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The days passed, but the feeling didn't.
Emilio tried to brush it off. He tried to tell himself that the strange man in the dark coat was just a customer—nothing more, nothing less. But customers didn't watch him like that. Customers didn't linger in the corners of his shop, silent and unreadable, as if they belonged there.
And they certainly didn't come back night after night, right before closing, just to sit and do nothing.
Matteo—he had finally given a name, just a name—was breaking every unspoken rule of being a customer. He never placed an order unless Emilio prompted him, and when he did, he barely touched what was given to him. Instead, he would sit, observing. And waiting.
For what?
Emilio wasn't sure.
But tonight, he decided he was done pretending not to notice.
"Are you just going to sit there all night?" he asked, wiping his hands on a towel as he glanced toward the back corner.
Matteo, leaning back in his chair, lifted his gaze. "You're closing soon."
"That's not an answer."
A slow, knowing smirk curled Matteo's lips. "I don't like answering questions."
Emilio exhaled, tilting his head. "Then why do you keep coming here?"
Matteo didn't answer right away. Instead, he placed his hands on the table, fingers tapping against the wood. The movement was slow, deliberate.
"I find this place... calming," he said at last.
Emilio folded his arms. "And yet, you never eat anything."
Matteo's smirk deepened. "I have other tastes."
A sharp heat curled in Emilio's stomach. He wasn't naive—he knew a line when he heard one. But there was something in Matteo's tone, something dangerous, that made his breath catch.
For a moment, neither of them spoke.
Then, Matteo pushed back his chair and stood. The movement was slow, controlled, like everything he did. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a slip of paper, placing it carefully on the counter before meeting Emilio's gaze.
"Come here," he murmured.
Emilio's brows furrowed. "What?"
Matteo stepped closer—just a fraction, just enough for Emilio to feel the weight of his presence. "Tomorrow night. Meet me at this address."
Emilio looked down at the paper. A location, nothing more.
He looked back up. "And why would I do that?"
Matteo's eyes—black, deep, endless—locked onto his. "Because you're curious."
Emilio swallowed.
Damn it.
He was.
Matteo must have seen the hesitation in his expression, because his smirk softened into something more dangerous—something that felt like a trap disguised as an offer.
"I'll be waiting," he said simply.
Then, without another word, he turned and walked out, leaving only the faint scent of smoke and something undeniably tempting in his wake.
Emilio stared at the slip of paper.
He should throw it away.
He should.
But instead… his fingers curled around it, holding tight.
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