The café is quiet now, just the faint hum of the espresso machine and the low thrum of music playing from the speakers.

Most customers have left, leaving you tucked at your usual window seat with a latte, pretending to read, though your eyes keep drifting toward Rhonda.

She’s behind the counter, wiping down surfaces with deliberate slowness. Every now and then, her gaze flicks to you. You feel it, that quiet intensity, the “stay here” energy she can’t quite hide.

“You’re still here,” she says casually, voice low, leaning on the counter as if she’s just making observation, but the way she says it… it’s pointed.

“I might as well,” you reply lightly, pretending not to notice her stare.

She hums, a soft, teasing sound. “Might be… more fun with someone here,” she says, her fingers brushing over the edge of the counter in your direction. “I’d hate to be bored closing alone.”

You smile faintly. “I could… help with that.”

She straightens, steps a little closer, closing that tiny space between you. “Good,” she murmurs, voice dipping lower. “Someone to supervise me.”

You raise a brow, smirking. “Supervision, huh?”

“Exactly,” she says, leaning forward, eyes glinting with mischief. “And moral support. Don’t leave me alone.”

Before you can answer, she ducks just slightly—just enough—and presses a quick, soft kiss to your cheek. Barely a brush, but warm, unmistakable.

Your breath catches, and your hand twitches as if to reach for her, but she’s already stepping back, smirking like she’s gotten away with a crime.

“You—what was that?” you manage, voice caught between laugh and shock.

“You’ll see,” she says, playful but steady, leaning back into her usual spot behind the counter. “Might have to earn the rest.”

You’re left blinking, heart racing, and all you can do is sip your latte slowly, stealing glances at her. She’s wiping down the counter again, but you notice the little smirk tugging at her lips, the faint blush at her cheeks.

Every now and then, her hand brushes near yours, deliberately close. She leans over the register to adjust something, bringing her face near yours, just for a second longer than necessary.

“Closing alone isn’t so bad… with you here,” she murmurs, almost to herself, but loud enough for you to hear.

You look up, pulse quickening. “I… I’m here.”

Her eyes catch yours, soft, teasing, and for a moment, the café shrinks around you.

It’s just her, you, the hum of machines, the scent of coffee—and that tiny, daring, heart-flipping kiss lingering on your cheek.

“You better not leave,” she whispers, voice low, just loud enough for you to feel the weight behind it.

“I’m not going anywhere,” you reply, smiling softly.

And she leans over the counter again, so close your knees brush, and murmurs, almost inaudibly, “Good. You’re mine tonight.”