Chapter 65: Late Night Coffee

Lisa’s POV

The office is too quiet at night.

Most of the building has already emptied out, the halls dark except for emergency lights casting thin strips of blue across the carpet. My desk lamp glows like a lone lighthouse in an ocean of shadow, illuminating scattered reports, half-finished strategy drafts, sticky notes with ideas I’ll probably rewrite a dozen more times.

I rub my temples, trying to keep my thoughts from unraveling. The boardroom fights with Leo. The emotional confession afterward. The weight of our next move against Andre. Everything feels heavier tonight, like each responsibility is anchoring itself deeper into my bones.

I tell myself I’ll leave soon, but I don’t move. Instead, I stare at the screen, rereading the same sentence again and again without absorbing any of it.

A soft knock taps at my office door.

My head lifts slowly, expecting maybe a janitor—or no one at all. Instead, Leo steps inside, holding two steaming paper cups, shoulders dusted with snowflakes from outside.

“I brought coffee,” he says. His voice is quiet, almost cautious.

I blink, surprised. “You… what? Why are you here?”

He lifts one cup slightly, as if that explains everything. “I was, um… driving by.”

A laugh slips out before I can stop it—a small, disbelieving sound. “Driving by? Leo, our house is on the complete opposite side of the city.”

He freezes, and for a moment, I see the truth flash across his face.

But he clears his throat, trying again. “Well… I could’ve taken a scenic route.”

A smile tugs at my lips despite the exhaustion weighing me down. I lean back in my chair. “Fine. Come in, scenic-route liar.”

He exhales a quiet laugh and closes the door behind him. As he walks over to my desk, the soft warmth of the coffee cups releases a wave of comforting scent—rich, dark, familiar. He sets one in front of me, the heat seeping instantly into my fingers when I touch it.

“Thanks,” I murmured. “I really needed this.”

“I know,” he says gently. “You looked… heavy today.”

The word disarms me.

He pulls out the chair across from my desk—the same one he sat in yesterday when I broke apart. But tonight, there’s no grief spiraling out of control. Just quiet fatigue and a strange sense of something unspoken stretching between us.

The lamp casts a soft glow on his face, highlighting the small lines around his eyes, the way his hair curls slightly at the ends when melted snow drips from it. He looks tired too—but warm. Present. Unusually open.

We sip our coffee in silence for a moment, the kind of silence that doesn’t ask for explanation, just breathes with us.

Finally, Leo speaks first.

“You know… today wasn’t just tension because of strategy.” He pauses, searching for words. “I was… frustrated. Not at you. At myself.”

I look up, startled. “Why?”

His gaze lowers to his coffee cup, fingers tightening slightly around it. “Because I care. And caring makes everything harder.”

My heart stutters. I set my cup down slowly. “Leo…”

“No, it’s okay.” He shakes his head softly. “I’m not asking for anything. I just… wanted you to know.”

That quiet honesty sinks into me deeper than it should.

He hesitates, then continues. “Can I tell you something? Something I don’t… really talk about?”

I nod. “Of course.”

He breathes in slowly, like he’s pulling courage from the air itself.

“When I was ten,” he begins, “my father used to forget me at school.”

The words hit me unexpectedly—simple, but weighted.

“I’d wait on the steps for hours,” he continues, his voice distant, threaded with something old. “Watching other kids run to their parents, climb into warm cars… and I’d just sit there with my backpack. Alone. Every time.”

My chest tightens painfully. “Leo…”

He looks up at me, eyes softer than I’ve ever seen them. “I think that’s why I get… intense. Why I push. Why I can’t stand the thought of someone being left to handle things by themselves. Because that feeling…” He shakes his head once. “It never really leaves you.”

I don’t realize a tear has slipped down my cheek until it reaches my chin. His voice, the admission, the vulnerability—it wounds and soothes me at the same time.

“I’m sorry,” I whisper.

“You don’t have to be sorry,” he says gently. “I just… wanted you to know why I showed up. Why I can’t seem to leave you alone when you’re carrying too much. It’s not strategy. It’s not obligation.” He pauses. “It’s… personal.”

The room feels too small suddenly. Too quiet. Too intimate.

I set my coffee aside and lean forward slightly, drawn in by the raw honesty in his voice.

“Thank you for telling me,” I say softly. “I know that wasn’t easy.”

“It wasn’t,” he admits. “But you looked like someone who deserved to know.”

My breath stirs between us.

His eyes meet mine—and stay.

Not flickering. Not guarded.

Just open.

Slowly, unconsciously, we both lean in.

I don’t know who moves first. It doesn’t matter. The distance between us shrinks inch by inch, like gravity is shifting, pulling us together. His knee brushes mine under the desk—light, accidental, electric.

His breath mixes with mine. Warm. Close. Too close.

“Lisa…” he murmurs.

My name sounds different on his lips—soft, almost reverent. My pulse quickens, aching for something I shouldn’t want, not now, not here, not yet.

Our faces inch closer.

His eyes flicker to my mouth—barely.

But enough.

My heartbeat echoes in my ears.

We’re one breath away.

One second away.

One slip away.

A quiet exhale escapes him, shaky, almost pained. “We… shouldn’t.”

“I know,” I whisper back, even though my body is betraying me by staying right where it is.

But instead of stepping forward, he pulls back.

And I do the same.

The air between us trembles with something unspoken—something too hot to touch without burning both of us.

Leo sets his coffee down slowly, deliberately, as if grounding himself.

He stands first, running a hand through his hair to steady himself. “I should… let you finish your work.”

“Yeah,” I breathe. “Probably.”

He walks toward the door, pausing with his hand on the frame. He doesn’t turn around, but his voice is soft, almost tender.

“Call me if you need anything, Lisa. Anything.”

The door clicks shut behind him.

And I’m left in the dim light, heart

pounding, breath uneven, and aware—painfully aware—that something between us is changing in ways neither of us can slow down anymore.