LANA'S POV
The next morning, the café felt unusually quiet.
After yesterday's whirlwind of caffeine, chaos, and Caleb, I expected to wake up feeling wrung out. Instead, I felt... steady.
Like something inside me had settled for the first time in weeks.
I stepped into the shop a little earlier than usual. The sky outside was still a sleepy shade of silver, the street lights blinking lazily as the sun threatened to rise.
I turned on the overhead lights, brewed a fresh pot of house roast, and leaned against the counter as the familiar warmth wrapped around me.
Everything smelled like comfort. Like home.
My phone buzzed.
Caleb:
"You survived?"
I smiled before I even opened it.
Me:
Barely. Pretty sure I dreamt of coffee cups chasing me.
Caleb:
You mean like that one near your left foot?
I glanced down, startled and there he was, on the other side of the glass door, holding two large takeaway cups and grinning like a schoolboy who got away with something.
I unlocked the door and raised an eyebrow. "Do you ever knock?"
"Too early to be polite," he said, stepping in and handing me one of the cups. "Chai latte. I figured you'd be over espresso for a bit."
"You assumed correctly."
He sat at his usual corner stool while I sipped slowly, watching him. There was a different energy between us this morning.
Comfortable. Easy and even though we hadn't put labels on whatever this thing was between us, it felt like we were moving somewhere unspoken.
He wasn't running. I wasn't hiding.
And somehow, that was enough.
"I meant what I said yesterday," Caleb said suddenly, breaking the silence. "Helping you? It grounded me. And not just because you make really good coffee."
I gave him a small smile. "What's going on with you, Caleb? I mean really?"
He looked away, jaw tightening like he was weighing how much of the truth to offer.
"There's a lot I can't explain yet," he said slowly. "But I want you to know… I'm trying. To clean up the mess I've been living in."
I nodded, understanding more than I let on. Some messes weren't made in a day, and they didn't clean up easily either.
Before I could respond, the tablet buzzed again.
Another large order.
I braced myself.
Customer Name: Zahra Montclair.
Order: Reservation for 15. Custom birthday breakfast. Reserved table, 10:00 AM.
I froze.
Zahra Montclair.
As in the Zahra Montclair,one of the most influential lifestyle influencers in the city. She'd built her brand on authenticity, style, and more importantly, public drama. Her visits to places could make or break a small business overnight.
I swallowed hard.
Caleb was watching me. "Who's Zahra?"
I gave a short, nervous laugh. "A walking storm. Social media royalty. And apparently, she's booked my café for a birthday breakfast in two hours."
"Big deal?"
"Huge." I rubbed my temple. "This place has never hosted someone that visible before. If she likes it, we go viral. If she doesn't…"
"You crash and burn."
"Exactly."
Caleb straightened. "Then let's make sure it's the first one."
I hesitated. "You're not expected to help again."
"I'm not expected to care this much either," he said gently. "And yet, here I am."
I didn't have the words for that. So instead, I handed him an apron.
"You're doing table setup."
---
By 9:30, the café had transformed.
Caleb arranged flowers in mismatched ceramic vases I rarely used, placing one on each reserved table.
I curated a custom breakfast menu with Mira's handwritten fonts, complete with a seasonal twist: orange blossom pancakes and cinnamon cappuccinos topped with edible gold flakes.
At 9:55 sharp, Zahra Montclair arrived with a breeze of perfume, a trailing camera crew, and a birthday crown tilted just slightly on her glossy curls.
"Charming," she said, scanning the space. "Minimalist meets vintage. I like it."
My heart only resumed beating when she smiled.
Her guests poured in, all curated elegance and curated chaos, laughing and posing and filming everything.
Caleb worked silently behind the bar with me, helping me prepare each custom drink while I plated the food.
Zahra ordered a pistachio rose latte.
Caleb watched me make it with precision, like the drink itself held the fate of the café in its foam art.
I brought it to her with shaking hands.
She took one sip.
Paused.
Then lifted her camera.
"This is phenomenal," she said. "Everyone, if you're ever in this town, you have to stop at Lantern Café. They made my birthday morning perfect."
The crew filmed. Her followers commented in real time. Within minutes, my café's tag notifications were blowing up.
I stepped back into the kitchen and braced myself against the counter, breath catching.
Caleb followed.
"You okay?"
I looked at him.
Then I really looked at him.
Disheveled, flour-dusted from helping with the pancakes, hair mussed from wiping his brow with the back of his wrist.
A billionaire… elbow-deep in batter.
And still here.
"I'm more than okay," I said softly.
We stood like that for a beat, neither moving, just absorbing what we'd just pulled off.
Then he said, "What if we made this… a thing?"
I blinked. "What kind of thing?"
"You and me. Real. No more disappearing. No more maybes."
I didn't answer right away.
I needed to think. To protect myself.
But deep down, I already knew.
He wasn't just a moment anymore.
He was slowly becoming part of my story.