Chapter 7 Erik
The café was a small haven against the biting Stockholm wind, its windows fogged with the breath of warmth and the rich aroma of dark roast. I was wiping down the counter, my smile fixed in place as I served a young mother and her daughter. The little girl, no older than five, had cheeks like ripe apples, and I gave them a gentle pinch to coax a giggle. Her mother laughed, a soft sound that mingled with the hiss of the espresso machine.
Through the glass, I saw her silhouette cutting against the pale gray sky.
She was bundled in her heavy coat, her dark skin striking against the endless white of the snow. I watched her shiver as her steps quickened, a fierce pang of protectiveness tightening my chest. As soon as the mother and daughter pushed out the door, the brass bell jingled again.
She walked in, shaking the melting flakes from her shoulders, and I instantly snapped my gaze to the counter, aggressively scrubbing a clean spot on the steel. My heart thumped a heavy, erratic rhythm as her footsteps approached, stopping directly in front of me. I forced myself to look up.
Her dark eyes met mine, holding a quiet warmth that completely dismantled the chill outside. I scanned her face—the smooth curve of her jaw, the slight pink of her cheeks from the frost. I offered a smile, though it felt like a fragile mask over my racing pulse.
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"Good morning," I said, keeping my voice low and steady.
"Morning," she replied, trying to mask the slight catch in her breath. "I'll have three black coffees, please."
I raised an eyebrow, a playful glint breaking through my nerves. "Three? You must have a full house today."
"Something like that," she murmured.
I turned to the machine, my hands moving with practiced, mechanical precision to hide the sudden jitter in my fingers. The hiss of the steam wand filled the silence between us. The heavy question hung in the air, unsaid, until she finally broke it.
"Why weren't you here yesterday?"
Her voice was soft, cutting straight through the hum of the café. I paused, my hand freezing on the portafilter. I looked up, finding her gaze completely steady, waiting.
"I had an emergency," the words tumbled out before I could check them. "That's why I wasn't here."
She took the stack of paper cups I slid across the counter, her cold fingers brushing lightly against mine. A jolt shot up my forearm. She didn't look away. "I know," she said quietly. "What kind of emergency?"
Normally, my walls were made of stone. I never shared my personal life with strangers, let alone customers. But as I looked into her face, I felt the mortar crack. I couldn't brush her off with a lie; she deserved better than that.
"Would it be okay if we talked after my shift?" I asked, my voice dropping lower. "It's a bit of a long story."
She didn't hesitate. A slow, deliberate nod that felt like a promise.
I grabbed a scrap of receipt paper and a ballpoint pen, my hand shaking slightly as I scribbled down the address of my favorite quiet park bench by the water. I slid it across the wood. "Meet me here. I get off at five."
She took the paper, her eyes locking onto mine before she tucked it carefully into her coat pocket.
"My name's Ada," she said softly.
Her gaze dropped to the metal pin pinned to my apron, reading *Erik* as if memorizing every letter. She offered a small, genuine smile, turned on her heel, and pushed back out into the snow, giving a parting wave through the glass. The door clicked shut, the scent of her perfume lingering in the warm air, and my chest felt suddenly, impossibly light.
