Chapter 1
Althea Davis
When I stepped out of the bank, my phone buzzed again. It vibrated violently in my grip like an impatient warning.
Veronica, my boss.
I sighed, already knowing what was coming. Then I answered the phone.
“Althea, where the hell are you? You should have been here fifteen minutes ago!”
I pulled the phone away from my ear, wincing at the sheer volume. Around me, the street bustled with movement. The Cars honking, pedestrians weaving through traffic, and a man shoving flyers into uninterested hands. The late-afternoon sun cast long, golden shadows, glinting off the windows of sleek buildings.
“I’m on my way,” I muttered, rubbing my temple. “I’ll be there in five minutes, promise.”
"Make it two,” she snapped before cutting the call.
I exhaled, slipping my phone into my bag. Two minutes? Not happening. Walking would take at least fifteen minutes, and I wasn’t about to deal with Veronica’s wrath any longer than necessary.
A taxi was my best bet.
I scanned the street, spotting one approaching from a distance. Before the guy standing beside me could react, I lifted my hand, signaling it first. My phone buzzed again with Veronica’s incoming message. She was obviously complaining or asking something about work.
I glanced down to silence it.
At that moment, the taxi pulled up. I could not risk wasting a second, so I reached for the door handle only to collide with someone else’s hand.
I jolted back, my eyes snapping up to the owner of the intrusive grip.
A man stood there. He was tall, broad-shouldered, and radiating the kind of presence that made people hesitate before speaking. His brows knitted together in sheer disbelief. And his lips parted as if he couldn’t fathom what was happening. He had the look of someone who was either holding back a long-winded rant or contemplating murder.
And then there was me, standing there, frazzled, my phone vibrating again in my bag.
“I hailed it first,” I declared, gripping the door handle tighter. “While you were just standing there,” I added.
He sighed sharply, tilting his head like he was asking the universe for patience.
“Lady,” he began, voice strained, “do you have any idea—”
I didn’t have time for this.
Without letting him finish, I grabbed his wrist and shoved him back, sliding into the car in one swift motion. “Sorry, but I’m in a hurry,” I snapped before slamming the door shut.
“Drive, please,” I told the driver, ignoring the fact that he had twisted in his seat to stare at me like he had just witnessed a crime.
His eyes darted between me and the man outside. He looked absolutely terrified.
“Miss…?”
I waved him off, already pulling my phone to my ear. “Just go, please. Head toward—”
I paused when the door opposite mine swung open.
I barely had time to react before the man slid inside, dropping into the seat beside me with a long, exasperated sigh.
“You have got to be kidding me,” he muttered, adjusting his sleeves like I was nothing more than an inconvenience in his day.
I blinked. “Excuse me—”
He turned to face me fully now, leaning back as if settling in. “I just moved to California, and I already get to meet crazy people.”
Something about the way he said it made my stomach tighten with irritation. I opened my mouth, ready to give him a piece of my mind, when I noticed something off.
The car.
Now that I was inside, my surroundings became clearer. The seats were too lovely—smooth leather that smelled new. The door panel had wood detailing, and the air conditioning was silent. Even the faint scent lingering in the car wasn’t that of cheap air freshener but something expensive, musky, and refined.
This… was not a taxi.
I turned to the driver, who still hadn’t moved an inch. He looked at the guy beside me, stiffly murmuring, “Sir?”
Sir?
My stomach dropped.
I shifted slightly, glancing around again like I could somehow will an explanation into existence. The man beside me let out a slow breath. His patience had clearly run thin.
“Just get out,” he said flatly.
“I should definitely do that,” I muttered, scrambling for the door handle. “Sorry. Totally my bad.”
I practically leaped out of the car, bowing apologetically before slamming the door shut.
The car didn’t move immediately, but I didn’t dare glance back. I exhaled heavily, smacking a hand against my forehead. Idiot. I had just thrown myself into some rich guy’s car like a complete fool. I could already see Veronica rolling her eyes when I told her why I didn’t make it to work in two minutes.
The car finally rolled forward. I let out a breath of relief.
But it stopped just immediately. Before I could even process what was happening, something flew out of the open window: my handbag.
It landed on the pavement with an unceremonious thud.
I stared at the handbag, then at the car, and back at my handbag. And before I could even react, the car took off again, disappearing down the street.
I was left mouth agape. Did that man just throw my handbag out like trash?
A passing pedestrian glanced at me with mild concern. I ignored them, bending down to snatch my bag. I wasn’t sure whether to be mortified or furious.
After collecting my bag and swallowing my pride, I hailed another taxi. This time, I triple-checked to make sure it was a taxi before getting in. The ride to work was uneventful, just the usual city hum of traffic and chatter.
By the time I arrived at Veronica’s café, the place was alive with movement. The salty ocean breeze drifted in through the open windows, mingling with the aroma of freshly brewed coffee and grilled sandwiches. Outside, the sun was sinking into the horizon, casting an amber glow over the beach.
Inside, surfers who were still damp from the ocean crowded the tables, their laughter loud and carefree. They draped towels over their shoulders, their sun-kissed skin glowing, while others leaned back in their seats, sipping cold drinks as if the day had drained every ounce of their energy.
I barely had a second to breathe before Veronica appeared, tossing an apron at me.
“About time,” she muttered, her sharp eyes scanning the crowded café.
I tied the apron around my waist without complaint. Veronica’s version of a greeting was always a mix of scolding and sarcasm.
Within minutes, I was weaving through tables, balancing trays, and dodging chairs as I took orders. The routine was second nature by now: take an order, deliver food, wipe down tables, welcome new customers, and repeat.
As I moved, I couldn’t help but glance at the girls coming in from the beach. They were my age-mates, wearing nothing but bikinis and loose button-ups. Their skin was tanned and glowing from hours in the sun. They laughed as they collapsed into chairs, flipping their damp hair over their shoulders.
I admired them, not with jealousy, but with quiet longing. That kind of freedom. The ability to lounge by the beach, worry about nothing but tan lines and what to drink next, wasn’t a luxury I had. But it didn’t matter.
My mother was doing better. She was getting treatment, and I was the reason for that.
So, as I cleared another table and welcomed new customers with a smile, I reminded myself that I had no reason to complain.
If only Veronica wasn’t so stingy, she could hire another waitress to help. But I would never bring that up, not when she was the reason I had a roof over my head in California.
If it weren’t for her, I might have been wandering the streets like a lost fool or cleaning toilets just to scrape together enough money for a ticket back home to the Philippines.
I was so lost in thought that I barely heard the familiar voice call my name.
“Althea.”
I turned—and there he was. Caleb.
He sat with four fellow cyclists, his easy grin already sending warmth to my neck. I hadn’t even noticed when he walked in. If I had, I might have fixed my hair or at least pretended to be composed.
Caleb always stared at me just a little longer than necessary. Every time, I convinced myself it meant something. Or maybe he knew I had a crush on him.
I opened my mouth to say something, but before I could, two girls walked in. They didn’t hesitate before grabbing the boys’ attention and sliding into the conversation like they belonged there.
Caleb turned toward them, laughing at something one of them said. And just like that, my chance to say anything vanished.
With a quiet breath, I took the opportunity to slip away and attend another table instead.
Because as much as I hated how often he came here, I’d hate it even more if he stopped. Caleb was the kind of man you couldn’t help but stare at.
