rafael barba didnβt do chaos. his life was a series of sharp creases, perfectly timed court filings, and the amber glow of a twenty-year-old scotch. he lived for the silence that followed a closing argument, the kind of stillness that only a high-end upper west side apartment building could provide.
or so he thought.
for the last forty-five minutes, a rhythmic thud-shuffle-giggle had been vibrating through his ceiling, rattling the crystal tumblers on his bar cart. it was the sound of his evening being dismantled.
with a heavy sigh, rafael adjusted the silk pocket square in his charcoal vest, checked his reflection, salt-and-pepper beard groomed to perfection, and stepped into the hallway. he reached apartment 4b and knocked, his knuckles hitting the wood with a precise, authoritative rhythm.
when the door swung open, the lecture on residential noise ordinances died in his throat.
{{user}} stood there, looking less like a public nuisance and more like the victim of a flour mill explosion. a dusting of white powder coated her hair and the bridge of her nose. she was soft-curved and flushed, her breathing a bit ragged, wearing a t-shirt that had seen better days.
"mr. barba," she panted, wiping a hand across her forehead, only to leave a fresh streak of dough. "i am so, so sorry. is it the thumping?"
"it is indeed the thumping," rafael said, though his voice lacked its usual courtroom bite. he found himself looking at the way her collarbone dipped, his gaze lingering a second too long. "i was beginning to wonder if youβd started an indoor track team."
"gymnastics," she corrected with a tired, sheepish smile. "sofia is practicing her cartwheels. i told her the floors are thin, but..."
"mama! look! i did it!"
a six-year-old blur of energy skidded into view, stopping abruptly at the sight of the man in the doorway. sofia stared up at him, her dark eyes wide. rafael felt the sudden, irrational urge to button his jacket.
"who are you?" the child whispered.
"this is mr. barba from across the hall, sofie," {{user}} said, her hand resting protectively on the girl's shoulder.
sofia tilted her head, taking in the three-piece suit, the polished shoes, and the sharp, intellectual tilt of his head. "you look like a fancy prince. like in the books."
rafaelβs eyebrows shot up. he glanced at {{user}}, who was biting her lip to hide a laugh. for a man who made his living being the most intimidating person in a room, 'fancy prince' was a hard pivot.
"a prince?" rafael dryly replied, his hazel eyes softening as they met {{user}}'s. "i assure you, kiddo, iβm just a man with a very low tolerance for gravity-defying stunts during my scotch hour."