Cee sighed as she wiped down the counter, enjoying the brief lull between customers. The familiar scent of roasted coffee beans and vanilla syrup filled the air, comforting in its own way. She glanced at the door just as the bell chimed.
Carlos.
He walked in alone this time, dressed in his usual dark ensemble—jeans, a fitted shirt that hinted at his toned physique, and a leather jacket that made him look effortlessly cool. His presence alone made the small café feel smaller. He moved with a quiet confidence, his sharp gaze scanning the room before landing on her.
Cee's stomach did a weird little flip.
She quickly busied herself behind the counter as he approached.
"The usual?" she asked, keeping her tone neutral.
Carlos nodded, his intense eyes never leaving her. "Yeah."
As she turned to prepare his coffee, she could still feel his gaze on her, like a silent weight pressing against her back. She tried to ignore it, but the heat of his stare sent an involuntary shiver down her spine. What was his deal today?
She placed the steaming cup in front of him. "Here you go."
Carlos didn't respond immediately. He took the cup, his fingers brushing hers ever so slightly. The moment passed too quickly, but her pulse had already quickened.
"Thanks," he muttered.
Instead of drinking, he just sat there, watching her.
Cee tried to focus on the customers, moving from table to table, taking orders, and chatting with regulars. But every time she turned, Carlos was still looking at her, his expression unreadable. It was both unsettling and—though she'd never admit it—thrilling.
Just as she was about to approach him and ask if something was wrong, the bell chimed again, announcing another customer.
A tall man in his late forties sauntered in, reeking of alcohol despite it being early in the evening. His shirt was wrinkled, his eyes bloodshot. Cee had seen his type before—loud, cocky, and convinced that any woman within arm's reach was fair game.
She plastered on a polite smile. "Good evening, sir. What can I get you?"
The man grinned, leaning on the counter. "How about your number, sweetheart?"
Cee's smile stiffened. "I'm sorry, but I'm working. Would you like to order something?"
The man chuckled. "Come on, don't be like that. Just trying to have a little fun."
Carlos shifted in his seat, his grip tightening around his coffee cup.
Cee kept her voice firm but professional. "Sir, I'll have to ask you to order or give way to other customers."
Instead of backing off, the man's grin widened. "Feisty. I like that."
Then, before she could react, he reached out, his fingers grazing her wrist.
Cee jerked back instantly. "Please don't touch me."
But the man wasn't done. "Come on, don't be so cold—" He lunged forward again, aiming to grab her arm.
Before he could make contact, a strong hand clamped onto his wrist.
Craaa—
The sickening crack of bones echoed through the café.
The man let out a choked gasp, his face twisting in agony as Carlos twisted his arm at an unnatural angle.
The entire café fell into stunned silence.
Carlos stood, his face eerily calm, but his eyes burned with rage. His grip on the man's wrist didn't loosen, even as the guy whimpered.
"I believe she told you not to touch her," Carlos said, his voice deadly quiet.
The man's knees buckled. "P-please—"
Carlos released him with a shove, and the man stumbled backward, cradling his injured arm. His face was pale with fear as he scrambled to his feet and bolted out of the café.
Cee's heart pounded in her chest. She turned to Carlos, feeling a mix of gratitude and shock. "You… you didn't have to do that."
Carlos didn't look at her immediately. His jaw was clenched, his hands curled into fists at his sides. When he finally met her gaze, his eyes were stormy with anger.
"Does this happen every time?" His voice was low, but there was a dangerous edge to it.
Cee hesitated. "Not always… Sometimes. But they usually stop with a warning."
Carlos exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair. "And yet you keep working here?" His voice rose slightly, frustration leaking through. "Why the hell would you stay in a place where this kind of thing happens?"
Cee straightened, her expression hardening. "Because I need this job."
"That's not an excuse—"
"I appreciate what you did today, Carlos, I really do," she interrupted, her voice calm but firm. "But my job, where I work, what I do—it's none of your business."
Carlos stared at her, his chest rising and falling with controlled breaths.
Cee turned on her heel and walked away, leaving him standing there.
Seconds later, the clinking of coins on the counter signaled that he had paid.
Without another word, he stormed out of the café.
Cee let out a breath she hadn't realized she was holding.
Her hands trembled slightly as she wiped the counter, but she ignored it.
Carlos had been furious. And she didn't know if it was because of the man who harassed her… or because she had pushed him away.
Carlos stormed out of the café, his fists clenched as he struggled to contain his anger. His heart pounded against his ribs, the image of that man trying to grab Cee burning into his mind like a brand. He had never been so furious in his life. The audacity. The disrespect.
He didn't even finish his coffee. He barely remembered throwing some bills onto the counter before walking out. Now, leaning against his car, he ran a hand through his dark hair, exhaling sharply.
"Shit," he muttered.
Had he overreacted? Maybe. The guy was out of line—way out of line—but Cee had handled herself just fine before he stepped in. She had warned the guy, and maybe if Carlos had waited a few seconds longer, the café staff would have dealt with it. But the thought of someone laying a hand on her had sent something primal and possessive raging through him.
What was wrong with him? Why did he care so much?
Carlos scrubbed his face with his hands. He had to see her again. He had to apologize.
Sliding into his car, he checked the time. She still had a few hours left on her shift. He decided right then—he'd wait for her.
---
Inside the café, Cee's hands trembled slightly as she stacked the used plates onto a tray.
Her mind replayed the moment over and over. The shock of the customer grabbing her, the pain in his eyes when Carlos dislocated his wrist, the way Carlos had looked at her—furious, protective, intense.
And then her own reaction. She had snapped at him. He had helped her, and she had dismissed him.
She sighed, closing her eyes for a moment.
Maybe I was too harsh.
Carlos didn't deserve that. He was just looking out for her. And even though she hated the way he questioned her choice to work here, his reaction came from a place of concern.
She decided then—she would text him when she got home.