2: It's just coffee

He held my gaze a moment longer, smiling satisfyingly at my words.

"¿Cómo te llamas?" he asked softly, making me grateful for the Spanish lessons I had taken years ago. I swallowed, my lips parting before I even realized I was answering.

"Valerie." It was almost a whisper, as if his very presence weakened me.

His head tilted slightly, a strand of his dark wet hair falling across his forehead. "Valerie," he repeated, tasting my name like it belonged to him. The rain kept falling, soaking us both, but his beautiful eyes stayed fixed on me. As if nothing else in the world mattered.

Then he took a single step forward, closing whatever space was left between us until I could feel the warmth radiating from his dark, elegant suit despite the cold rain. His hand lifted mine with gentleness, halting right before his intriguing lips.

"Santiago Morales," he said, his Spanish accent wrapping around each syllable like silk over steel, "but most people call me El León."

There was something in the way he said it that told me they didn't call him that for nothing.

"But for you, mi ángel, just Santiago."

He sealed the introduction with a soft kiss on my hand while maintaining eye contact.

A shiver ran down my spine - not from the pouring, cold rain, but from the feeling deep within me that I had just crossed a threshold, a border. Point of no return.

He glanced at the rain sliding from my lashes. “Cruel weather for flowers.”

His gaze slid gently over my soaked outfit.

“It’s just a dress.” I said, though my voice wobbled.

“Mm.” His smile turned soft. “Looks like a garden that needs rescuing.”

“I’m fine.”

“Liar,” he said gently, amused. “Let me buy you coffee somewhere warm. You can keep all your secrets. I’ll keep all my questions. For now.”

“I don’t go with strangers.”

“Then don’t.” He tilted his head. “Go with me.”

I half smiled. “Still a stranger – I don’t know you.”

“You know enough.” He softened the words, almost a promise. “My name. My intention. And that I won’t let you freeze.”

I hesitated. He felt it – the crack in the wall.

“It’s just coffee, señorita,” he said innocently. “Say no, and I’ll step back. Say sí,” his lips curved into a boyish smile. “And I’ll make sure the worst part of your day ends here.”

The rain tightened around us, cold as a dare.

“You’re very sure I’ll say yes.”

“I’m very sure I’ll make it hard to say no.” The boyish tilt of his smile sharpened, wicked and warm. “Say yes, mi ángel. It’s only coffee.”

Before I could answer, his hand was still holding mine, and he now gently pulled me out of the rain and toward a café with big windows, brown leather couches and dim lighting.

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The warmth of the café wrapped around me the moment we stepped inside, and I realized just how cold the rain had made me. My nose picked up a delicate scent of freshly ground coffee, and something sweet and spicy - maybe cinnamon - lingered in the air.

Just as I was taking it all in, I noticed a shift.

The low hum of conversation softened, almost fading, and a few heads turned our way. A man behind the counter straightened instantly, his eyes lighting up as he had just seen an old friend - or perhaps a benefactor.

"Señor Morales," the barista greeted Santiago with a respectful nod, his tone holding a certain reverence that was hard to miss. Santiago simply returned the greeting with a small smile, as if he was used to this kind of reception.

Without being offered a table, Santiago lightly placed a hand on the small of my back, guiding me forward, like he owned the place. Even though the gesture was innocent, the very touch and warmth from his fingertips made my body tingle.

Santiago stopped in front of a table that was slightly secluded, fresh roses in a vase, a view of the rain-streaked square outside, and perfect for a quiet conversation.

He motioned toward the couch, his hand brushing gently over the small of my back with a slightly downwards angle, making me blush. I caught a sly smirk as he passed me, heading for the opposite couch. He knew exactly what he was doing.

“So, Valerie,” his Spanish accent gently stroking every syllable. “Do you always deal with heart ache in the rain?” His question caught me off guard. Heart ache.

I glared at him for a second. Then I sharpened my gaze. “Only on special occasions.”

A slight twitch at the corner of his mouth told me he was amused.

“And this is a special occasion?”

“Obviously – I was standing in the rain.”

“Mm,” his gaze darkened, and his smile widened. “And what has your heart breaking on this particularly day?”

“I thought you weren’t going to ask questions?” I raised my brow at him.

“I changed my mind.” He casually shrugged.

“Do you always ask strangers for coffee?” I tried to divert.

“No,” he leaned a little closer, “only when I don’t want them to remain strangers.”

Suddenly, a steaming hot coffee was placed in front of Santiago, without him even placing an order. The waitress, a young, beautiful Latina with green eyes, delivered Santiago's coffee with trembling hands. She avoided all eye-contact with him, but she stole a glance at me - her face expressing jealousy... Or pity.

I expected her to leave shortly after, but she stood motionless and waited, eyes on the ground.

"Mi ángel, don't let the sweet girl wait, tell her how you like your coffee."

"Oh," I gasped, realizing she was waiting on me, "Sorry. Uhm... cappuccino, please."

I followed the waitress with my eyes, as she returned to the counter, and a couple of men sitting near caught my attention. They were laughing over their beers until one of them glanced our way. The laughter died instantly. He leaned in to whisper to his friend, and I'm sure I caught the words El León between their muffled tones.

"You know those guys?" I gestured subtly toward the men.

He didn't even turn his head, keeping his eyes on me.

"Everyone knows me, Valerie." His tone wasn't arrogant - just matter of fact.

I hesitated, like I wasn't sure I wanted to venture further, but curiosity got the better of me.

"I don't - who are you exactly?" My tone came out sharper than I intended, and I instantly regretted.

He seemed surprised at my direct approach, and I was about to apologize when I noticed his smile. Like it amused him.

"Depends on who's asking," he said, his tone playful. His eyes were watching me closely. It made me a bit uneasy, and I shifted in my seat. His lips curved into a slow, knowing smile - he was measuring me, daring me to proceed. Enjoying the game.

I found my courage.

"I'm asking," I said, holding his gaze.

For a moment, he didn't answer. His eyes sharpened, just a little bit, as if he was trying to read my thoughts. Then, with a casual shrug, he replied:

"I'm a businessman."

Before I could respond, the waitress returned with my cappuccino, her head slightly bowed.

As soon as she sat the cappuccino down, she almost bolted.

The door chimed. A tall man in a dark coat stepped inside, shaking the rain from both his shoulders and his dark hair. His eyes swept the room, searching, until it locked on Santiago, and immediately he set course, ignoring everybody else, bypassing the counter entirely.

He stopped at our table, making himself visible to Santiago, waiting for him to acknowledge his presence before speaking. Santiago simply looked at him, allowing his message.

"El León." The man inclined his head in greeting, his voice low and respectful.

"It's done."

Santiago gave a single nod, and the man left without another word.

A little puzzled over the encounter, I raised my cappuccino to take a sip. My stomach tightened. Underneath the cup laid a napkin with the word RUN.