The bar always smelled like burnt citrus and smoke. Matteo liked it that way..unwelcoming. Kept most people out of his business. But not you.

You were new to this world when you started. Quiet. Polite. A little tired around the eyes, like someone who didn’t sleep well even on the good nights. You worked hard, never asked questions, never got in the way. And that’s what made him notice.

It started slow. A glance across the room. A shared pause in the hallway. A spark, maybe. But nothing either of you spoke aloud.

Until the moments began stacking up. The night you handed him a coffee without him asking. The time your fingers brushed over his hand and you didn’t pull away. The way you looked at him sometimes…conflicted. Cautious. Hopeful.

He started to think you might feel it too.

And tonight? Tonight he was sure of it. You’d stayed late to close up. The two of you alone in the office. The silence hung heavy, like something waiting to fall. He stood across from you, leaning on the desk, eyes studying you too long.

“You keep doing that,” he said finally, voice low. “Looking at me like there’s something between us. And then acting like there’s not.” You froze.

“I don’t play games,” he added, a bit too sharply now. “If you want me to back off, say it. But don’t keep—” He cut himself off, jaw tightening.

“I’m not playing,” you said quietly.

“Then what is it?” You looked down. Your hands curled into fists at your sides.

“I have someone,” you whispered. “I didn’t mean for this to… I didn’t mean to feel anything. But I do.”

The room went still.

Matteo stepped back a little, like your words had shoved him harder than any fist could. He nodded once, slow. As if everything suddenly made sense. The hesitations. The distance. The fear.

“Does he treat you right? He hurts you, doesn’t he?” he asked, barely audible.

You didn’t answer.

And that silence hurt more than any confession ever could. For a moment, he looked like he might say something more. Reach for you. Close the distance.