The coffee shop on Oak Street had been Claire’s sanctuary for years. Tucked between a used bookstore and an antique shop, it was her favorite place to escape the chaos of the city. The scent of freshly ground beans, the hum of conversation, the warmth of a corner booth—it all felt like home.
And then there was him.
Ethan Reynolds.
She didn’t know his name for the first few months. He was just the guy who always sat by the window with his laptop, nursing a black coffee while the world rushed by outside. He had a habit of running his fingers through his dark hair when he was focused and biting the end of his pen when he was stuck.
Claire had never spoken to him. Not really. Just stolen glances over her own cup of chai, exchanged polite nods when their eyes met. But something about him intrigued her—something quiet and steady, like an unsaid promise.
One rainy evening, fate intervened.
The storm outside was relentless, the kind that turned sidewalks into rivers and soaked unprepared pedestrians in seconds. Claire had been flipping through her notebook, trying to brainstorm ideas for her next article, when a crash of thunder made her jump.
“That bad, huh?”
She looked up, startled. Ethan was watching her with an amused smile, his coffee cup cradled between his hands.
Claire blinked. “What?”
“Whatever you’re working on. It looks painful.” He nodded toward her notebook, where she had scribbled and crossed out the same sentence five times.
She sighed dramatically. “It is. Deadline’s tomorrow, and my brain decided to go on vacation.”
Ethan chuckled, the sound warm and rich. “Writer’s block?”
She nodded. “You?” She gestured toward his laptop.
“Something like that,”
