I walked down the streets, my stomach growling in quiet protest. Hunger had been catching up with me lately—perhaps it was the result of the recent activities or simply the biting chill of December.
The sweet aroma of freshly baked bread stopped me in my tracks. A bakery stood just ahead, warm light spilling out of its windows, inviting and unpretentious. It looked like the kind of place that catered to locals, simple and affordable.
I pushed the door open, the scent of yeast and sugar intensifying as I stepped inside. The chatter of early morning customers filled the air, mingling with the clatter of dishes.
At an isolated seat near the corner, I spotted a familiar face. Cola.
She sat hunched over a cup of coffee, absentmindedly tearing a piece of bread in her hands. Her eyes flicked up momentarily, meeting mine. It wasn't a look of surprise—it was as if she had been expecting me all along.
I slid into the seat across from her, ignoring the stares of the other patrons. Cola had that mischievous glint in her eye, the kind that always promised trouble. She tore another piece off her bread, chewing lazily as she watched me with thinly veiled amusement.
"Mister," she began, her voice feigning innocence, "don't you see all the empty seats? Or do you enjoy making people uncomfortable?"
"Yes, yes, plenty of empty seats," I said, leaning back casually. "But I like this one."
Her smirk widened. The other customers were already shooting judgmental glances my way. Cola, with her small stature and youthful face, could pass for much younger than nineteen.
"Come on," I said suddenly, raising my voice just enough for the room to hear, "you can't keep running away from home like this. It's exhausting for all of us!"
Cola froze mid-bite, her eyebrows shooting up in surprise. Then, just as quickly, her lips curved into a sly grin. "Oh," she whispered, leaning forward, her voice just for me, "so now we're siblings? What do they call it again? Something… incestuous, perhaps?"
I shot her a warning look, my jaw tightening. "You're lucky I have a good sense of humor," I muttered under my breath, scanning the room for any lingering eyes.
She shrugged, popping the last bit of bread into her mouth. "What can I say? You make it too easy."
"You know," I said, leaning closer, "if you didn't look like you just escaped from a boarding school, this would go a lot smoother."
"If you didn't act like a flustered dad in public, we wouldn't be having this conversation," she shot back, her tone teasing but sharp.
I smirked, signaling for coffee. "You're lucky you're useful, kid."
"And you're lucky I like you, Hoffman." She pushed her plate aside, her demeanor shifting slightly. "Now, let's cut the theatrics. What do you need?"
"Nothing of any sorts.," I said, "Just here to have some breakfast."
I ordered an egg and a bread. English breakfast with some tea.
"Oh British.," she said with a hint of Britain accent.
"Yes.," I said, "Too much American. Isn't good? Or maybe we need to change personal favour."
"Why are you here?," she asked again, sounding irritated.
"I want some company.," I said, "... for a breakfast."
"My company's expensive."
I took out my wallet and gave her 1000 dollars.
"I forgot to tip you.," I said.
She was angry, "I am paid well enough... I don't need any favours... especially from a men like you."
I raised an eyebrow at her sudden shift in tone. The 1000 dollars sat between us like an offering—one she clearly didn't appreciate.
"Is that so?" I said, leaning back, studying her. "I thought we had an understanding. No strings, just a little friendly conversation."
Her eyes narrowed, the anger clear but tempered by something else—perhaps curiosity, or a bit of disbelief that I'd dare push her this far. "You don't get it, do you, Hoffman?" she snapped. "I don't need your money, and I don't need your company. Not like this."
I shrugged casually, unfazed. "Then why stick around? You don't strike me as the type who likes to be in places she doesn't belong."
She shifted in her seat, clearly uncomfortable with where the conversation was going. "I'm not here for you," she said sharply, "But you? You come here with that look, like you're always on the edge of something, waiting to make your next move. I don't have time for that game."
I took a sip of my tea, letting the silence hang between us for a moment before I responded. "Then why stay? There's an easy exit if you want it."
She looked at me, her gaze calculating, but her mouth remained set in a firm line. "You don't understand," she said, almost more to herself than to me. "I don't need games. I need to get out of here."
I watched her for a beat, then placed the money back in my wallet, my eyes not leaving hers. "You know, Cola, you've got potential. But you waste it sitting around here, pretending you're above it all. I know you're capable of more than this."
Her lips twisted into a sarcastic smile. "Maybe you're right. But maybe I like my life the way it is. Ever think of that?"
I shrugged. "I'm not here to judge. Just offering a little perspective."
The tension lingered for a few seconds before she stood abruptly, grabbing her coat. "Keep your perspective," she said, tossing me one last look. "I don't need it."
She sipped her hot coffee, her eyes fixed somewhere distant, as though trying to ignore my presence. The steam rose from her cup, curling into the cold morning air. I didn't mind her silence, but it gnawed at me—her obvious attempt to keep me at arm's length.
The waitress arrived, placing my order in front of me. The sizzling egg, warm bread, and the comforting aroma of the tea filled the space between us, but it didn't ease the tension.
"I am done," she said flatly, pushing her cup aside, already preparing to leave.
I reached out, gripping her wrist firmly, pulling her back down. "Sit," I commanded, my voice carrying a weight that seemed to echo through the small bakery.
She paused, looking down at my hand on her wrist, her expression unreadable. "I only work at night," she muttered, attempting to pull her wrist away, but I held on. The defiance in her voice was clear, but she stayed seated, her body relaxing only slightly.
I kept my eyes on her, waiting for her to acknowledge me. Slowly, she gave in, settling back into her seat with a faint sigh, but I could tell it was more out of resignation than any genuine desire to remain.
She didn't look at me directly, still swirling her coffee cup absentmindedly, but there was a shift, a subtle change in the way she held herself.