Chapter Five

The scrap of paper sat on my kitchen counter like it was radioactive.

Adrian’s number, written in bold, deliberate handwriting, stared at me every time I walked past. I’d thrown my bag down hours ago, showered, made dinner, even tried to sketch—but no matter what I did, my eyes kept drifting back to it.

It wasn’t just a number. It was a question. A door. A choice.

And it scared me more than I wanted to admit.

Clara called just as I was pacing for the twentieth time.

“Well?” she demanded the second I answered.

“Well what?” I tried to sound casual, but my voice came out too sharp.

She snorted. “Don’t play dumb. Did you call him?”

I glanced at the number again, chewing my lip. “No.”

“Mia!” she groaned dramatically. “He’s literally the hottest man I’ve ever seen, and he basically drooled over you. Why haven’t you called him?”

“Because,” I snapped, then softened. “Because I don’t know him. And men like that… there’s always something. Too perfect, too smooth. He feels like trouble, Clara.”

She laughed. “Girl, you need a little trouble in your life.”

I rolled my eyes, flopping onto the couch. “Easy for you to say. You didn’t see the way he looked at me.”

“Oh, I saw,” she teased. “That’s why I left you two alone. And judging by your voice right now, it worked.”

I groaned, covering my face. “I hate you.”

“No, you don’t,” she sing-songed. “Now listen, you don’t have to marry the guy. Just… have a little fun. Flirt back. Call him.”

I didn’t answer, and Clara sighed dramatically. “Fine. Be boring. But if you don’t call him by tomorrow, I swear I’m stealing that number and calling him myself.”

“Clara—”

Click. She’d hung up.

I dropped the phone onto the couch and stared at the ceiling. Maybe she was right. Maybe I was overthinking this. One phone call didn’t mean anything. Except… it did. Because the way Adrian looked at me, the way I felt around him—it wasn’t casual. It wasn’t simple. It was like stepping into a storm and pretending I wouldn’t get struck by lightning.

I closed my eyes, exhaling. “Don’t call him,” I whispered to myself. “Don’t.”

The next morning, I still hadn’t decided.

I dressed in a hurry, choosing something safe—jeans, a white blouse, flats. Normal. Average. The opposite of the red silk dress that had started this whole mess. I tied my hair back, grabbed my bag, and marched out the door like a woman with no distractions.

Except when I walked into Ember Café again, there he was.

Sitting in the same corner. Coffee in hand. Waiting.

My stomach dropped.

Adrian’s gaze lifted immediately, locking on mine as though he’d known exactly when I’d walk in. And then—slow, deliberate—he smiled.

I froze in the doorway, heart hammering, realizing the decision had already been made for me.

Fate, apparently, wasn’t going to wait for me to dial his number.