet-and-greet would be quick. Just an hour, she said.

It had already been two and a half.

I stood near the back of the community center's event hall, clutching a folder of sponsorship documents for our Maison Evana x FutureBloom Foundation collab. All around me, smiles were being exchanged over glasses of juice and branded water bottles. Cameras flashed. Volunteers laughed. Local press hovered near the mayor like moths.

"Breathe," Dana said under her breath, stepping beside me. "You look like you’re about to collapse."

"I feel like I already did," I mumbled.

Dana offered a sympathetic smile and took the folder from me. "Go get some air. Or sit. Or fake a phone call and vanish for ten minutes. I’ll handle these last sign-offs."

I didn't argue. My ankles hurt. My dress felt tighter than it had this morning. My throat was dry.

I made my way out of the crowd, squeezing past two women discussing vendor logistics. A few heads turned. Someone asked if I could answer a question about the foundation's fabric sourcing, and I gave a polite, exhausted nod that translated to, "In ten minutes."

I finally reached the back patio, which was thankfully empty. The sun was high, but a breeze kept the heat manageable. I leaned against the low stone wall, pressing my palms to the cool surface, and exhaled.

I closed my eyes for just a second.

"Long day?"

The voice was warm. Smooth. Not too deep, but rich in a way that made me open my eyes.

A man stood a few feet away, holding out a cold bottle of Sprite. His other hand clutched his own drink…Coke, I think. He had on a navy shirt with sleeves rolled up to the elbows, and slacks that fit just right. Tall. Athletic frame. Clean-shaven. Kind smile.

I blinked, caught off guard. "Is it that obvious?"

He chuckled, stepping closer. "You look like you’ve been charming people for three hours straight and haven’t blinked once."

I hesitated, then took the bottle from him. The cold against my palm felt like heaven. "That sounds accurate."

"Figured you could use the sugar rush," he said. "I’m Caleb. Caleb Maddox."

My brain caught up. The name was familiar. Dana had mentioned him. He was one of the primary sponsors of the FutureBloom project. Venture capitalist. Invested in eco-conscious fashion and sustainability startups. Big deal. Like, Forbes cover kind of deal.

"Lily Evans," I said, offering a small smile.

"I know," he replied, without missing a beat. "I’m a fan. Maison Evana’s been on my radar since that GQ cover last spring."

That got a real smile out of me. "You read GQ?"

"I pretend to, for business," he teased. "But honestly, I liked your approach. Your campaign with the survivors' fund? Smart. Real. Unapologetic."

The compliment warmed something in me I hadn’t expected.

"Thanks," I said, twisting the bottle cap and taking a sip. God. It was ice cold. I almost moaned.

"I’m not great at these kinds of events either," Caleb said, leaning beside me on the wall. "Too many handshakes, not enough sincerity. But this project... it felt different. That’s why I backed it."

I studied him. His tone wasn’t performative. No arrogance. Just honest interest.

"You work with a lot of charities?" I asked.

"I try. Not just for the PR, though that comes with the job. My mom used to work two jobs and still find time to volunteer at shelters. I guess some things stick."

I smiled again. Wider this time.

We talked for another ten minutes. Nothing heavy. Just work, the project, a bit about growing up in cities where no one knew your name until you built something worth noticing.

When Dana finally peeked out onto the patio, her eyebrows shot up. I knew that look.

She waited until he walked away, promising to text me later about a lunch meeting with the FutureBloom board.

The second he was out of earshot, Dana stepped beside me, nearly bouncing. "That’s Caleb Maddox."

"I know," I said, trying to sound casual.

"He’s literally the VC whisperer. He turns everything he touches into gold. And he likes you."

I shrugged, sipping my Sprite. "We talked for ten minutes."

"And he offered you soda. That’s flirting in tired people language."

I rolled my eyes, but I couldn't stop the small smile tugging at the corner of my lips.

Maybe today wasn't so bad after all.

…

It was a few hours later. The charity venue was quieter now, most of the press had cleared out, and the staff was winding down. I sat on the edge of the long folding table with a half-eaten croissant in one hand and my heels dangling off my fingers. My feet were killing me, and my head wasn’t far behind.

“You again,” came a familiar voice from behind.

I turned slightly and there he was…Caleb Maddox. In jeans now, the sleeves of his shirt rolled up. He held two cups of iced coffee like a peace offering.

“You’re stalking me,” I said with a small smile, brushing a strand of hair off my forehead.

“Nope. I just have really good timing,” he said, handing me a cup. “Vanilla oat milk. You look like you needed it.”

I stared at it for a second, brows lifting. “You guessed that?”

“Lucky guess. Or maybe I’m just observant,” he said, sipping from his own cup.

A surprised laugh escaped me before I could help it. I shook my head. “You always charm your way around like this?”

“Only when it works.” He flashed a grin and leaned back against the table beside me. “So, how’s the mighty CEO of Maison Evana holding up?”

“Barely,” I replied, taking a grateful sip of the drink. “I’m one missed deadline away from a meltdown.”

“Well, good thing this isn’t a board meeting,” he said, nudging his shoulder into mine. “Besides, I heard your assistant…Dana, right?...threaten someone’s life over your schedule. You’re in good hands.”

That made me laugh. Loud. The kind that cracked through the exhaustion.

“Yeah, that sounds like her.”

We sat there for a few minutes, sipping coffee, watching the volunteers pack up.

And for the first time in a long time, I didn’t feel like I had to keep my guard up.

Something about Caleb’s presence felt...easy.

No expectations. No pressure.

Just a guy with two coffees and a quiet kind of humor that disarmed me.

And maybe, just maybe...I needed that.