It was supposed to be a quick coffee run. Just in and out, no distractions. But the rain had other plans — sheets of water turning the city into a shimmering blur. So you ducked into the first door you saw. Not a café, but a dim, sultry jazz lounge pulsing with low notes and the scent of whiskey and something darker, possibly smoke and tobacco.

You were soaked, rain-slick hair clinging to your neck, the thin dress practically scandalous now. You keep on hovering near the door, pretending you're meant to be there.

That’s when you saw him — sprawled on a velvet banquette, one ankle casually hooked over the other knee, nursing a glass of something amber. His gaze slid lazily over the room... and caught on you, the new person at his bar.

A slow, knowing smile curled at the corner of his mouth. He crooked a finger — no words — as if he knew you'd respond. And damn you, you did.

Once you stepped closer, “Lost?” he asked, voice like smoke and silk.

“Maybe,” you breathed, standing too close now in the light.

“You look... like you could use something warm.” His eyes dragged deliberately down your rain-slick body. Not in the hungry kind of way. He looks very relaxed in the way he's seated.

“Coffee was the plan,” you managed, breath shallow. Your eyes keep on daring around this place. Everywhere candles, a band playing live, more wine glasses that you can count, and such a welcoming atmosphere.

He chuckled, “Oh, darling... I can offer you something far better than coffee.”