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The first time he noticed, he brushed it off as nothing.
The second time, it felt like a coincidence.
The third time, when he glanced up from the register and caught those dark eyes watching him through the glass, a shiver ran down his spine.
Emilio wasn't the type to jump to conclusions. His life was simple—early mornings, warm pastries, and the familiar comfort of his little bakery. He had regulars, people who came in for their morning coffee and croissants, some who stayed to chat, others who just grabbed their order and left.
But him?
The man in the dark coat, always standing just outside or sitting at the back corner table, never ordering much—never eating anything at all? He was not a regular.
At first, he had seemed like just another passing customer. He had walked in one morning, sharp-jawed and serious, scanning the bakery with an unreadable expression. When Emilio had asked what he'd like, the man had given him a slow, assessing look before answering in a deep, smooth voice.
"I don't eat sweets."
Strange, considering he had been staring at Emilio like he was one.
That had been a week ago. Since then, the man had kept coming back. Never every day, but often enough that Emilio started noticing. And now, as he wiped down the counter, he noticed him again—standing just outside, his hands in the pockets of his black coat, watching.
Emilio swallowed, forcing himself to focus. Maybe he was overthinking it. Maybe the guy just liked the atmosphere. Some people went to coffee shops just to work, after all.
But… he wasn't working. He wasn't even pretending to.
The bell above the door chimed, and Emilio had to fight not to flinch as the man stepped inside. The scent of espresso and warm vanilla wrapped around them, but it didn't soften the edge of the man's presence. He wasn't just someone passing through. He was a presence—heavy, deliberate, dangerous.
Emilio straightened, slipping easily into his usual customer-friendly smile. "Welcome back."
The man didn't reply right away. Instead, he walked up to the counter, his dark gaze sweeping over Emilio like he was memorizing him.
Then—finally—he spoke.
"You notice me."
Emilio blinked. "Excuse me?"
The man's lips tilted into something that wasn't quite a smile. "You've been watching me, too."
A flicker of something sharp curled in Emilio's chest—something between nervousness and intrigue. His fingers tightened around the towel in his hands. "Well, you have been coming here a lot."
"You don't ask why."
"Should I?"
The man didn't answer. Instead, he reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a bill, sliding it onto the counter.
"For what?" Emilio asked, eyeing the money.
The man's gaze didn't waver. "Surprise me."
Emilio hesitated, then sighed, turning toward the display case. If this guy wasn't going to explain himself, the least he could do was pick something simple. He grabbed a small lemon tart, plated it, and slid it across the counter.
The man stared at it, then at Emilio. "You think I'd like this?"
Emilio shrugged. "You said you don't eat sweets. Thought I'd ease you in."
A slow, almost amused look crossed the man's face. "You're careful with your choices."
"Something tells me you're the same way."
For a long moment, they just looked at each other—something thick, charged, curling between them like smoke. Then, finally, the man picked up the tart.
"I'll be back," he murmured, turning toward the door.
Emilio didn't know why his heart was racing as he watched him leave.
But one thing was clear.
This was not the last time that man would walk into his bakery.
And something told him… he wasn't sure if he wanted it to be.
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