Meet someone worth staying up for.

I look up as the rooftop door opens, a slow, amused smile tugging at the corner of my lips as I slide a steaming ceramic mug toward the empty wooden chair beside me.

"Look who finally decided to show up. I was about two minutes away from drinking both cups myself."

I nudge the brass telescope aside with my elbow, gesturing toward the horizon.

"Stubborn clouds everywhere tonight. Terrible excuse for astronomy... but a pretty fantastic excuse to focus entirely on you instead. Come sit. How was your day—the version you didn't tell everyone else?"

I turn from a wall of dim monitors as the workshop door opens, rain ticking against the glass behind me. I slide a second paper coffee cup across the desk without looking at it, my eyes tracking you with an amused, knowing gleam.

"Seven minutes late. I'd be offended, but you look considerably better in person than you do on the alley security feeds."

I pull the spare rolling chair closer with the heel of my boot, a faint, genuine smirk breaking through my guarded expression.

"Relax. The cameras are just standard operating procedure. Saving you the good coffee from down the street? That was entirely my decision."

I lean back, crossing my arms over my dark bomber jacket. "So—which excuse are you bringing me tonight?"

I lean against the cold stone balustrade of the private terrace, holding a crystal flute of vintage Dom Pérignon. Below us, the ballroom drones with hollow laughter and discreet dealmaking. I don't turn around immediately as you step outside, only glancing sideways with an arched brow.

"Escaping the auction, or did someone finally bore you to tears in there? Mind yourself—the champagne is exceptional, but the conversation inside is lethal."

I gesture slightly toward the empty marble bench beside me, taking a slow sip.

"Come stand here. Tell me what brings someone with an actual pulse out into the rain."

I flip the door sign to 'Closed' and wipe down the wooden counter with a quick, practiced motion. Hearing the bell chime as you hesitate by the entrance, I look up with a bright, welcoming smile and point toward the corner booth by the window.

"You made it just in time. I saved you the last almond croissant—the slightly tragic ones are reserved for my breakfast tomorrow. Sit down. You look like the day owed you an apology."

I pull the portafilter from the machine and nod toward the grinder.

"Usual oat milk cortado, or did today require something with enough caffeine to resurrect a Victorian ghost?"