Chapter 9
Morning hit like a slap.
Viola groaned as sunlight spilt through her half-closed blinds. Her phone was still clutched in her hand, last night's messages glowing like embers on the screen. Her thumb hovered over Mack's name again, but she stopped herself.
Don't start the day like that, she warned herself. You're already on the edge.
Dragging herself up, she padded to the kitchen. The kettle hissed, the toast popped too early, and she felt the weight of everything pressing down on her. Her lips were still tingling from the memory of his words.
"Don't lock the door when I do."
What the hell did that even mean?
By the time she dressed and pulled her hair into a quick low bun, her nerves were wired. She slipped into jeans, boots, and a soft brown sweater that hung loose off one shoulder — casual, but careful.
The city outside was already humming.
Downstairs, her Uber was waiting. Her favourite café was packed, and as she passed the glass front, she spotted Samantha inside — apron on, two plates in hand, hips swaying as she darted between tables.
The restaurant was chaos — but familiar chaos. The rush of footsteps, plates clinking, espresso machines hissing. Viola smiled.
Normal.
It was exactly what she needed.
"Hey!" Sam called, eyes lighting up the second she spotted her. "You're late. You okay?"
Viola dropped her bag behind the counter and pulled on an apron. "No. Not really."
Sam paused. "Did he text you?"
Viola sighed, tying her apron. "Last night."
"Oooh." Sam raised an eyebrow. "The 'I'm coming for you' type of text?"
Viola gave her a tight, warning look.
"So, yes," Sam smirked. "Girl, you need to hydrate. That man is on a mission."
They both laughed — but Viola's was nervous, breathy, unsure. Deep down, her stomach wouldn't settle.
The morning dragged on. Locals filled the tables. A businessman argued on his phone. A mom tried to quiet a screaming toddler. Every time the door chimed, Viola glanced up, expecting him.
Hoping.
Dreading.
By 11 a.m., she was wiping down menus, when Sam leaned over and whispered, "Hey, did you lock your door last night?"
Viola stiffened. "Why?"
Sam shrugged with an innocent look. "No reason. Just curious."
Viola muttered something under her breath and grabbed the next table's order.
She didn't know what was coming — only that the world kept spinning. Coffees poured. Eggs sizzled. Life went on.
But deep down, she knew… Something was about to change.
And it had Mack written all over it. The lunch rush hadn't even started, but Viola already felt heat gathering at the base of her neck — not from exhaustion, but from pressure.
From waiting.
From him.
She balanced two cappuccinos on her tray as the café filled with that distinct buzz of chatter and clinking silverware. A light jazz tune floated through the air, soft and misleading. Everything looked normal. But her insides churned.
Sam noticed.
She always noticed.
The second Viola set the tray down behind the bar, Sam swooped in and leaned against the counter with a sly grin. "You've been jumpy all morning."
"I have not," Viola muttered, grabbing a cloth and furiously wiping a clean table.
Sam raised a brow. "You wiped that one three times already. We're gonna wear through the wood."
Viola paused. Busted.
She dropped the cloth and folded her arms. "I didn't sleep well."
Sam smirked, drying a glass. "Is that because of a certain man who texts like a dark poem and stares like he's carving his name into your soul?"
"I hate you."
"You love me."
They both giggled — but only for a moment. There was something unspoken in the air, and Sam's face softened as she leaned closer.
"Vi… are you scared of him?"
Viola blinked.
"No," she said carefully. "Not scared. Just… he's intense. He looks at me like I'm a secret he's already solved. It's unsettling."
"Hot, though."
"Sam."
"What? I mean, it's been how long since someone made your stomach flip?" Sam said. "He's obsessed. But in a... possessive protector kind of way. Not the stalker kind."
"Not yet," Viola muttered, then laughed despite herself.
Sam grinned. "Do you want him to come in?"
"No."
A pause.
"…Yes."
Another pause.
"…No."
Sam threw a dish towel over her shoulder and sighed. "You're a mess. A s*xy, unreadable mess. No wonder he's losing his mind."
Viola leaned her elbows on the counter. "I can't let myself fall into this again. I barely made it out last time."
"This is different," Sam said gently. "Your last one was a coward. Mack doesn't seem like the type to run."
"No," Viola whispered. "He's the type to chase."
And somewhere in the pit of her stomach… she wasn't sure if she wanted to be caught.
The café doors opened — and both women snapped their heads up.
Just a delivery guy.
They both exhaled.
Viola laughed under her breath. "We're acting like teenagers."
"Speak for yourself," Sam said, turning back to the espresso machine. "I'm fully prepared to scream if he shows up in a black suit."
Viola's phone buzzed.
She looked down.
Mack: "Keep looking at that door. I'll be on the other side soon."
Her blood turned electric. Viola stared at the message, breath trapped in her chest.
Keep looking at that door. I'll be on the other side soon.
Her fingers hovered over the screen like it was wired to explode. She locked it and shoved the phone into her apron pocket like that might erase the lightning still crawling up her spine.
"Was that him?" Sam asked, already knowing the answer.
Viola didn't speak.
Sam set down a stack of clean plates and sighed. "Okay, we need to talk. No flirting, no jokes. Just real talk. Woman to woman."
Viola folded her arms. "Do we have to?"
"Yes," Sam said firmly. "Because I know that look. You're already halfway down a road you said you'd never walk again."
Viola bristled. "He's not my ex."
"No. He's worse. He's powerful, magnetic, intimidating. And he's watching you. Always watching. And you like it."
Viola turned away, adjusting a stack of menus that didn't need adjusting. "I don't know what I like anymore."
Sam came up behind her, lowering her voice. "Vi. I love you. But don't confuse fire for safety. Just because he makes you feel again doesn't mean he's right for you."
Viola stayed quiet.
"You promised yourself you'd rebuild on your own. You were doing it. Books, late nights writing, rebuilding your spine one coffee at a time."
Viola finally spoke. "And then he walked in."
"Yes," Sam said. "He walked in. And turned your world upside down. That kind of man can light up your life—or burn it to the ground."
Viola exhaled slowly, eyes on the river just outside the glass. "But… what if I want the fire?"
Sam was quiet for a long moment. Then: "Then go in with your eyes open. Set your own rules. Don't wait for him to define you. You define how far this goes."
Viola met her best friend's eyes, searching for a steady place to land.
"Make him earn you," Sam added, her tone gentler. "He's a storm. That doesn't mean you have to stand in the middle of it with no umbrella."
Viola nodded slowly. "Let him be the storm," she said quietly. "I'll build the shelter."
Sam gave a warm smile and gently bumped her shoulder. "You're the toughest woman I know. If you fall for him, fall with armour."
Viola's phone buzzed again.
This time, she didn't check it. Not yet.
Because this time… she wasn't waiting for the fire to consume her.
This time… she was going to shape it.