The next morning, Miranda woke up exhausted.
Physically she felt ok but emotionally she was a mess.
Her dream clung to her skin like humidity, her pulse nervously fluttering every time she remembered the way Raphael's lips had moved against hers. She had barely been able to look at herself in the mirror without seeing the desire etched across her features.
"No," she whispered to her reflection. "We're not doing this."
She wasn't going to ruin her life.
She wasn't going to repeat the mistake that countless other wives had.
She wasn't going to fall for a man who made her feel things she didn't want to feel.
She had a husband, A business, A life she was building. This… craving… would destroy everything.
So she made a decision, She would avoid him, again. Completely, Totally. This time with an iron will.
That morning she dressed quickly for the café, fixing her hair in the simplest bun she could manage. No makeup. No perfume. No reason for him to look at her twice.
She would be cool, professional and distant.
She would become someone he had no reason to linger around.
Or so she told herself.
But the universe had other plans.
Her first task was to avoid his usual time. She knew he normally came in around 10 a.m. So she took a break at 9:55 and went upstairs to the storage room, sat on a crate and counted spoons just to pass time.
But at exactly 10:01…
Her sister, Camille, rushed upstairs, today was one of those days she would help out in the cafe because she had nothing to do.
"Miranda! A customer wants you specifically."
Miranda's stomach dropped. "Did he… say his name?"
"No, but he's foreign," Camille said with her eyebrows raised. "Not from this country. And very… fine. Miranda, you're not planning on taking a second husband are you?"
"Stop."
Miranda stood up too fast, nearly tripping.
This was exactly what she wanted to avoid but she couldn't hide. It would be obvious, suspicious. So she went downstairs and there he was.
Raphael, sitting by the window, sunlight haloing his hair like he was handcrafted by a mischievous god determined to ruin her resolve. He smiled softly when he saw her, his eyes warming.
"Morning," he said gently.
Her throat tightened. "Good morning."
The dream surged through her mind like a pulse, his lips on hers, her body melting into him. She snapped upright. "My sister will take your order."
Then she turned on her heel and marched into the kitchen like a soldier fleeing the battlefield but the moment the kitchen door swung shut behind her, she leaned against it, heart pounding painfully. Her avoidance wasn't working, It was making everything worse.
For the past few weeks she had made his special coffee herself. It was something she enjoyed, something that connected them. Now, she refused. She passed the recipe to her sister, stood far away, pretending not to care.
But as Camille worked, Raphael accidentally spilled sugar on the counter. Miranda flinched.
"Sorry!" he called apologetically.
Camille laughed. "Don't worry, I'll clean it."
She tried wiping the spill, but the sugar stuck stubbornly, melting slightly against the warm metal from the coffee machine.
"It's fine, I'll do it," Miranda blurted.
Why did she say that? Why did she take the cloth? Why was she moving toward the exact man she was trying to avoid?
She cursed the universe silently. As she bent to clean, he bent too, reaching for a napkin to help. Their heads nearly collided but thankfully they froze inches apart.
Her breath caught, His inhale was sharp, Heat crackled in the air between them like static electricity.
"Sorry," he whispered.
Miranda's hand trembled. "It's fine." But it wasn't fine, nothing about this was fine.
After their near head-bump, she tried again, deciding to avoid conversation
No more eye contact, No more conversation, No more anything.
When he tried to initiate a conversation, she gave one-word or two-word answers.
"How is your morning?"
"Good."
"You seem tired."
"I'm fine."
"Is something wrong?"
"No."
He studied her face quietly, too perceptive for her comfort but then Camilie came over at the worst possible moment, eyes wide and sparkly with excitement.
"Miranda," she whispered loudly, "do you know he's an artist?"
Miranda raised an eye brow. "What?" When did they start conversing already, Miranda wondered.
Raphael chuckled softly. "I have a small studio nearby."
Nearby??? Of course he does. Because why wouldn't the universe give him more chances for him to get her to fall even deeper?
"Oh!" Camilie beamed. "You should go see it sometime, maybe take a few photos and have it framed!"
"Sure, Camilie," Miranda hissed through her teeth.
"What? It's friendly, you patronize his business, he patronizes yours!" Camilie blinked while smiling, oblivious to her sister's inner turmoil
Raphael's gaze lingered on Miranda's flustered expression. "You're welcome anytime," he said warmly.
She didn't respond. She couldn't, because her chest was tightening again.
Her pulse betrayed her and her body remembered the wet dream she had yesterday night about Raphael.
She excused herself abruptly and escaped to the back room again.
By afternoon, she was exhausted from running, avoidance, she realized, wasn't stopping anything. It was only feeding the tension, every time she pulled away, something pushed her back toward him.
A spilled cup, a broken machine, a random delivery mix-up, a customer complaint. Every problem seemed to require her stepping out, and every time she did, he was right there, watching her with patient, gentle eyes…
Eyes that made her stomach flutter, eyes that made the café feel smaller than it was. She hated it… yet she wanted it and she hated that she wanted it.
By late afternoon, she gave up, she wiped a hand over her face, took a deep breath, and walked back onto the café floor with quiet resignation.
He was by the window, sketching something in his notebook.
Her breath caught when she saw what he was sketching
It was a drawing of her. Her hair piled in a messy bun, her eyes downcast with concentration and her hands holding a coffee cup. Delicate, Soft, Beautiful… in a way she didn't recognize herself as.
She asked with amazed curiosity. "Why… why are you drawing me?"
He looked up, startled but honest. "Because I can't help it." The warmth in his voice wrapped around her like arms.
Her chest tightened painfully.
She looked away. "Raphael… I don't… I don't know why your being so nice but what you want, i dont think am ready for it"
"Then let it just be something simple," he said softly. "A friendship, maybe?" he said trying to hide his disappointment, why was she so guarded, he felt like he took one step forward and then two steps backwards.
Her heart thumped, A friendship. She could do that.
She needed something stable, something manageable and maybe… if she put a label on it, the chaos inside her would calm.
"Friends," she repeated huskily.
He nodded Gently, Respectfully.
"And as friends," he said, "would you like to come see my studio?"
Her breath froze. This was what she'd been trying to avoid and yet… Her soul whispered yes. Her body whispered yes. Her loneliness whispered yes but she kept her voice steady. "We're just… friends."
"Of course," he said, though the meaning beneath his words trembled. "Just friends."
Miranda inhaled deeply and whispered "Fine. Show me."