Chapter 10 010
The word felt like it echoed under the stone bridge, louder than the river.
“Yes.”
Leo didn’t smile. He didn’t look relieved. He just absorbed the word, his intense gaze holding mine as if verifying its truth. He gave a single, slow nod. “Tomorrow. Ten a.m. The place by the old courthouse. The one with the green awning.”
I knew it. It was quiet, tucked away, not part of my normal routine. A neutral location he’d clearly scouted. Of course he had.
“I’ll be there,” I said, my voice steadier than I felt.
“Good.” He lingered for another second, his eyes tracing my face one more time, as if memorizing the moment. Then, without another word, he turned and walked away, his form disappearing quickly up the path and around the bend.
I stood there by the rushing water, the cold seeping through my jacket. I’d just agreed to a date. A real, intentional date with the most mysterious and unsettling man I’d ever met.
The rest of the day was a blur. I tried to work, but my sketches were full of stormy eyes and strong jawlines instead of foxgloves. Amanda called.
“You sound weird. What’s wrong? Did you see the spreadsheet guy? He was even more boring than predicted.”
“No,” I said, staring at my blank notebook. “I saw Leo. By the river.”
The line went so quiet I thought we’d been disconnected. “Amanda?”
“I’m processing,” she whispered dramatically. “The plot thickens. Was it a confrontation? A watery duel? Did he admit to being a vampire?”
“It was a conversation. And… I’m having coffee with him. Tomorrow. At ten.”
This time the silence was absolute. Then a deafening squeal pierced my ear. “CHLOE! This is it! This is the montage! What are you going to wear? What are you going to say? You have to let me come and spy from a potted plant.”
“You will do no such thing. And I don’t know. Something normal. Something that says ‘I’m a sane person who occasionally has coffee with enigmatic neighbors.’”
“Wear the blue dress,” she commanded. “The one from the bistro. It works. And for the love of all that is good, turn your phone off. No hockey player interruptions.”
That night, sleep was impossible. Every creak of the building felt like it came from his apartment. Was he awake too? Was he thinking about tomorrow, or was it just another meeting in his meticulously planned life?
The next morning, I was a bundle of nerves. I put on the blue dress. I fiddled with my hair. I applied a little makeup, then rubbed most of it off. I didn’t want to look like I was trying too hard. But I was trying. Hard.
At five minutes to ten, I stood in front of the coffee shop with the green awning. My hands were cold. I took a deep breath and pushed the door open.
The bell jingled. The shop was all warm wood and the rich smell of roasted beans. It was half-full, quiet.
And he was already there.
He sat at a corner table, his back to the wall, giving him a clear view of the entire room. He wore a dark grey sweater that made his eyes look even stormier. A cup of black coffee sat untouched in front of him. He wasn’t on his phone. He wasn’t reading. He was just sitting, waiting, his posture radiating a contained energy.
He saw me the moment I entered. He didn’t wave. He just watched me walk to the table, his gaze a physical touch.
“You’re early,” I said, sliding into the chair opposite him.
“I am always early,” he replied. His voice was calm, but his eyes were everywhere—taking in my dress, my face, the way I tucked my hair behind my ear. “It is a habit. Would you like a coffee?”
“A latte, please. With vanilla.”
He lifted a hand, and a server appeared almost instantly. He gave my order without looking away from me. The server scurried off.
We were alone again in our quiet corner. The hum of the coffee grinder, the soft indie music, it all felt far away.
“Thank you for coming,” he said formally.
“Thank you for asking.” I folded my hands in my lap to keep them from fidgeting. “So. No more standing in the middle.”
“No.” He leaned forward, just slightly. “But before we proceed, there is something you should know. A… disclosure.”
My breath caught. This was it. The truth about the sniffing, the stillness, the superhuman awareness. My pulse thundered in my ears. “Okay.”
He held my gaze, his own serious. “The company I run, Blackwood Industries. It is a family enterprise. My role is not merely a job. It is a legacy. With it comes… expectations. Obligations. A certain way of life that is not entirely my own to choose.”
It wasn’t what I expected. It was corporate, vague. But his eyes were begging me to read between the lines.
“What kind of obligations?” I asked softly.
“Marital obligations,” he said, the words crisp. “My family is… traditional. They have plans. Alliances to consider. My being here, in this city, is a temporary reprieve. A delay of the inevitable, in their view.”
An arranged marriage. That’s what he was hinting at. The pieces clicked—his self-exile, his need to pretend, his desperation when he said he was ‘unaccustomed’ to normal interaction.
“And what’s in your view?” I asked.
For the first time since I sat down, he looked away, his jaw tightening. “My view became complicated the moment I smelled your perfume in the third-floor hallway.”
The blunt, raw honesty of it stole my breath. My latte arrived, a temporary barrier. I wrapped my hands around the warm cup.
“You’re saying you’re promised to someone else.” I stated it flatly.
“I am saying my family expects me to choose someone from a very specific, approved circle. Someone who understands our… world. I came here to escape that pressure. To breathe.” He looked back at me, his eyes blazing with a fierce truth. “And then I found you. And you are the only thing that has ever made me feel like I am breathing real air.”
The confession hung between us, huge and terrifying. He wasn’t free. He was a prince in a gilded cage, and he was asking me to step inside with him, even though he had no key.
“That’s a lot to bring to a first coffee date,” I said, my voice thin.
“It is the only thing to bring,” he countered, his voice low and urgent. “Anything less would be a lie. And I will not lie to you, Chloe. Not anymore. You asked to see the machine. This is a central cog.”
I sipped my latte, the sweet vanilla taste at odds with the bitter reality he was serving. He was giving me an out. A clear, logical reason to run far and fast.
“So this coffee,” I said slowly, setting my cup down. “Is it just a conversation? Or is it the start of you choosing to defy those expectations?”
He didn’t hesitate. “It is me choosing you. If you will have me. Knowing the complications. The battle it will invite.”
The word ‘battle’ sent a chill through me. This wasn’t just about family disapproval. It sounded like a war.
I looked at him—this beautiful, intense, trapped man who saw something in me he was willing to fight his whole world for. The danger was real. The fear was a cold knot in my stomach.
But the pull… the pull toward him was a live wire, humming with a truth deeper than fear.
“I don’t know your world,” I whispered. “I don’t know the rules.”
A ghost of a smile, sad and determined, touched his lips. “Then let me show you. One coffee at a time.”
I looked down at my hands, then back into his stormy, waiting eyes. The middle was gone. There was only forward, into the storm, or back to a life that already felt colorless.
I took a deep, shuddering breath.
“Okay,” I said. “Show me.”