ʀᴇᴡʀɪᴛᴇ ᴛʜᴇ ꜱᴛᴀʀꜱ

9

Love. Either it destroys everything or builds something. But I have always seen it destroying everything. We were a happy family, like everyone's dream. I was ten when my parents got divorced. Why? Well, because my dad didn't love my mom anymore.

Like seriously?!

Since then, I never believed in love. My mom raising me always felt like a burden to her. I really never think she ever loved me; it was just her duty. My mind, at least one time a day, reminds me of how useless I am by replaying all these memories.

Anyway, it was a busy Friday afternoon at La Belle Bean and my co-worker, Mrs. Evana, was trying her best to get on my nerves, like she was halfway through it by chattering non-stop about her lovely husband.

Evana was in her mid-50s, a very hardworking woman, as well as the owner of La Belle Bean. Yes, THE OWNER. I have never met a person like her in my entire life.

"Emily, you wouldn't believe what Bob did this morning," she started, for what felt like the hundredth time today.

I sighed inwardly but forced a smile. "What did he do this time, Mrs. Evana?"

She beamed. "He made me breakfast in bed! And not just any breakfast, mind you. He cooked my favorite pancakes, perfectly golden, with fresh strawberries and whipped cream on top. Isn't he just the sweetest?"

"That's lovely," I replied, trying to sound enthusiastic. "Bob's a keeper."

"Oh, he is," she gushed, then leaned in conspiratorially. "And do you know what he said? He looked me right in the eyes and said, 'Evana, you are the butter to my bread.' Can you imagine? I almost cried!"

I stifled a laugh. "That's very... poetic."

She chuckled. "Oh, Emily, you should find yourself a Bob. He's one of a kind."

"Maybe one day, Mrs. Evana," I said, rolling my eyes playfully.

Just as she was about to launch into another story about Bob, the café bell jingled. I looked up and felt my heart skip a beat. Michael walked in, his presence commanding the room effortlessly.

His short dark hair neatly styled, and his brown eyes scanned the room until they landed on me. He walked over to the counter, a smile playing on his lips.

“Hey, Emily,” he greeted warmly.

“Michael, hi!” I replied, trying to keep my voice steady.

Mrs. Evana's eyes lit up with curiosity. "And who is this handsome young man?"

"Mrs. Evana, this is Michael, an old friend from high school," I introduced them, my cheeks flushing slightly.

“Nice to meet you, Mrs. Evana,” Michael said, shaking her hand.

“Oh, please, call me Evana. Any friend of Emily’s is a friend of mine,” she said, beaming.

"Well, I’m glad to be here, Evana. Can I get a black coffee, Emily?"

“Sure thing, coming right up,” I said, moving to prepare his drink.

As I worked, Mrs. Evana leaned closer to Michael. “So, Michael, do you have a girlfriend?”

I nearly choked on my laughter. Michael, unfazed, grinned. “No, I don’t. Just enjoying life for now.”

"Good, good," she nodded approvingly. "You know, Emily here is single too."

"Mrs. Evana!" I exclaimed, my face turning beet red.

Michael chuckled, his eyes twinkling. "I'll keep that in mind, Evana."

She winked at him before bustling off to the kitchen, leaving us alone at the counter.

“Sorry about that,” I said, handing him his coffee. “She means well.”

“I like her,” he said, taking a sip. His eyes met mine, and for a moment, it felt like the world around us faded away. “So, how’s life treating you?”

“It’s busy but good,” I replied, feeling a bit breathless under his gaze. “The café keeps me on my toes.”

“Have you had a chance to explore Sydney yet?” he asked, leaning in slightly.

“Not really,” I admitted, feeling the warmth of his proximity. “I’ve been so busy with work and classes. I haven’t had much time to see the city.”

“That’s a shame,” he said, his eyes never leaving mine. “Sydney has a lot to offer. How about I take you on a tour tomorrow? Are you free?”

I hesitated, my heart pounding a little faster. “Yeah, I should be free. That sounds great, actually.”

“Perfect,” he said, a slow smile spreading across his face. “I’ll show you all the best spots. We’ll start with breakfast at this little café I know. You’ll love it.”

"I can't wait," I said, feeling a flutter of excitement in my chest. “Thank you, Michael.”

“Don’t mention it,” he replied, standing up. As he did, he reached out and gently removed something from my hair. “I’ll pick you up at eight. Be ready for a day of adventure.”

Our eyes met again, and for a moment, it felt like time stood still. There was something in his gaze—something tender and deep—that made me feel both exposed and cherished. I swallowed hard, trying to keep my composure. “Okay, I’ll see you tomorrow.”

As he walked  out of the café, I felt a mix of anticipation and nervousness. Tomorrow was going to be interesting, to say the least.

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