THREE HEARTS, ONE HOME

THREE HEARTS, ONE HOME

Chapter 1 — The Man Across the Table

The rain had been falling over Cebu City for nearly an hour when Dalisay Abellana realized he had been staring at the same cup of coffee for far too long.

“Dali.”

He didn’t look up.

“Dali.”

Still nothing.

“Hoy, Dalisay.”

A finger snapped in front of his face.

Dali blinked and finally lifted his head.

“What?”

Bayani Sarmiento leaned back in his chair, wearing the irritating smile of a man who had just caught his best friend doing something embarrassing.

“I’ve been talking to you for five minutes.”

“Sorry.”

“Obviously.”

Dali reached for his coffee.

Cold.

Perfect.

Outside the café window, headlights blurred across the rain-soaked streets of Cebu. People hurried beneath umbrellas while motorcycles squeezed through traffic.

Dali wished he were out there.

Anywhere except sitting at this table.

Because three tables away sat a man in black.

And Dali had been looking at him for the better part of twenty minutes.

Yani followed his gaze.

“Oh.”

Dali immediately looked away.

“What?”

“Nothing.”

“That wasn’t a nothing ‘oh.’”

Yani grinned.

“I finally figured it out.”

“Figured out what?”

“Why you’ve suddenly forgotten I exist.”

Dali’s jaw tightened.

“Don’t start.”

“I haven’t even started.”

“And don’t.”

Yani laughed quietly.

Unlike Dali, Yani had never learned how to hide himself.

He wore a loose cream shirt with the sleeves rolled above his elbows, several thin bracelets around one wrist, and a tiny silver hoop in his left ear. His smile came easily. His laughter came even easier.

Dali envied him sometimes.

“Gwapo man,” Yani said casually.

Dali nearly choked on his coffee.

“Yani.”

“What? I said he’s handsome.”

“Keep your voice down.”

“Why?”

“Because he might hear you.”

Yani’s grin widened.

“That would be the point.”

Dali kicked him beneath the table.

“Aray!”

“Shut up.”

Yani rubbed his shin dramatically.

“You know, violence isn’t a healthy response to attraction.”

“I am not attracted to him.”

“Sure.”

“I’m not.”

Yani looked toward the stranger again.

The man was probably around Dali’s age, maybe slightly older. Tall. Broad shoulders. Dark hair pushed carelessly backward.

There was something effortless about him.

He wasn’t trying to attract attention.

That somehow made him attract more.

His black button-down shirt was open slightly at the collar. A watch rested around his wrist. One hand held his phone while the other tapped slowly against the table.

Then he looked up.

Straight at Dali.

Dali froze.

Their eyes met.

One second.

Two.

Three.

And then the stranger smiled.

Not politely.

Not accidentally.

It was the kind of smile that said:

I know you’ve been looking at me.

Dali immediately looked down.

“Patay,” Yani whispered.

“Don’t.”

“He caught you.”

“Yani.”

“He definitely caught you.”

“I swear—”

“Relax.”

Yani was trying not to laugh.

Dali could feel heat crawling up his neck.

At twenty-seven, he shouldn’t have been behaving like a teenager caught staring at his crush.

Especially because he didn’t have crushes.

He didn’t do this.

He worked.

He went home.

He visited his parents every Sunday.

He attended birthdays, baptisms, weddings, and whatever family gathering his mother insisted was important.

His life was organized.

Predictable.

Safe.

Men like the stranger across the café were not part of that life.

They couldn’t be.

“I’m going home,” Dali muttered.

Yani stared at him.

“You just got here.”

“I have work tomorrow.”

“It’s Friday.”

“I have things to do.”

“Like?”

Dali stood.

Yani burst out laughing.

“You’re running away.”

“I am not running.”

“Dali.”

“Goodnight.”

He grabbed his phone.

Then someone stepped beside their table.

“Leaving already?”

Dali stopped.

That voice wasn’t Yani’s.

Slowly, he turned.

Black shirt.

Dark hair.

That smile.

Up close, the stranger was even more intimidating.

Not because he looked dangerous.

Because he looked completely comfortable standing there.

Comfortable with himself.

Comfortable looking directly into Dali’s eyes.

Comfortable making Dali’s heart suddenly forget how to behave.

Yani looked between them.

Then, to Dali’s horror, Yani smiled.

“Actually, he was just telling me how much he loves this café.”

Dali stared at him.

Traitor.

The stranger chuckled.

“Really?”

“No.”

Dali answered immediately.

Yani covered his mouth.

The stranger raised an eyebrow.

“So you don’t like the café?”

“I didn’t say that.”

“You just said no.”

“I meant—”

Dali stopped.

Wonderful.

He had known this man for approximately twenty seconds and had already forgotten how sentences worked.

The stranger extended his hand.

“Isandro.”

Dali looked at it.

Then at him.

“Isandro Cabahug.”

Dali reluctantly shook his hand.

His grip was warm.

“Sandro,” the man added. “Everyone calls me Sandro.”

“Dalisay.”

Sandro’s eyebrows rose.

“Dalisay?”

Dali had heard that reaction his entire life.

“Yes.”

“That’s unusual.”

“My grandmother chose it.”

“I like it.”

Something about the way Sandro said it made Dali’s chest tighten.

“People call me Dali.”

“Dali.”

Sandro repeated the nickname slowly.

Like he was testing how it felt on his tongue.

Dali pulled his hand away.

“And I’m Bayani,” Yani interrupted.

Sandro turned.

For the first time, his attention moved completely away from Dali.

Their eyes met.

Something changed.

It was small.

So small Dali almost missed it.

Yani’s playful smile softened.

Sandro’s confidence seemed to falter for half a second.

“Bayani?” Sandro asked.

“Yani.”

Sandro smiled.

“Another unusual name.”

“Apparently our parents wanted us to suffer during roll call.”

Sandro laughed.

A real laugh this time.

And Dali felt something unexpected.

Something sharp.

He didn’t like it.

Sandro pulled out the empty chair.

“Mind if I sit?”

“Yes,” Dali said.

“No,” Yani said simultaneously.

They looked at each other.

Sandro laughed again.

“I’ll take the democratic approach.”

“There are two votes,” Dali said.

“Three now.”

“You don’t get a vote.”

“I think I should.”

Yani tapped the chair.

“Sit.”

Sandro sat.

Dali remained standing.

“Dali.”

Yani pointed toward his chair.

Dali sighed.

This was ridiculous.

He should leave.

Instead, he sat back down.

Sandro looked pleased.

“So,” Yani said, resting his chin against his palm, “do you normally walk up to strangers you’ve caught staring at you?”

Dali’s eyes widened.

“Yani!”

Sandro didn’t even pretend to be surprised.

“Only when they’re attractive.”

Silence.

Dali stared at him.

Yani slowly turned toward Dali.

Then back to Sandro.

“Which one?”

Sandro smiled.

“Do I have to choose?”

For once, Yani had nothing to say.

Dali’s heart gave one hard beat.

Sandro leaned back casually.

The rain continued against the windows.

Around them, conversations carried on. Cups touched saucers. Cars moved through the wet Cebu streets.

Nobody else seemed to notice that something had shifted at their tiny table.

Dali certainly noticed.

He looked at Sandro.

Then at Yani.

And for reasons he couldn’t understand, he suddenly felt as though he had walked through a door without realizing it.

He just didn’t know yet where it would lead.

An hour later, Dali stood beneath the café awning waiting for his ride.

The rain had weakened to a drizzle.

Yani had gone inside to use the restroom.

Dali checked his phone.

“Running away again?”

He didn’t need to turn around.

“Sandro.”

Sandro stepped beside him.

“You say my name like you’re annoyed.”

“I am annoyed.”

“Why?”

“Because you’ve been flirting with us for an hour.”

Sandro smiled.

“Us?”

Dali realized his mistake.

“With—”

“With you?”

Dali looked away.

Sandro moved slightly closer.

Not enough to touch him.

Enough that Dali noticed.

“You’re very nervous around me.”

“I’m not nervous.”

“You keep saying things that aren’t true.”

Dali finally looked at him.

“You don’t know anything about me.”

“No.”

Sandro’s expression changed.

The teasing disappeared.

“But I’d like to.”

That was worse.

Dali could handle flirting.

He could dismiss flirting.

But sincerity?

That frightened him.

“You shouldn’t.”

“Why?”

“Because I’m not…”

Dali stopped.

Not what?

Available?

Out?

Brave?

Free?

Sandro waited.

Dali couldn’t finish.

Then the café door opened.

Yani stepped outside.

“There you are.”

Sandro moved back.

Yani looked between them.

His smile returned, but Dali noticed something strange behind it.

Something he couldn’t identify.

“Your ride?” Yani asked.

“Two minutes.”

Sandro pulled his phone from his pocket.

“Give me your number.”

Dali almost laughed.

“No.”

Sandro turned to Yani.

“Yours?”

Yani blinked.

“Wow.”

“What?”

“You recover quickly.”

Sandro smiled.

“Is that a yes?”

Yani glanced at Dali.

For some reason, Dali wanted him to say no.

He had absolutely no right to want that.

“Sure,” Yani said.

And something uncomfortable twisted inside Dali’s chest.

Yani gave Sandro his number.

Sandro typed something.

A second later, Yani’s phone vibrated.

“There,” Sandro said.

Then Sandro looked at Dali.

“Now I can get yours from him.”

“No, you can’t.”

Yani grinned.

“For the right price.”

“Yani.”

Sandro laughed.

His ride arrived first.

Before leaving, he looked at both of them.

“Goodnight, Yani.”

“Goodnight.”

Then his eyes settled on Dali.

“Goodnight, Dalisay.”

Dali hated the way his full name sounded coming from him.

Mostly because he didn’t hate it at all.

“Goodnight.”

Sandro walked into the rain.

Dali watched him leave.

Beside him, Yani was silent.

That was unusual.

Dali finally glanced at him.

Yani was also watching Sandro.

And he was smiling.

Not his usual teasing smile.

Something quieter.

Something Dali recognized immediately because he had felt the exact same thing less than an hour earlier.

His stomach dropped.

“Yani.”

“Hmm?”

“You like him.”

Yani looked at Dali.

For several seconds, neither spoke.

Then Yani gave a small laugh.

“That’s funny.”

“What?”

Yani slipped his phone into his pocket.

“I was about to say the same thing about you.”

Their eyes met.

The rain fell quietly around them.

Neither denied it.

And somewhere down the street, Sandro sat inside a car looking at the new contact on his phone.

Yani Sarmiento.

He smiled.

Then another face entered his mind.

Quiet eyes.

Nervous expression.

A man who had spent the entire evening pretending not to want him.

Dalisay Abellana.

Sandro’s smile slowly disappeared.

Because for the first time in years, one person hadn’t caught his attention.

Two had.

And he had absolutely no idea what to do about it.

Three men had met at one table.

None of them knew that one day, walking away from either of the others would feel impossible.