Chapter 2: Coffee and Chemistry
Lena couldn’t stop thinking about him.
The rain had dried, but Ethan Vale’s voice still echoed in her ears like a song you couldn’t turn off. Soft. Confident. Calming. She lay on her bed, staring at the ceiling like it might answer the questions spinning in her head.
Was it a fluke? A twist of fate? Or something else entirely?
Ding.
Her phone lit up on the nightstand. Unknown number.
Ethan: “Hope you survived the diner coffee. Still owe you birthday pancakes done right.”
She stared at the message. Smiled. Then frowned.
He didn’t ask for her number.
She hadn’t given it to him.
Her fingers hovered.
“Maybe I gave it to him,” she muttered. “In the panic. Maybe I just forgot.”
She replied: “Barely. Let me know when you find better pancakes.”
Seconds later, it buzzed again.
Ethan: “Tomorrow. 9am. Stone & Ivy Café. Best espresso in the city. My treat—again.”
She reread it three times.
He’s forward, she thought. Confident. Maybe too confident.
She typed: “You always schedule dates this fast?”
Ethan: “Only with women who wear broken cake like perfume.”
Stone & Ivy was tucked between a flower shop and an old bookstore, the kind of place that smelled like cardamom and nostalgia. When Lena arrived the next morning, he was already there—seated by the window, flipping through a notebook.
She paused in the doorway, watching him for a beat.
He looked... different in daylight. Not just handsome—composed. Like someone who made his bed every morning and cleaned his kitchen after every meal. A little too perfect.
“Morning,” she said, sliding into the seat across from him.
“You’re punctual. I like that.”
“Birthday girls don’t oversleep the next day,” she smiled.
“You slept in my jacket,” he said suddenly.
She blinked. “Excuse me?”
“Last night. I forgot to ask for it back.”
“Oh. Right. I’ll—wash it and bring it next time.”
“So there’ll be a next time?”
He looked directly at her.
She smirked. “Maybe. Depends on how good this espresso is.”
He flagged the waitress without breaking eye contact. “One cortado, one double espresso. You look like a double shot kind of girl.”
“That obvious?”
“You wear tired like it’s designer.”
She laughed, despite herself.
The waitress returned, placed their drinks. Lena took a sip.
“Oh, wow,” she murmured.
“Told you,” he said.
They drank in silence for a moment. The city murmured outside the window. Somewhere, a siren wailed in the distance. Life kept moving.
“So,” she said, “do you always rescue strangers in dark alleys, or was I just lucky?”
“Honestly?” he leaned forward. “I saw you walk by the bookstore window. You looked like you needed a miracle.”
She raised an eyebrow. “That’s very poetic.”
“I was a literature major.”
“Of course you were.”
He laughed. “Why’s that sound like an insult?”
“Because literature majors are dangerous. You people feel too much.”
He grinned. “Guilty.”
She studied him. There was something off about how quickly he became... comfortable. Like they were old friends. Or lovers from a dream she couldn’t quite remember.
“So what do you really do?” she asked. “Besides punch out criminals.”
“Real estate.”
“Salesman?”
“More development. Old buildings. New ideas.”
“Sounds vague.”
“Sounds cooler than 'rich guy in suits,'” he replied with a wink.
She laughed again. “Touché.”
He leaned back, hands wrapped around his cup.
“You’re suspicious of me.”
“Should I be?”
“You’ve been checking your phone every few minutes. You’re scanning the café. Your fingers keep playing with your ring.”
Lena looked down. Her thumb had, unconsciously, been spinning the gold band on her right hand.
“You’re observant.”
“I have to be. I like staying one step ahead.”
She hesitated. “Of what?”
“Everything.”
The smile on his lips didn’t match the shadow in his voice.
“I have to ask,” she said slowly. “How did you get my number?”
He didn’t flinch. “You gave it to me when I walked you home. You don’t remember?”
She tried to recall. Her brain said no, but her logic said maybe.
“I guess I was still in shock.”
He nodded. “I would’ve asked anyway. You looked like someone I didn’t want to disappear into the crowd.”
He said it with no flirtation. Just truth.
And somehow, that was more disarming.
They talked for over an hour. He told her about growing up upstate. About his mom teaching him to read before kindergarten. About how he hated birthdays too—especially his own.
“Why?” she asked.
“Because people expect you to be happy. It’s like a rule. And if you’re not, something’s wrong with you.”
She stared at him for a long second.
“Exactly,” she whispered.
When the check came, he waved her off.
“You can get the next one.”
“There’s a next one?”
He smiled. “Now you’re being forward.”
He walked her to the curb. The rain had started again, soft and steady.
“I’ll message you,” he said.
She nodded. “Looking forward to it.”
“Me too.”
As he turned away, she stopped him.
“Hey, Ethan?”
He looked back.
“Thanks. For yesterday. For today. For... not being a creep.”
His eyes warmed. “You’re welcome. Just don’t prove me wrong, Lena.”
“About what?”
“That some people actually deserve good things.”
Back in her apartment, Lena curled up on the couch with a blanket and her laptop.
She opened a private browser window.
Typed: Ethan Vale – New York.
Searches came up—bare bones. Real estate listings. A LinkedIn page. A donation to a mental health nonprofit last year.
No red flags.
But something in her gut still buzzed.
Still... she smiled as she closed the tab.
She wanted to believe in this. In him.
Even if her instincts whispered otherwise.
Across the city, in a sleek penthouse overlooking the skyline, Ethan Vale stood in front of a mirror, unbuttoning his shirt.
He paused.
Looked at his own reflection.
And smiled.
