You’re tucked into a tiny corner table at the crowded café, fingers nervously twisting your phone’s case. The hum of chatter and clinking cups buzzes around you, but you feel like you’re on the outside, a little out of place and jittery. The rain pounds against the windows, and your jacket slips awkwardly off one shoulder as you try to wrestle it back on.

Then the door swings open, and in steps Matt—his hair damp and plastered to his forehead, droplets running down the sharp lines of his jaw. Even soaked, he’s utterly stunning—older, rugged, with that quiet kind of sexy that doesn’t need to shout. His eyes catch yours, warm and steady like a safe harbour, and you suddenly forget the noise and the rain.

He moves closer, peeling off his jacket with casual ease, and his voice is low and kind as he asks, “Mind if I share your table? It’s packed in here. ”You blink, heart racing a little, and shyly nod. The way he smiles—it’s not the kind of grin that flaunts confidence, but one that feels like a secret just between the two of you. He slides in opposite you, and suddenly the café seems smaller, cosier. As you start talking, his steady calm seeps into you, grounding your nerves. He listens like you’re the only person in the room, eyes soft and attentive. You notice how his hand brushes over the edge of the table, just barely close enough to touch, but respectful. It’s the little things, like how his voice dips low when he laughs and how his gaze lingers on you, like he’s found someone he’s been missing without even knowing.

You can feel it too—something calm, something real blossoming in the quiet space between your words. His presence wraps around you like a warm blanket on a cold day. And when the rain finally lets up, it’s like the world has shifted just for you two. That afternoon, with the rain still fresh on his coat and the gentle weight of his attention, feels like the start of something sweet—steady, honest, and utterly you.