Avenging Luna
Chapter 115: Handsome Stranger

Chapter 115: Handsome Stranger

Leila’s POV:

Starting my evening shift at the café was usually a quiet affair. People were winding down, grabbing a quick coffee or dessert, and they usually wanted peace, not chatter. But tonight was different. Right around 7 p.m., when I was mid-way through stacking clean cups and humming along to a pop song playing in the background, he walked in.

He was the kind of guy you’d expect to see in an advertisement for... well, pretty much anything. Tall, ridiculously handsome, with blonde hair that seemed to have just the right amount of tousle—as if he’d spent hours perfecting it to look carefree. He had sharp, mischievous eyes and a jawline that could probably was recently shaved, if I’m being honest. He was wearing a leather jacket over a dark shirt, and he had this easy grin, like he was used to getting what he wanted with a single look.

And I just knew he was going to be trouble.

I plastered on my most professional smile as he approached the counter. "Good evening. What can I get you?"

He leaned forward slightly, that cocky grin widening. "What would you recommend, beautiful?"

My smile immediately felt a bit forced. Oh, he was one of those. I was about to roll my eyes but managed to keep it together, still hoping to make this interaction as painless as possible. "Depends. What do you like?"

He shrugged, glancing at the menu above my head as though he was reading a Shakespearean sonnet. "What would you recommend for a guy who’s looking to be surprised? I like surprises," he said, flashing me what he probably thought was a disarming smile.

"Well, I’d recommend our strongest black coffee, then," I said, not missing a beat. "Very straightforward, gets the job done quickly, no nonsense. It’s my personal favorite, and it’ll help you stay awake." I raised an eyebrow, hoping he’d get the hint.

He laughed, a little too loudly, as if I’d just told the best joke in the world. "Oh, you’re funny," he said, his blue eyes dancing with amusement. "I can tell you’re a no-nonsense type. But aren’t you a little young to be drinking only black coffee?"

My jaw tightened. This guy

. "Is there something wrong with black coffee?" I shot back, folding my arms over my apron. "Because some of us enjoy coffee for the actual flavor."

"Oh, nothing wrong with it, just... strong choice for someone so, well, dainty," he replied, his grin widening as he looked me up and down.

I resisted the urge to slap a "Closed" sign on the register. "So, strong coffee for a strong woman is out of the question? What would *you* recommend, then?" I asked, letting my smile turn saccharine.

He tapped his chin, pretending to think hard, before finally deciding, "A mocha. With extra chocolate. Sweet and comforting—perfect for someone as charming as you."

There it was. This guy thought he was smooth, didn’t he?

"Well, ’sweet and comforting’ sounds nice and all," I said, my voice dripping with fake enthusiasm, "but I’m sticking with my black coffee. Do you actually want to order something, or just waste my time?" I raised an eyebrow, giving him my best "I don’t have all night" look.

He chuckled, looking genuinely amused as he leaned even closer, eyes glinting with mischief. "Okay, okay. I’ll go with the black coffee, just for you. Who knows, maybe it’ll toughen me up a little," he added, shooting me a wink that probably had others swooning but left me entirely unmoved. Mostly.

"Coming right up," I muttered, spinning around to grab a cup and start the pour-over.

From behind me, I could feel his eyes lingering on my back, and it took everything in me not to turn around and ask if he had anything better to do. Instead, I focused on the steady flow of the coffee, hoping the longer I took, the more he’d lose interest. No such luck.

"So, what’s your name?" he asked, his tone casual but obviously fishing for something.

I glanced over my shoulder. "Why do you need to know my name?"

"Because, how else will I ask you out if I don’t know your name?" He flashed me that grin again, the one that probably worked on anyone else but was quickly getting on my nerves.

I smirked, setting his coffee down in front of him with a little more force than necessary. "You assume I’d say yes?"

He took the coffee, completely unfazed. "I like a challenge," he replied smoothly, taking a slow, experimental sip. His eyes widened slightly, but he covered it up quickly. Clearly, he was used to something with about three pounds of sugar in it.

"Good," I said, smirking as I watched him try to swallow the strong coffee without wincing. "Because the answer’s no."

For the briefest moment, I thought he’d give up. But no, he just grinned wider, as if my rejection was somehow a fun new twist in his game.

"Wow. First time I’ve heard that this year," he said, shaking his head in mock disappointment. "And here I thought we had a connection."

"Was that before or after you ordered coffee based on stereotypes about women?" I replied dryly, watching his reaction.

He looked at me, wide-eyed and feigning shock. "Oh, come on. I was just trying to get to know you."

"Here’s a tip: Try ordering without guessing someone’s coffee preference based on their gender next time."

He laughed again, that laugh that was starting to make me wonder if he ever took anything seriously. "Got it. I’ll keep that in mind," he said, lifting his coffee in a mock toast. "To new beginnings. And you," he said, his eyes meeting mine in a way that was almost too intense, "what do you do when you’re not here, making flawless coffee recommendations?"

"None of your business," I shot back, folding my arms. "I’m here to work, not to get interrogated."

"Ah, mysterious. I like that," he said, leaning back in his seat, as though he owned the place. "But don’t worry, I’ll figure it out."

"You’re free to try," I muttered under my breath, turning back to wipe down the counter, hoping he’d take the hint and leave.

---

But, of course, he didn’t.

Over the next hour, he made himself comfortable at a corner table, nursing his coffee like it was some kind of complex science experiment, shooting occasional glances my way with that maddening smirk still plastered across his face. I did my best to ignore him, focusing on my work, but he was like an itch that wouldn’t go away.

As the café began to empty out, he finally got up, strolling back to the counter with an almost predatory ease. "Hey, can I get a refill?"

I narrowed my eyes, leaning forward. "Look, sir, I get it. You’re probably used to getting attention wherever you go, but I’m just here to work. So, if you wouldn’t mind wrapping up, that’d be great."

He held up his hands, feigning surrender. "Alright, alright. No need to bite. But come on, it’s just a coffee refill."

Rolling my eyes, I poured him another cup, shoving it across the counter. "This one’s on the house. Just promise me you’ll finish it quickly."

He raised an eyebrow, taking the coffee with a smirk. "Trying to get rid of me?"

"Is it that obvious?"

He laughed, genuinely this time, and for a moment, it was almost... charming. Almost.

"You’re good, you know that?" he said, shaking his head in amusement. "I’ll take the hint. But before I go, at least tell me your name. It’s only fair—you know mine."

I raised an eyebrow, tilting my head. "Actually, you haven’t told me your name," I pointed out.

He blinked, then smiled sheepishly, as though caught off-guard. "Touché. Alright, it’s Chase. Chase Miller. Now your turn."

I stared at him for a moment, weighing my options, before finally giving in. "Leila," I said reluctantly. "But don’t think that means anything."

"Oh, I wouldn’t dare," he replied, his eyes twinkling mischievously. "But Leila... it’s a beautiful name. Suits you."

I huffed, trying not to roll my eyes again. "Sure. Now, if you’re done with your ’surprising’ black coffee, there’s the door."

He raised his cup in a mock salute. "Thanks for the coffee, Leila. And the company." With one last infuriating grin, he turned and strolled out, leaving me to finally enjoy a bit of peace and quiet.

---

But the peace didn’t last long.

The next night, Chase was back. This time he ordered an espresso and had a seat near the counter, occasionally chatting with other customers but always shooting me these infuriating glances. And it became a routine—he’d show up, order something strong, make a ridiculous attempt at small talk, and spend the evening trying to win me over in ways that grew increasingly absurd.

One night, he showed up with a bouquet of wildflowers and left it on the counter "in case I wanted to brighten up the place." Another night, he tipped an obnoxious amount, as if he were daring me to refuse it. And each night, he’d leave with a wink and a promise to see me again soon.

I told usually myself he was just another arrogant human with too much charm and not enough sense.