Coffee Break (Book 2)

The view from the 40th floor made the world seem reduced, everything below looking less significant. The sun stretched its rays on the horizon, painting every dark corner of Portland with a golden beam.

The high-rise office was decorated with someone’s personal taste—modern, simple furniture that seemed to scream tranquility. In the center stood a long, dark umber hard maple table with rows of matching chairs that looked more like placement than an invitation.

In the corner, a solitary desk faced the window. From where he sat, the glass reflected only a softened, smudged outline of the man behind it.

Then, the door squeaked open. Rapid footsteps bounced through the walls, breaking the stillness.

“Good morning, sir,” the man said, breath uneven, words slightly collapsing under their own urgency. His frantic panting sounded loud and ugly against the absolute silence of the office.

The figure behind the desk didn’t answer. He didn’t turn. Instead, he raised a hand, flicking his index finger once—a quiet command.

The man stepped forward immediately.

“What have you got?” the figure’s raspy voice rumbled, making the panting man swallow.

“It’s Vanguard,” he said. “I think they’re in trouble.”

From where the man stood, he saw the figure’s expression harden in the reflection.

“What did you say?” It didn’t land as a question, but a demand.

The man answered immediately. “I got word from the branch owner. He said things are not looking good. Someone saw right through the contract.”

The figure’s back straightened, his chest rising and falling in a slow, controlled breath.

Who had the time to read contracts word for word? Who was bored enough to dissect them for fun? He thought.

The man continued, “They mentioned a certain name. Someone we’ve heard of before.”

A pause.

“Celestine Lucienne Bellini.”

The sun had long bid its farewell, leaving the streets of Portland enveloped in darkness. Streetlights flickered to life, the city mimicking constellations in the night sky.

The brass bell chimed above the door as the last customer stepped out. The crew slipped into their usual cleanup ritual, the café alive with sharp-witted banter and the clatter of ceramic cups and silverware.

“To clean, or not to clean? That is the question,” Sienna said, pinching the air dramatically, as if genuinely conflicted.

Marian and Celestine tutted in mock disapproval, moving past her to wipe tables and stack chairs.

“There is no question, highlighter head. Your grandfather isn’t paying you to have an existential crisis,” Celestine replied, gently clearing a cluttered table.

Sienna rolled her eyes and flopped onto a chair, pressing the back of her wrist to her forehead.

“Oh, to be a teenager. Nothing but a fragile little thing,” she began, shaking her head. “Not a child anymore, but not yet an adult. It’s an insult.”

Both girls cringed.

Sienna straightened slightly, as if encouraged. “Shall I continue?”

“Absolutely not,” Marian answered almost immediately, lifting her palm in the air, gesturing for her to stop.

Before Marian could continue, Sienna cut her off.

“Absolutely not, she says. But continue, I say. Because all I get is nothing but a…” she trailed off, brows knitting together as she searched for something—anything to rhyme.

“A… a… small… pay?”

Marian snorted. Celestine let out a quiet laugh. Sienna scoffed, as if offended by their audacity to laugh.

“Thou shalt not laugh, for I am brittle. One little snicker will make me shiver,” she said, raising a finger at the cackling girls. “It’s not…” She trailed off again, tilting her head as she searched for another word.

“…coconut?”

Marian narrowed her eyes. “Fine.”

Sienna perked up. “Oh no.”

Marian cleared her throat, stepping closer to the counter like she was addressing an audience. “I, too, suffer.”

A pause. “That is my poem.”

Sienna blinked. “That’s not—”

“It’s minimalism,” Marian said calmly.

Celestine nodded thoughtfully. “I respect the emotional restraint.”

Sienna grabbed her chest. “There is no emotional restraint. There is emotional bankruptcy.”

Celestine tilted her head. “Then I shall contribute.”

Marian looked at her. “Please don’t.”

Too late.

Celestine clasped her hands behind her back. “O coffee cup, thou art round. Like destiny. And also ceramic.”

Silence. Sienna slowly turned. “Why does that sound like a threat?”

Marian nodded. “It feels like I’m being sued by poetry.”

Celestine frowned. “I think it was quite sincere.”

Sienna pointed between them. “You are both banned from literature.”

Marian shrugged. “We are literature.”

Sienna whispered, horrified, “We are not okay.”

Then, as if on cue, the bell chimed again. The “OPEN” sign had already been flipped to “CLOSED.” All three of them turned in the same direction.

Dan.

Sienna cleared her throat. Marian stiffened.

Ever since the day Celestine came back from Dan’s place, something had felt… different. Sienna and Marian had tried to piece it together between shifts, trading theories in low voices and half-finished thoughts, but could never come to a conclusion. Nothing concrete. No explanation. And Celestine, for her part, had given them nothing to work with.

“Good evening, ladies,” Dan said, giving them a small nod.

They greeted him, awkwardly mirroring his gesture.

Marian cleared her throat this time. “Umm, you guys go on ahead. Gianluca, Ms. Highlighter, and I can finish up with the cleaning.”

Celestine’s brows furrowed, not in anger, but in something closer to concern… and guilt. She wanted to help, but she also knew Dan didn’t come here for nothing. Well, not that he ever really needed a reason to show up.

“Okay, thanks, guys. I owe you one,” she said, flashing a small smile.

Marian smiled back, nodding lightly.

Dan’s gaze lingered on Celestine for a moment longer than necessary.

Then, without a word, he stepped aside from the doorway.

It wasn’t an invitation. It was an allowance. The kind that suggested refusal had already been taken into account.

A few last goodbyes later, Marian and Sienna could be heard arguing as they stepped out of the café, their voices fading into the evening air.

Dan adjusted the cuff of his sleeve, slow and deliberate, before speaking again.

“You guys always close up late at night?”

Celestine chuckled, lightly tapping his shoulder. “It’s not that late. It’s only 8 PM. It’s a normal closing time for Gianluca’s.”

Dan simply nodded, and silence stretched between them as they reached the landing of Celestine’s attic apartment. She fished her keys from her pocket, the metallic clink echoing into the quiet night. As the lock clicked open, she pushed the door wide.

They were met with darkness. With a flick of the switch, the Victorian interior of the apartment came alive.

Celestine went in first, followed by Dan. She dropped her keys into a small ceramic bowl; they landed with a soft jingle. Dan followed her into the living room, sinking into the vintage couch… inches apart.

“So,” she started. “What brought you here, Mr. Milford?”

Dan chuckled softly, settling deeper into the couch. With quiet intent, he draped an arm over the backrest, leaving a small space beside him—a silent suggestion rather than an invitation.

“Because I want to,” he said, the admission coming easy, almost too easy. “And also because I wanted to see how you’re doing.”

Celestine noticed the gesture. She weighed it for a moment, keeping her expression neutral—as if everything were perfectly normal.

“I’m okay. I just…” She paused, the words catching slightly. “I don’t feel like I’m the same person after what we learned that day. It was… surreal.”

She shifted closer, closing the space between them slowly and deliberately acknowledging the offer without making it obvious.

“I understand,” Dan said. “It was a lot to take in.”

A beat passed.

“And we still need to prepare for the worst.”

Finally, Celestine let her head rest against his shoulder, easing into the warmth of him, into something steady. Dan didn’t move at first. Then, slowly, he let his arm settle around her shoulders—only partway, testing, waiting.

She didn’t pull away.

“You know, I remember the day I applied to your company,” she said, a faint smile tugging at her lips. “Victoria rejected me for being indecisive.”

Dan laughed softly, nodding. “She told me about it. Said she regretted not giving you a chance.” He glanced down at her. “But she also had a feeling you didn’t belong there… that you were meant for something else.”

A brief pause.

“I’m glad she did, though. Otherwise, you wouldn’t have met Gianluca and the rest of the menace crew,” he added, a hint of amusement in his voice.

Celestine laughed, tapping him lightly on the shoulder.

Sometimes, she wondered what her life would have looked like if things had gone differently—if she hadn’t faced so many rejections.

She had tried to imagine, but she couldn’t. She wouldn’t trade her crew’s antics or the enticing smell of coffee and pastries for anything.

Gianluca’s wasn’t just a cafe; it was her home.

“They are a menace, but I do love them,” she said, looking up to meet his gaze. “And I would do anything for my family.”

As soon as the words left her lips, Dan didn’t answer right away.

His gaze hovered on hers, silent and searching, before finally slipping away.

Slowly, his arm shifted, subtle, but firmer than before.

The space between them changed. And then, as if the realization arrived late, they were sharing each other’s warmth.

He could feel her breath against his chest, soft and steady, rising and falling in quiet rhythm.

For a heartbeat, something clicked—the air between them shifting in a way neither acknowledged. Words came to both of them, but dissolved before they could take shape.

For a moment, everything else faded into the background, leaving them as the only two people in existence.

Time seemed to slow as their eyes searched each other’s faces, both reluctant to let go, both hoping for something—anything to make sense of the moment.

Celestine was the first one to blink. A shy smile broke the intensity of her gaze. She rested her head back on his chest, easing into the uneven beating of his heart.

She cleared her throat.

“That day, the cafe comforted me in ways I never imagined,” she said, fidgeting with her fingers. “The rejection stung, but the cafe put a band-aid on it and kissed it better.” She chuckled lightly.

A low hum vibrated in his chest. Celestine felt it.

“This place is magical,” she continued. “And I won’t let anything happen to it.”

A pause.

“We won’t let anything happen to it,” Dan corrected. Celestine didn’t protest; his words landed just right.

Then a memory surfaced.

“A couple of months ago,” Gianluca began, choosing his words carefully, “she was struggling to make ends meet.” His jaw flexed. “I found her one night… sleeping in her car. Out in the open.”

Dan’s arm tightened around her, reacting to the echoes of Gianluca’s words. The picture it painted in his mind wasn’t pretty.

“And you know, that day, I met Seraphina,” she admitted, recalling the unpleasant memory.

His gaze sharpened. “Oh?”

Celestine nodded vigorously.

“Yes… she was absolutely insufferable,” she clucked her tongue. “She hasn’t changed one bit. And then she invited me to La Fontaine.”

La Fontaine.

Dan repeated the name in his mind. It was a restaurant that had opened recently.

“Isn’t that the super expensive place just a couple of blocks from here?”

“Yes, it is.” The clinking sound of her coins resurfaced in her mind, and her fingers tightened slightly.

“I won’t tell you all the details, but she gave me an invitation.”

Dan’s right eyebrow arched.

“How did she get the invitation? I mean, I know her family is rich, but a restaurant like La Fontaine doesn’t just hand out invitations.”

Celestine tilted her head, searching her memory for a reason, but found none. “I don’t know… but the receptionist said she reserved the VIP lounge.”

Dan’s expression shifted slightly at that.

“The VIP lounge…” he repeated, quieter this time, like he was testing the weight of the words.

Because that wasn’t something you just asked for at La Fontaine. Not unless someone already knew your name—or expected it.

His gaze flickered back to her. “That place doesn’t really do casual reservations.”

They let the conversation hang in the air, their minds swarming with possible answers.

The room seemed to hold its breath, waiting for either of them to arrive at a conclusion.

Then Dan lifted his head, hesitantly opening his mouth. “I think,” he began, “I might know why.”

Celestine looked at him for a moment. “Why?”

After a brief pause, he finally answered, “She might be close to the owner.”

The cold, crisp morning air stung Celestine’s face, her breath swirling into fog as her teeth chattered and her body shivered uncontrollably. Wrapping her arms tightly around her torso, she stood waiting—first to arrive. A rare occurrence.

Marian was always the first, but today, for some reason, she was late.

Celestine endured the cold for a few minutes until a familiar voice echoed through the sleepy neighborhood.

“Good morning, hun!” Marian called, waving from a block away.

Celestine waved back. “Good morning!”

She watched Marian’s small figure grow larger as she approached, playfully tossing her keys in the air. The rhythmic clinking of metal grew louder until Marian stopped in front of her.

“Wow, this is the second time I’ve seen you out at ‘dawn’s crack,’” Marian snickered, clearly delighted to resurrect Celestine’s earlier butchering of the English language.

Celestine laughed, shaking her head at the memory.

“I was tired that day. I didn’t get any sleep.”

The door clicked open, and the scent of espresso filled the air—the smell of home.

They went in, closing the door behind them. Marian set her bag on the counter, and Celestine followed suit.

“I know! You looked like a panda. But seriously, don’t do that again. You nearly gave us a heart attack as those circles under your eyes got worse every day.”

Celestine scratched the back of her head and grinned sheepishly.

“I know. But I’m glad I did. I wanted to save this cafe.”

Marian sighed, flicking Celestine’s forehead playfully before patting her head.

“You did well, kid. You’re a blessing,” Marian said.

Celestine’s heart swelled with appreciation as she relished Marian’s gentle head pats—a rare gesture in her twenty-four years of existence.

Suddenly, her gaze shifted to the window. A ghostly smear of a face appeared on the glass, its nose pressed flat into a white disk.

“Ahh!” Celestine jumped, making Marian look in the same direction.

“Ahh!”

A muffled snort erupted into a boisterous cackle that bled through the glass, leaving both girls clutching their chests, too stunned to speak.

Then the brass bell jingled.

Sienna.

Her boisterous laugh made their ears ring, her shoulders shaking, hands covering her mouth.

“Oh, geez! Did I ruin the moment?”

“Jesus, Sienna! Don’t scare us like that!” Marian scolded the younger girl.

Sienna stuck out her tongue, then joined the two and set her bag on the counter.

“That’s for mocking my poetry yesterday,” she said.

“Be for real now,” Marian protested. “It was bad!”

Celestine raised her brows. “Yeah, and besides, it was a little out of character for you to suddenly start talking in haiku.”

Sienna scrunched her nose. “Hey, I did your clean-up job last night. The least you can do is tolerate it,” she said, with a defiant flip of the hair. She turned her back on them.

“Anyway, what did you guys even talk about upstairs? I was going to eavesdrop, but Marian and Gianluca stopped me.”

The three of them began to arrange the chairs.

“Oh, nothing. We just talked about the case,” and cuddled. Her mind wandered to the memories of the night before.

Marian cleared her throat. “Talked with your mouths, or—”

Celestine cut her off.

“YES, with our mouths,” she gave a sharp exhale. “And we just talked about…” Her voice faded.

“Something that we’ve uncovered,” she admitted, glancing at her hands.

The two fell silent, curiosity sharpening their focus.

“What do you mean?” Marian asked.

“Yeah, what is it?” Sienna pressed, swallowing. “Is it something serious?”

Celestine faced them, waving her hand dismissively. “Nothing too serious… we hope.”

Marian leaned in. “Well, tell us then.”

Celestine let out a breath.“A few days ago, when I was at his place, I told him that Adrian talked to me.”

Marian and Sienna exchanged glances. “Adrian Sterling? You know him?” Marian’s brow furrowed.

Celestine nodded. “Yes. He was my family’s accountant—the one who got me hooked on numbers and spreadsheets.”

Sienna lifted her hand, grinning.

“Wait, someone’s even nerdier than you?” she teased, feigning shock, though she’d never told them about him before.

Celestine laughed. “Yes, Sienna. He was the nerd who taught me. The boss nerd.”

“So what happened? What did he talk to you about?” Marian pressed.

“We ran into each other in the hallway. He told me a lot about my father, and mentioned someone who made me put all the pieces together.”

She took a moment to collect her thoughts.

“You see, my father had a business partner. He rarely visited our house, but his daughter and I were childhood friends. She’d come over, and we’d just hang out.”

Celestine sank into the chair next to them.

“Turns out, his business partner had troubled the Milfords in the past—so much that things got a little… heated.”

She gathered herself before continuing.

“Dan showed me newspaper clippings about their family feud, and that’s when I finally realized who DEV-001 was.”

Both girls leaned in, hanging on her words.

“Zacharie Devereaux.”