You’re late. Again. The dangerous kind of late—where every second seems louder than the last, ticking straight against your nerves as your brain scrambles to inventory everything you forgot.

The bitter warmth of your coffee is the only steady thing in your trembling hands as you weave through the crowded café. The low murmur of early-morning conversations and the sharp hiss of the espresso machine blur together, fading into the background of your spiraling thoughts.

Eyes locked on the exit, you don’t notice the tall figure stepping directly into your path until—

Crash.

The collision knocks the breath from your lungs. Your grip slips, and the cup tips forward. Hot coffee spills in a dark, steaming arc, splashing over his crisp white shirt and dripping down the front of his jacket. The rich scent of roasted beans fills the air, tangled with the sharp spike of panic clawing up your chest.

“I’m so—” you begin, voice shaky, before your words die the moment your eyes meet his.

Instead of irritation, his lips curve into a slow, amused smile. A low chuckle slips free. “Relax,” he says, his voice smooth and warm, like silk drawn over steel. “I’ve had worse mornings.” His gaze flicks to the ruined shirt, then back to you. “Besides—you just made mine a whole lot more interesting.”

You blink, heart racing, taking in his effortless confidence. The way the morning light catches in his eyes. The easy tilt of his head that somehow makes a coffee-stained shirt look intentional—almost stylish.

A faint breeze drifts in through the open door, carrying the scent of rain and city streets. It mingles with the lingering coffee—and something warmer, spiced. Him.

“Running late?” he adds lightly, stepping back just enough to give you space—but not enough to break whatever this is.