ᴍᴇᴀɴᴛ ᴛᴏ ʙᴇ ᴛʜɪꜱ ᴡᴀʏ II 𝐵𝒶𝒹 𝐵𝑜𝓎 ✔

ᴏɴᴇ - ᴛʜᴇ ɴᴇᴡ "ʜᴏᴛ ᴛᴏᴘɪᴄ"

  "Anything else?" I directed the question towards the customers to which I've just receive an order from. They shook their heads and silently thanked me, before resuming back to their conversation. I grabbed the tray and trudge back to the counter that had the label of "staff only".

Not that anyone would want to enter the messy, flour-covered counter space. 

  I snatched the cloth and rinsed it over with water before trying to tackle the countertop that I assumed someone had experimented their baking recipe with. Just as I finished, the bell that was hung onto the front, glass door rang, signaling someone had just entered the cafe. 

  I didn't bother to look up as I helplessly scrub the counter clean and plopped the cloth aside with a huff. I swept my blonde curls that had lingered onto my red-tinted cheeks away and let out a tired sigh. 

  Jennifer, the usual waitress that had work alongside with me had called in sick today so I was left to manage the cafe all by myself. Right after school. 

  I finally glanced up, as I sensed the presence of a new figure in front of me. 

Our eyes met in centrepoint.

The aquamarine blue eyes of mine meeting the unique splash of hazel and coral green– twinkling, glinting– seemingly unreal. Fantasy.

My breath hitched.

I gulped.

He smirked.

I averted my eyes to the scrubbed-clean marble counter– breaking the eye contact that had my stomach knot twisting, erupting with senseless butterflies. I wasn't always like that– I was confident, enthusiastic– supposingly to people who deserved to be treated right– and even what some might call "Feisty".

Right now I was nowhere near the feisty Evelyn Carter.

And it scares me.

It frightens me how just a swift eye contact affects the change of my bubbly mood that is replaced with unsettling and unfamiliar nervousness.

Well, truth to be told, perhaps, the eye contact wasn't swift.

It held daringly long. And I praised myself for keeping it together. Especially since I couldn't bear to look back into his gorgeously glittering eyes.

Or his tousled brunette hair that dropped slightly above his eyebrows.

Or his masculine, defined body that was visible through his tight black t-shirt.

Not even a glance.

I cleared my throat, gulping the last of the nervous chunks of lumps that had gathered in my throat– desperately waiting to stumble the words that failed to be spoken.

"I– H-hello sir? Is– is– there anything I can get you?"

Wrong. That was the line I had so optimistically recited perfectly to every customer who seeks a warm cup of coffee to enjoy in the middle of heavy winter.

His smirk widened at my discomfort of his presence. "You," He finally spoke. "It's a shame you're not on the menu. You would certainly brighten the days of customers–" He gestured to himself as he jerked his head self-arrogantly– "Like me,"

I glared at him, forgetting for a moment that I had just previously willed myself not to ever again look into his eyes. Who was he to come in and demand himself a attention-seeking show? "I'm sorry, sir, if you're not planning to order anything on the menu, I'm afraid you can't stay," I told him.

That– unfortunately– didn't crumble his ego. "I already ordered, you," He directed his finger at me, and tore a tissue from its box. I urged myself not to yell as I narrowed my eyes and watched him selflessly waste a neatly folded, new piece. "Here, my number, call me when you decide you finally can't hold back the urge to see me again,"