Coffee Shop Confrontation

I almost crash into him.

Like, full-on, shoulder to chest, coffee sloshing kind of crash.

“Watch it—”

Leo’s voice cuts off when he sees me.

Of course it’s him. Of course it is. Because the universe has jokes and I am always the punchline.

My heart jumps straight into my throat. My body reacts before my brain can catch up. Heat. Anger. Something sharp and stupidly familiar.

We’re standing outside the coffee shop across from the office. The one I only came to because I needed air and caffeine and five minutes where no one could say my name like it was a problem.

“Skye,” he says.

I step back fast, like touching him might actually burn me. “No.”

“No?” His brow creases. “I didn’t even say anything.”

“You don’t have to,” I snap. “You follow me now?”

“I didn’t follow you.”

“Funny coincidence then.”

People brush past us, laughing, talking, living their lives like my chest isn’t tight and my hands aren’t shaking. I grip my cup harder than I need to.

He looks tired. Jacket off. Tie loosened. CEO armor cracked just a little. That somehow makes it worse.

“I came here every day before you,” he says. “You don’t own the sidewalk.”

“I don’t own your attention either,” I shoot back. “But you keep giving it.”

His jaw tightens. “You want to do this out here?”

“I don’t want to do this at all.”

There it is. The truth. Ugly and exposed.

I try to step around him. He moves too, blocking me without touching me. Like he knows exactly how close he can get without crossing a line.

Him. Always him.

“You walked out last night,” he says quietly.

“I left work. That’s allowed.”

“You heard me.”

I freeze.

The image flashes in my head. Him in the dim office. His voice sharp. Protective. Saying my name like it mattered.

“I didn’t eavesdrop,” I say, even though I did.

He exhales slowly. “You shouldn’t be dealing with this alone.”

I laugh, short and bitter. “That’s rich.”

“Skye—”

“No,” I cut in. “You don’t get to say my name like that. Not after everything.”

A door opens behind us. Someone bumps my arm. Coffee spills, hot against my fingers.

“Shit,” I hiss.

Leo’s hand shoots out automatically, grabbing my wrist, pulling it closer so he can check.

The second his skin hits mine, my brain goes offline.

Electric. That’s the only word. A jolt straight through my arm and into my chest. My breath stutters. His thumb presses against the inside of my wrist and I swear he feels my pulse because his eyes flick up to mine.

Too close. Way too close.

“You okay?” he asks, voice low.

I yank my hand back like I’ve been burned. “Don’t.”

Something flashes in his eyes. Not anger. Frustration. Want. Regret. All tangled up.

“You can’t keep pretending we’re strangers,” he says.

“I’m not pretending,” I fire back. “I’m surviving.”

We stare at each other. The noise around us fades. My heart is pounding so hard I’m scared people can hear it.

“You put me on display yesterday,” I say. “You made things worse.”

“I protected you.”

“You humiliated me.”

“I drew a line.”

“For who? Me or you?”

That lands. I see it hit him. Good.

“You think I like this?” he says. “Watching people tear you apart because they think you’re weak?”

“I don’t need you to be my shield.”

“You shouldn’t have to be alone.”

“And yet here I am,” I say. “Alone. Again.”

Silence stretches between us, heavy and messy. This is the part where things usually break.

He steps back, running a hand through his hair. “Kayden’s not done.”

My stomach drops. The real threat.

“What does that mean?”

“It means someone’s trying to push you out,” he says. “And it’s not random.”

“So what, now you’re my savior?”

“No,” he says quickly. “I’m telling you because you deserve to know.”

I swallow. “Why now?”

“Because if something happens and you didn’t know I tried—” He stops himself. “Just… be careful.”

That softness again. It messes with my head.

“I can handle myself,” I say.

“I know,” he replies. “That’s the problem.”

I turn toward the door. I need space. Air. Distance from his stupid voice and the way my body keeps betraying me.

He follows me inside.

The coffee shop is crowded. Warm. Loud. Music humming softly in the background. The smell of espresso and sugar wraps around us.

“Order,” I say flatly. “Or leave me alone.”

He steps beside me in line. Too close again.

“You always get oat milk,” he says.

I stiffen. “Stop remembering things.”

“You always hated foam,” he continues. “And you tap your foot when you’re anxious.”

I glance down. My foot is tapping.

I hate him for knowing me. I hate myself more for letting it matter.

We order in silence. I grab my cup and move toward a small table in the corner. He follows without asking.

“You don’t get to sit,” I tell him.

“I’m sitting.”

He does.

I drop into the chair across from him, arms crossed. “Say what you came to say.”

“I didn’t come for a speech.”

“Then why are you here?”

He leans forward, elbows on the table. “Because every time you walk away, it feels unfinished.”

My breath catches. “We are finished.”

“You don’t believe that.”

I look away. Out the window. Anywhere but him.

“You broke my trust,” I say quietly.

“I know.”

“You chose power over us.”

“I chose survival.”

“For who?”

“For both of us,” he says. “I thought if I built something solid, we could—”

“Don’t,” I snap. “Don’t rewrite it.”

He goes quiet. That hurts more than arguing.

A couple laughs nearby. Someone drops a spoon. Life keeps going.

“I didn’t know how to love you without losing control,” he finally says. “So I lost you instead.”

That cracks something in me. I hate that it does.

“You don’t get to confess now,” I whisper. “Not when I’m barely holding it together.”

He reaches across the table. Stops himself before touching me. That restraint makes my chest ache.

“I still want you,” he says.

I look at him then. Really look. The honesty in his eyes scares me more than lies ever did.

“This is a bad idea,” I say.

“Yes.”

“You’re my boss.”

“Yes.”

“You could ruin me.”

He nods once. “I could.”

My pulse spikes.

“And you still look at me like that,” I whisper.

“Because I never stopped,” he says.

The space between us feels charged. Dangerous. My skin hums. I imagine his hands. His mouth. The way it used to feel when he said my name against my neck.

I stand abruptly. “I have to go.”

He stands too. Always matching me.

I head for the door. He follows again. Outside, the air is cooler. Sharper.

“Skye,” he calls.

I turn. “This ends here.”

He steps closer, close enough that I can smell his cologne. Familiar. Infuriating.

“You can walk away,” he murmurs. “You’re good at that.”

“Don’t test me.”

A slow smile touches his lips. Not playful. Knowing.

He leans in, just enough that his mouth is near my ear. His breath sends a shiver straight down my spine.

“You can’t hide from me,” he whispers.

My stomach flips. Panic and want collide in my chest.

I step back fast, heart racing, mind spinning.

And for the first time since this started, I realize the scariest part isn’t him chasing me.

It’s that some part of me wants to stop running.