CHAPTER TEN

MAXEN

I was breathless.

Rian's hand moved over me with practiced confidence—slow, teasing. His fingers curled just right, dragging a moan from me before I could stop it. My head tipped back against the pillow, eyes fluttering shut.

"Fuck, Rian…" I whispered.

He straddled my hips, his eyes locked on mine—wild, wanting. His other hand pressed against my chest, thumb grazing my nipple with agonizing precision. Everything about him—his warm skin, the soft vanilla and masculine scent, the quiet gasps leaving his mouth—was too much and not nearly enough.

And just when I was about to unravel, his lips hovered over mine.

"I want you," he breathed. "All of you."

I reached for him, desperate. To pull him close. To kiss him. To—

My eyes flew open.

The room was silent. Heavy with stillness. My chest rose and fell in rapid bursts, the memory of his voice echoing like a phantom.

No Rian.

Just a dream.

And yet his scent still seemed to linger—like heat on my skin. That damn kiss had unlocked something untamed in me.

It's been a week. A full week since that kiss—soft, electric, dangerous. Since Adrian's lips left mine tasting like a new obsession. And still... I wake up like this.

I lay there, eyes fixed on the ceiling, heart pounding like I'd actually lived it.

My boxers were soaked.

"Shit," I muttered, dragging a hand over my face. Why the hell am I acting like some horny teenager?

The ache between my legs pulsed, real and frustrating. I turned to glance at my phone on the nightstand.

6:12 a.m.

A soft buzz.

A notification lit up the screen: Rian: Are you awake?

I rubbed my eyes and reached for the phone.

Me: Yeah. You? Adrian: Just wanted to say good morning. I'll be super busy today, so you probably won't hear much from me. Me: That sucks. But okay. I'll miss you. Adrian: I'll miss you too, Xen. A lot.

I stared at his last message, heart doing that quiet clench-flutter thing again. The kind you try to ignore but can't.

---

A couple of hours later, after a cold shower and forcing myself to get dressed without thinking of him again, I headed out to Home Welcome You—the café I'd taken over from Uncle Colm just last week.

The moment I stepped through the glass door, the smell of fresh coffee and warm cinnamon wrapped around me like a hug. Familiar. Comforting.

Lena was already behind the counter, wiping down trays.

"Hello, Lena," I greeted.

She gave me a quick smile. "Hello, Maxen. You're late. Your mom's here."

"Okay, I'll go see her."

A few of the other staff waved behind the counter.

"Morning," I replied, nodding at the early customers already in their usual spots.

I spotted Mom by the front window, gently watering the potted plants she adored more than most people. Her eyes lit up when she saw me.

"Well, look who's late," she teased. "No hangover? Or… heart hangover?"

I laughed. "No hangover. Just woke up weirdly late."

A gentle lie. She wouldn't believe the kind of morning I'd had anyway.

She eyed me over her glasses. "You're glowing."

"Mom—" I started.

"Don't 'Mom' me. Your voice is different. And you're smiling like you swallowed the moon. Did you meet someone?"

I paused—just a beat—then gave a sheepish chuckle and scratched the back of my neck. "Maybe. Yeah. I think I did."

Her eyes widened, then softened as she grinned and looped her arm through mine. "Tell me everything."

I sighed, pretending to hesitate. But I wanted to talk. Needed to.

"He's… different. Like, really different. Sweet. Funny. Mysterious. I can't stop thinking about him. We kissed last week. And it wasn't just a kiss—it felt like something in me shifted."

She hummed in approval. "A kiss that echoes into your dreams, huh?"

I nearly choked.

She raised a knowing brow. "I'm your mother. I know that look. You're done for, Maxen."

"Is it Adrian? Because I saw how both of you were stealing glances at each other at the charity event on Saturday."

It was true—last Saturday, we spent the day painting school walls and handing out supplies, sneaking glances that said everything we didn't. We're not official, but we orbit each other like gravity. It was magical.

And we've been inseparable through messages ever since.

I smiled, unable to help it. "Yes, but that's all you're getting."

"Seems someone's being possessive and secretive."

She gave my shoulder a squeeze. "I'm happy for you."

"Me too, Mom," I said softly.

She headed behind the counter. I grabbed an apron and jumped in to help the baristas with the early crowd.

The café was buzzing with warmth—chatter, clinking mugs, the familiar hum of machines. This place had always felt like a second home. That's why we named it Home Welcome You. People came here to breathe. To feel safe. I loved that.

But today, something felt… off.

Or maybe it was just me, missing Adrian's texts already.

I wiped down a table in the back. Then wiped it again. And again.

"You're distracted," Mom called out, handing a regular their usual scone.

"Am I?" I said, tossing the rag over my shoulder.

"You just wiped the same table three times."

I looked down. Damn. She wasn't wrong.

Before I could respond, the bell over the door jingled.

A tall guy stepped inside—broad shoulders, expensive coat. He removed his sunglasses like someone expecting to be noticed. His eyes scanned the café, searching for something—or someone.

They landed on me.

He paused. Then smiled. A little too knowingly.

He walked straight to the counter. "Hey. I'm looking for someone who works here."

Mom tilted her head. "You got a name?"

"Maxen. Or Max. He used to live in Seattle, right?"

My stomach knotted.

I stepped out from behind the counter, arms crossed. "That's me."

His face lit up. "Didn't think I'd find you here. Damn, man—it's been years."

I blinked, stunned. "Ryan?"

He grinned. "Bingo."

Ryan. From college. From another lifetime.

The guy I was half in love with—and fully confused by.

What the hell was he doing here?

WEEKEND TEA:

I woke up with a dream still clinging to my skin—

his touch, his voice, a kiss that almost was.

Funny how someone can haunt your thoughts

without ever really leaving a mark…

except in all the places that matter.

Maybe it was just a dream.

Maybe it was a sign.

Or maybe my heart is just a hopeless storyteller

that doesn't know how to quit.

This weekend, take a breath.

Let your heart wander.

Text someone first. Or don't.

Smile at a memory that shouldn't still make you blush.

Wear that shirt that makes you feel like a secret.

Say yes to the maybe.

Because sometimes, the best things start

with a flutter,

a hunch,

or a daydream that lingers longer than it should.

Whatever you're chasing—or waiting for—

don't rush. Don't panic. Don't close the door.

The story's still being written.

And babe, it's getting good.

—Maxen

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TO BE CONTINUED...

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