LOVE IN SYNC ❤️

Amara Bennett was having a perfectly terrible Monday.

First, her alarm had failed to ring. Then her favorite coffee shop had run out of caramel syrup. And now, as she hurried through the glass doors of the building where she was supposed to attend an important meeting, a stranger had managed to spill coffee all over the front of her cream-colored blouse.

Perfect.

Absolutely perfect.

“Are you kidding me?” she exclaimed, staring at the brown stain spreading across the fabric.

The man standing in front of her looked down at the empty coffee cup in his hand.

Then he looked at her.

Then, unbelievably, he smiled.

“Well,” he said, “good morning to you too.”

Amara slowly raised her eyes to his face.

He was tall, dressed in a perfectly fitted dark-blue suit, with neatly styled hair and the sort of smile that probably convinced people to forgive him for things he hadn’t even apologized for.

Unfortunately for him, she wasn’t one of those people.

“You just spilled coffee on me.”

“I noticed.”

“And that’s all you have to say?”

He glanced at the stain again. “I could say that cream isn’t really your color.”

Amara stared at him.

He stared back.

For one long, unbelievable second, she genuinely considered throwing the remaining drops of coffee at his head.

Instead, she took a slow breath.

“Do you always behave like an arrogant idiot, or am I getting special treatment?”

His smile widened.

“Special treatment. Definitely.”

She couldn’t believe him.

“I have a meeting in five minutes.”

“Then I suggest you hurry.”

“You are unbelievable.”

“I’ve been told I’m unforgettable.”

“By people who clearly need professional help.”

He laughed.

Actually laughed.

As though she were entertaining him instead of standing there with coffee on her clothes and murder in her heart.

Amara stepped around him.

“Try not to destroy anyone else’s morning.”

“I’ll do my best.”

She marched toward the elevators without looking back.

At least, that was what she intended to do.

Unfortunately, the stranger followed her.

She pressed the elevator button.

He pressed it again.

She turned to him.

“Are you serious?”

“What?”

“I already pressed it.”

“I was making sure it worked.”

“Do you make a habit of annoying women before nine in the morning?”

“Only the interesting ones.”

The elevator doors opened.

Amara stepped inside and moved to the far corner, hoping he would take the hint.

He entered anyway.

Of course he did.

She stared straight ahead.

He glanced at her blouse.

“You know, I really am sorry about the coffee.”

She turned toward him, surprised by the sudden sincerity in his voice.

For the first time, he wasn’t smiling.

“I should have been watching where I was going,” he continued. “Let me pay for the cleaning.”

Amara hesitated.

It was difficult to remain furious when someone actually apologized.

Difficult, but not impossible.

“Fine,” she said. “But I can handle the cleaning myself.”

“Fair enough.”

The elevator climbed.

Silence settled between them.

Then his gaze moved to the folder tucked beneath her arm.

“Big meeting?”

“None of your business.”

He nodded solemnly. “Naturally.”

She narrowed her eyes.

“Do you ever stop talking?”

“Occasionally. Usually when I’m asleep.”

“That explains a lot.”

He laughed again.

The elevator chimed.

The doors opened on the twelfth floor.

Amara stepped out, straightened her folder, and hurried toward the conference room. She was already late, and the last thing she needed was another conversation with Mr. Unnecessarily Charming.

She pushed open the conference-room door.

“Good morning. I’m sorry I’m late.”

Several people turned toward her.

At the head of the table sat a woman with silver-framed glasses and an expression that suggested punctuality was a personal religion.

“Miss Bennett,” the woman said. “We were just about to begin.”

“I apologize.”

“Please, take a seat.”

Amara moved toward the empty chair near the middle of the table.

Then she stopped.

Because the man from the elevator was sitting directly across from it.

His suit was immaculate. His hair was perfect. His expression was entirely too pleased with itself.

He looked up at her.

Their eyes met.

And slowly, deliberately, he smiled.

“Oh,” he said. “You again.”

Amara closed her eyes for one brief second.

No.

Absolutely not.

The woman at the head of the table gestured toward him.

“Since everyone is here, let me introduce our new creative director, Adrian Cole. He’ll be leading the upcoming campaign alongside our senior marketing team.”

Adrian rose from his chair and offered the room a confident smile.

“Thank you. I’m looking forward to working with all of you.”

His gaze returned to Amara.

“Especially some of you.”

She sat down, determined not to react.

The woman continued.

“Amara Bennett will be working directly with Adrian on this project. Her proposal was one of the strongest submissions we received, and I expect the two of you to collaborate closely.”

Amara’s head snapped up.

“Sorry. What?”

Adrian leaned back in his chair.

“Something wrong, Amara?”

She looked at him with a smile so tight it nearly hurt.

“Nothing at all, Adrian.”

“Wonderful.”

“I just hope you bring more professionalism to the project than you brought to the elevator.”

Someone at the far end of the table coughed to hide a laugh.

Adrian pressed his lips together, apparently fighting his own amusement.

“I’ll try not to spill anything else on you.”

“Try not to spill anything on the project.”

His eyes sparkled.

“Yes, ma’am.”

Amara turned toward the front of the room before she could say something that might cost her a job.

This was going to be a disaster.

A complete, catastrophic disaster.

Because apparently, the universe had decided that ruining her Monday wasn’t enough.

It had assigned her a handsome, irritating man who seemed determined to test every ounce of her patience.

And the worst part?

As Adrian began presenting his ideas, Amara discovered that he was actually good at his job.

Annoyingly good.

His suggestions were creative, his delivery was confident, and his understanding of the campaign was far better than she’d expected.

She hated that.

She hated that she found herself listening.

She hated that, when he made a particularly clever observation, she almost smiled.

And she absolutely hated the way he caught her looking at him.

He paused mid-sentence.

“Amara?”

She straightened.

“Yes?”

“Do you disagree?”

“With what?”

“My proposal.”

She glanced at the presentation.

“I think the second concept needs more emotional depth.”

He considered that.

“How would you improve it?”

She explained her ideas, outlining the changes she believed would make the campaign more engaging and relatable.

Adrian listened without interrupting.

When she finished, he nodded.

“That’s better.”

Amara blinked.

“What?”

“Your idea. It’s better than mine.”

She hadn’t expected that.

Not from him.

“You’re admitting I’m right?”

“Don’t make me repeat myself.”

A reluctant smile tugged at the corner of her mouth.

He noticed.

Of course he noticed.

His expression softened for just a moment, and something warm flickered between them.

Then he leaned forward.

“Look at that. We agree on something.”

“Don’t get comfortable.”

“Too late.”

Amara rolled her eyes, but this time, she couldn’t quite hide her smile.

And Adrian, watching her across the conference table, looked as though he’d just discovered his favorite new challenge.

Neither of them knew what the coming weeks would bring.

Neither of them expected to become friends.

And neither could have imagined that the irritating stranger who had ruined Amara’s Monday would eventually become the man she looked for first whenever something wonderful—or terrible—happened in her life.

For now, though, they had a campaign to complete.

And Amara Bennett had every intention of surviving it without falling for Adrian Cole.

Especially not him.

Amara repeated those words in her head as she gathered her things after the meeting.

Adrian Cole was handsome, she would give him that. He was also intelligent, confident, and apparently incapable of going five minutes without making a comment that tested her patience.

But handsome men were everywhere.

Intelligent men existed.

And confident men? They practically grew on trees.

There was absolutely nothing special about Adrian Cole.

Nothing.

“You’re doing that thing again.”

Amara looked up from her handbag.

Adrian stood beside the conference table, his jacket draped over one arm and his laptop tucked beneath the other.

“What thing?”

“That expression.”

“What expression?”

“The one that suggests you’re mentally planning my funeral.”

She stared at him.

“Would you prefer I make the arrangements now or wait until after the project?”

He laughed.

“See? That’s what I’m talking about. You’re funny when you’re angry.”

“I’m not trying to be funny.”

“That’s what makes it even better.”

Amara shoved her notebook into her bag.

“Don’t you have somewhere to be?”

“Actually, yes. I’m supposed to have lunch with my new colleague.”

“Congratulations. I hope you enjoy it.”

“Thank you. I was thinking of a little place downstairs. They have excellent pasta.”

“Enjoy your pasta.”

“With you.”

She stopped.

Slowly, she turned around.

“I’m sorry?”

“Lunch. With me. You and I are going to be working together for the next few weeks, possibly longer. I figured we should get to know each other.”

“We’ve gotten to know each other perfectly well.”

“Really? What have you learned?”

“That you talk too much, drink coffee carelessly, and have an alarming amount of confidence for someone who nearly destroyed my favorite blouse.”

Adrian considered her answer.

“That’s a pretty good start.”

“Adrian.”

“Amara.”

“I’m not having lunch with you.”

“Okay.”

She blinked.

That was unexpected.

“Okay?”

“Yes. Okay.”

He slipped his laptop into his bag.

“No problem. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Then he walked toward the door.

Just like that.

No argument. No teasing. No attempt to change her mind.

Amara watched him leave, strangely irritated by how easily he’d accepted her refusal.

She didn’t want him to insist.

Of course she didn’t.

But she had expected at least one more ridiculous comment.

Something about how she’d eventually change her mind.

Instead, he’d simply left.

Good.

That was good.

She was glad.

She was—

Her phone buzzed.

A message from her best friend, Tessa.

TESSA: How did the meeting go?

Amara typed furiously.

AMARA: Terribly.

TESSA: Did you lose the presentation?

AMARA: Worse.

TESSA: Did the boss fire you?

AMARA: WORSE, TESSA.

Three dots appeared immediately.

TESSA: Oh my God. Are you pregnant?

Amara nearly dropped her phone.

AMARA: WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU?

TESSA: I’m just trying to understand what could possibly be worse than losing your job.

AMARA: I HAVE TO WORK WITH A MAN WHO THINKS AN APOLOGY IS AN OPPORTUNITY TO FLIRT.

TESSA: Is he handsome?

Amara stared at the screen.

AMARA: That’s irrelevant.

TESSA: So he’s handsome.

AMARA: I hate you.

TESSA: Send me a picture.

AMARA: Absolutely not.

TESSA: Amara, if this man is going to ruin your peace, the least you can do is make sure he’s attractive.

Amara shook her head, fighting a smile.

Tessa had always been like this. She could turn almost any terrible situation into a reason to laugh.

They’d met during their university days and had been inseparable ever since. Tessa was the kind of woman who believed every problem could be solved with a good meal, a glass of wine, and an unnecessarily detailed discussion about a man’s behavior.

Amara loved her.

Even when she wanted to throw her phone across the room.

AMARA: He’s my new creative director. That’s all you need to know.

TESSA: YOUR NEW CREATIVE DIRECTOR?

AMARA: Please don’t shout through text messages.

TESSA: YOU’RE WORKING WITH A HANDSOME MAN WHO’S ALSO YOUR BOSS?

AMARA: Goodbye, Tessa.

TESSA: This is the beginning of a romance novel.

Amara stopped typing.

Then she replied.

AMARA: It’s the beginning of a professional disaster.

She locked her phone and stood.

There was no romance here.

No butterflies.

No secret longing.

Just a man with a dangerous smile and an irritating personality.

And she intended to keep it that way.

By twelve-thirty, Amara had convinced herself that the morning’s disaster was behind her.

She had reviewed the campaign documents, responded to three emails, and made a list of questions for the next meeting.

Everything was under control.

Then her stomach growled.

She looked at the clock.

Lunch.

For a brief moment, she remembered Adrian mentioning the restaurant downstairs.

She immediately dismissed the thought.

She didn’t need his company.

There were plenty of places to eat nearby.

She could walk to the café across the street, order a sandwich, and return to work before anyone noticed she’d left.

Perfect.

Amara grabbed her purse and headed for the elevator.

When the doors opened, she stepped inside.

And found Adrian already there.

Naturally.

He glanced at her.

“Going somewhere?”

“Out.”

“Very informative.”

“Thank you.”

He pressed the button for the ground floor.

Amara folded her arms.

“I’m capable of pressing elevator buttons, you know.”

“I remember. You pressed one quite aggressively this morning.”

She gave him a look.

He smiled.

“So, have you reconsidered lunch?”

“No.”

“Good. I was asking about tomorrow.”

She turned toward him.

He burst out laughing.

“Oh, you should have seen your face.”

“One day, Adrian Cole, someone is going to humble you.”

“Hopefully, they’ll do it gently.”

The elevator doors opened.

Amara stepped out without responding.

She was determined not to give him the satisfaction.

But as she crossed the lobby, she heard his footsteps behind her.

She stopped.

“Why are you following me?”

“I’m walking in the same direction.”

“Where are you going?”

“Lunch.”

“Of course you are.”

He gestured toward the restaurant entrance.

“Since we’re apparently heading to the same place, we might as well eat together.”

“We are not heading to the same place.”

“Where are you going?”

“The café across the street.”

He looked through the glass doors at the sky.

Dark clouds were gathering overhead.

“You’re going to walk across the street in that?”

“Yes.”

“It looks like it’s about to rain.”

“I have an umbrella.”

She lifted her purse slightly.

Adrian nodded.

“Excellent. Then there’s nothing left for me to worry about.”

“Wonderful.”

“Enjoy your lunch, Amara.”

He turned toward the restaurant.

She watched him for a second before marching toward the exit.

She wasn’t going to let a little rain change her plans.

Unfortunately, the moment she stepped outside, the sky opened.

Rain poured down in thick, relentless sheets.

Amara froze beneath the narrow awning.

She opened her purse and searched for her umbrella.

Lipstick.

Wallet.

Keys.

A notebook.

Two pens.

A packet of tissues.

No umbrella.

She closed her eyes.

“Oh, for heaven’s sake.”

“Looking for something?”

She turned.

Adrian stood a few feet away, holding a large black umbrella.

His expression was suspiciously innocent.

“Don’t,” she warned.

“I haven’t said anything.”

“Your face is saying enough.”

He lifted the umbrella.

“Come on. I’ll walk you to the café.”

“I can wait.”

“Of course you can.”

“I don’t need your help.”

“Naturally.”

He opened the umbrella and stepped into the rain.

Then he looked back at her.

“Amara, I promise not to charge you for the privilege of standing under my umbrella.”

She hesitated.

He extended his free hand.

“Come on. Before your blouse becomes a sequel to this morning’s tragedy.”

Amara stared at him.

Then she looked at the rain.

Then at him again.

“This doesn’t mean I like you.”

“That would be a terrible assumption to make.”

“And you are not allowed to make jokes about this later.”

“I would never.”

She raised an eyebrow.

“You’re lying.”

“Absolutely.”

Against her better judgment, Amara stepped beneath the umbrella.

Adrian moved closer to make room for her.

Their shoulders brushed.

It was a small thing.

Barely anything.

Yet she became strangely aware of the warmth of his arm beside hers.

She immediately shifted away.

He noticed but said nothing.

They walked in silence for several seconds.

Then Adrian tilted the umbrella slightly toward her.

“You’re getting wet,” she observed.

“So are you.”

“Then hold it properly.”

“I’m trying to make sure you don’t get soaked.”

“And what about you?”

He glanced down at her.

“I’ll survive.”

Something about the simple answer caught her off guard.

She looked at the umbrella again.

He was holding it almost entirely over her side.

The shoulder of his suit was already darkening with rain.

For a moment, she didn’t know what to say.

Then she sighed and reached for the handle.

“Move it to the middle.”

He looked at her.

“What?”

“The umbrella. Hold it in the middle. I’m not going to melt if a little rain touches me.”

His smile was small this time.

“All right.”

He adjusted it.

Their shoulders brushed again.

Neither of them moved away.

And Amara hated that the silence no longer felt uncomfortable.

She hated that walking beside him felt surprisingly easy.

Most of all, she hated that she found herself wondering what he was like when he wasn’t trying to make her angry.

They reached the café a minute later.

Amara stepped out from beneath the umbrella.

“Thank you.”

Adrian looked genuinely surprised.

“Was that gratitude?”

“Don’t make me take it back.”

He laughed.

“You’re welcome.”

She reached for the door, then paused.

“Your shoulder is completely wet.”

He glanced down.

“It’s only water.”

“You should go somewhere and dry off.”

“Are you worried about me?”

“No. I’m worried that if you catch a cold, I’ll have to do twice the work on this project.”

“Of course.”

“Exactly.”

He nodded with exaggerated seriousness.

“Your concern for my professional well-being is deeply touching.”

Amara shook her head and entered the café.

She didn’t look back.

But she could still hear him laughing.

And, much to her annoyance, she found herself smiling.

The café smelled of freshly brewed coffee, warm bread, and cinnamon.

Amara ordered a chicken sandwich and a glass of orange juice, then found a table beside the window.

She had barely sat down when her phone rang.

Tessa.

Again.

Amara answered.

“What now?”

“Good afternoon to you too.”

“I’m busy.”

“Doing what? Staring at your handsome creative director?”

Amara nearly choked on her own saliva.

“How do you know he’s handsome?”

“You haven’t denied it.”

“I have denied everything.”

“You said his appearance was irrelevant. That’s not a denial.”

Amara rubbed her forehead.

“Why are you like this?”

“Because I love you. Now tell me everything.”

“There’s nothing to tell.”

“Did he flirt with you?”

“Constantly.”

“Did you flirt back?”

“No.”

“Did he look at you like you were the most beautiful woman in the room?”

Amara paused.

She thought about the way Adrian had looked at her during the meeting.

The way his expression had softened when she’d smiled.

The way he’d held the umbrella over her.

She pushed the thoughts aside.

“I don’t know.”

Tessa gasped.

“You noticed his eyes!”

“I noticed that he has eyes. Most people do.”

“Amara Bennett, I know you.”

“Unfortunately.”

“And I know that voice. You’re trying very hard not to tell me something.”

“There’s nothing to tell.”

“Fine. I’ll ask you one simple question.”

Amara sighed.

“What?”

“Do you find him attractive?”

“No.”

“Not even a little?”

“No.”

“Not even when he smiles?”

Amara opened her mouth.

Closed it.

Tessa screamed.

“OH MY GOD!”

“Keep your voice down!”

“You hesitated!”

“I was trying to understand how someone can be so irritating!”

“That’s not what I asked!”

Amara looked toward the counter, silently praying for her food to arrive.

“Tessa, I have to go.”

“Fine. But remember what I said.”

“What did you say?”

“Sometimes the people who annoy us the most are the ones who end up stealing our hearts.”

Amara hung up.

Absolutely ridiculous.

She placed her phone on the table and reached for her orange juice.

“Your friend sounds entertaining.”

Amara froze.

Slowly, she turned her head.

Adrian stood beside her table, holding a tray with a bowl of pasta and a bottle of water.

She stared at him.

“What are you doing here?”

He glanced around the café.

“Eating.”

“Why?”

“Because I’m hungry.”

“Why here?”

“Because the restaurant downstairs is full.”

He gestured toward the empty chair opposite her.

“Mind if I sit?”

“Yes.”

He pulled out the chair.

“Excellent.”

He sat down.

Amara stared at him in disbelief.

“You genuinely don’t understand the meaning of the word no, do you?”

“I understand it perfectly.”

“Then why are you sitting here?”

“Because you said you minded. You didn’t say I couldn’t.”

She looked at him for a long moment.

Then she laughed.

She couldn’t help it.

It escaped before she could stop it, surprising both of them.

Adrian’s expression changed.

His usual teasing smile softened into something warmer.

“There it is,” he said quietly.

Amara’s laughter faded.

“What?”

“Your real smile.”

She looked away.

For some reason, that simple observation made her feel more exposed than any of his jokes.

“Don’t get used to it.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it.”

He picked up his fork.

For a while, they ate in silence.

It wasn’t awkward.

That was the problem.

Amara had expected him to fill every second with conversation, but he seemed perfectly content to eat and occasionally glance out the window.

Eventually, she found herself speaking first.

“So, where did you work before this?”

Adrian looked up.

“Why? Are you writing a report about me?”

“Forget I asked.”

He smiled.

“I worked at a marketing agency in London for three years. Before that, I was in New York for a while.”

“That’s quite a lot of moving around.”

“It was.”

“Do you travel often?”

“When work requires it.”

She nodded.

He studied her for a moment.

“What about you?”

“What about me?”

“How did you end up here?”

“I applied for a job.”

“Brilliant answer.”

“I’m a brilliant woman.”

“I’ve noticed.”

She ignored the compliment.

“I started as a junior marketing assistant. Worked my way up. I want to lead my own creative team someday.”

“Why?”

The question surprised her.

“Why what?”

“Why do you want to lead your own team?”

She considered giving him a simple answer.

More money. More responsibility. A better position.

But something about the way he asked made her think he actually wanted to know.

“Because I have ideas I want to bring to life,” she said. “I want to create campaigns that mean something to people. Not just advertisements that look pretty for a week and then disappear.”

Adrian listened carefully.

“And I want to prove that I can build something of my own,” she continued. “Something I can be proud of.”

He nodded slowly.

“That’s a good reason.”

Amara looked at him.

“You don’t think it’s unrealistic?”

“Not at all.”

“Most people say it’s ambitious.”

“Ambition isn’t a bad thing.”

She was quiet for a moment.

Then she asked, “What about you? Why marketing?”

He leaned back slightly.

“Honestly? I like understanding people. What makes them laugh. What makes them feel something. What makes them remember a moment long after it’s gone.”

Amara studied him.

For the first time since meeting him, she wasn’t sure what to say.

That answer was thoughtful.

Almost unexpectedly so.

“That’s actually a good answer,” she admitted.

He placed a hand over his chest.

“Careful, Bennett. That’s the second compliment you’ve given me today.”

“Don’t make it a habit.”

“Too late. I’m framing this moment.”

She laughed again.

And this time, she didn’t immediately regret it.

They continued talking, first about work, then about their favorite films, the music they listened to, and the places they wanted to visit.

Amara discovered that Adrian loved old romantic comedies, despite pretending to be too sophisticated for them.

He discovered that she sang loudly in the shower and had once accidentally sent a voice note of herself singing to her entire department.

She threatened to deny it.

He threatened to ask her colleagues.

By the time they finished eating, the rain had stopped.

Amara glanced at her watch.

“I need to get back.”

Adrian nodded and stood.

“Me too.”

They walked toward the exit together.

Outside, the streets glistened with rainwater, and the afternoon sun had begun to break through the clouds.

Adrian opened the door for her.

She stepped through.

“Thank you for lunch,” she said.

He smiled.

“You’re welcome.”

“And for the umbrella.”

“You’re welcome.”

“And for not being completely unbearable for the last twenty minutes.”

He placed a hand over his heart.

“That might be the nicest thing anyone has ever said to me.”

“Don’t let it go to your head.”

“Too late.”

She shook her head, smiling despite herself.

Then she started walking toward the office.

“Amara?”

She turned.

Adrian stood by the café entrance, his hands in his pockets.

“Tomorrow,” he said, “I’m buying you coffee.”

She narrowed her eyes.

“Absolutely not.”

“Fine. Tea?”

“No.”

“Hot chocolate?”

“Adrian!”

He grinned.

“All right. I’ll bring you something that doesn’t involve spilling it on your clothes.”

She rolled her eyes.

“Goodbye, Adrian.”

“See you tomorrow, Amara.”

She walked away before he could say anything else.

But this time, she didn’t feel quite as irritated.

And that was dangerous.

Because Amara Bennett knew herself.

She knew how easily laughter could become affection, how quickly affection could become attachment, and how painful it could be when the person you trusted decided that your heart was something they could afford to break.

She had learned that lesson once.

She had no intention of learning it again.

Especially not with Adrian Cole.

That evening, Amara arrived home exhausted.

She lived in a comfortable two-bedroom apartment on the fourth floor of a quiet residential building. It wasn’t luxurious, but it was hers, and she’d worked hard to make it feel like a place where she could breathe.

She kicked off her shoes, changed into a soft pair of pajamas, and tied her hair into a loose bun.

Then she ordered dinner.

Her phone buzzed while she waited.

An email.

From Adrian.

She frowned and opened it.

Subject: Campaign Discussion — Tomorrow’s Meeting

Hi Amara,

I’ve reviewed the notes from today’s meeting and added some suggestions to the second concept. Your idea about giving the campaign more emotional depth was excellent.

I’d like us to build on it together tomorrow morning.

Also, I owe you a coffee. Preferably one that stays inside the cup.

Regards,

Adrian

Amara stared at the screen.

She read the message twice.

Then a third time.

He had complimented her work.

Properly.

Without teasing her or turning it into a joke.

And he had remembered the coffee.

She shouldn’t have found that charming.

She really shouldn’t have.

But the small smile spreading across her face suggested otherwise.

She quickly typed a reply.

Hi Adrian,

Thank you for reviewing the notes. I’ll go through your suggestions before tomorrow’s meeting.

And don’t worry about the coffee. Just focus on keeping it away from my clothes.

Regards,

Amara

She sent the email and placed her phone on the sofa.

There.

Professional.

Polite.

Completely harmless.

Then another message arrived.

ADRIAN: Noted. I’ll wear protective gloves tomorrow.

Amara burst out laughing.

She tried to stop.

She failed.

For several seconds, she laughed so hard that she had to wipe tears from the corners of her eyes.

Then she picked up her phone and typed:

AMARA: You’re impossible.

His reply came almost immediately.

ADRIAN: And yet, here you are, replying to my emails.

She shook her head.

AMARA: Goodnight, Adrian.

ADRIAN: Goodnight, Amara. Try not to dream about me.

She stared at the message.

Then she typed:

AMARA: I’d rather dream about doing my taxes.

ADRIAN: That’s cold. I’ll try harder tomorrow.

Amara put her phone facedown.

She wasn’t replying.

She absolutely wasn’t.

A minute passed.

Then another.

She turned her phone over.

No new messages.

Good.

She was relieved.

Completely relieved.

And yet, as she settled onto the sofa with her dinner, she caught herself wondering what Adrian would say to her the next morning.

She immediately shook her head.

No.

This was nothing.

A few conversations. A little laughter. One shared umbrella.

It didn’t mean anything.

Tomorrow, she’d walk into the office, discuss the campaign, and treat him like any other colleague.

There would be no unnecessary conversations.

No teasing.

No smiling at his ridiculous jokes.

And definitely no thinking about how warm his shoulder had felt beside hers beneath that umbrella.

Amara took a bite of her dinner.

Then another.

She reached for the television remote and switched on her favorite romantic comedy.

Within minutes, the heroine was arguing with an annoyingly handsome man who had somehow managed to become her favorite person.

Amara groaned.

“Of course.”

She changed the channel.

A romantic drama.

She changed it again.

Another romantic comedy.

She threw the remote onto the sofa.

“Is the entire world obsessed with romance?”

Her phone buzzed one final time.

A message from Tessa.

TESSA: So, when’s the wedding?

Amara grabbed a cushion and buried her face in it.

“I am going to block her.”

But she was smiling.

And somewhere across the city, Adrian Cole was probably smiling too.

Neither of them knew what was coming.

Neither of them understood why a simple conversation had felt so natural, or why an ordinary Monday had suddenly become something worth remembering.

They were still strangers in many ways.

Still learning each other’s habits, boundaries, and dreams.

Still pretending that the growing warmth between them was nothing more than amusement.

But sometimes, the most important changes in our lives don’t arrive with dramatic announcements.

Sometimes, they begin with a spilled cup of coffee.

A shared umbrella.

A conversation that lasts longer than expected.

And a smile we can’t quite forget.

Amara Bennett had spent months convincing herself that love was a risk she no longer needed to take.

Adrian Cole had spent years believing that the right relationship would happen naturally, without requiring him to change anything about himself.

Neither realized that love would eventually ask both of them to become braver than they had ever been.

For now, though, they had a project to finish.

And Amara had a very important rule to follow.

She would not fall for Adrian Cole.

Not tomorrow.

Not next week.

Not ever.

Especially not him.