The next evening, Adaora told herself she wasn't going to Midnight Brew. She repeated it several times while shutting down her work computer. Again while packing her laptop into her bag. And once more while sitting in traffic. Yet somehow, forty minutes later, she found herself turning into the familiar street. The golden sign appeared ahead. MIDNIGHT BREW. Adaora tightened her grip on the steering wheel. Maybe she should leave. Maybe she should find another café. There were hundreds in Abuja. But instead of driving away, she parked. For several seconds she remained seated. Watching people move past the windows. Watching the warm glow spilling onto the wet pavement. Watching him. Ethan. He stood behind the counter, preparing an order. His sleeves were rolled up slightly. His attention completely focused on his work. Calm. Collected. As though nothing could disturb him. The memory of the previous evening resurfaced. His smile fading. The slight disappointment in his eyes. The realization that she had hurt his feelings. A knot formed in her stomach. Maybe she should apologize. The thought followed her all the way to the entrance. The bell chimed softly as she stepped inside. Immediately the familiar scent of coffee surrounded her. Cinnamon. Fresh pastries. Roasted beans. The strange comfort of it all. Ethan looked up. For one brief second, surprise flashed across his face. Then it disappeared. His expression settled into professional politeness. "Good evening." Adaora suddenly hated how formal it sounded. "Evening." "What can I get for you?" No teasing. No smile. No comments about the weather. No observations. Nothing. Just a simple question. She swallowed. "Cappuccino." He nodded. "Coming right up." And that was it. No attempt at conversation. No unnecessary words. No opportunity for her apology. Something about that disappointed her more than it should have. She moved toward her usual table. Her usual table. The realization startled her. When had it become her usual table? She settled into the seat near the window and opened her laptop. Outside, clouds hung low over the city. Inside, jazz music floated softly through the café. A few minutes later her coffee arrived. A perfect cappuccino. Placed quietly beside her. When she looked up, Ethan was already walking away. Not rude. Not cold. Just distant. As though a line had been drawn. And he had no intention of crossing it again. Adaora stared at the cup. Then at his retreating figure. Something inside her sank. The next hour crawled by. She attempted to work. Attempted being the key word. Because every few minutes she found herself looking up. Looking toward the counter. Toward him. Ethan moved through the café effortlessly. Greeting customers. Preparing drinks. Helping an elderly woman find a seat. Carrying a tray for a young mother balancing two children. His kindness seemed automatic. Natural. Not performed. Not exaggerated. Simply part of who he was. At one point a little girl approached the counter. The child couldn't have been older than seven. She stretched onto her toes and handed Ethan a drawing. Adaora watched as his face lit up. A genuine smile. The kind she hadn't seen directed at her all evening. He crouched down to the girl's height. Spoke to her softly. Then pinned the drawing onto a small board behind the counter. The little girl practically skipped back to her table. Adaora found herself smiling. Until she remembered Ethan hadn't smiled at her once since she'd arrived. The thought irritated her. Which was ridiculous. She barely knew him. Why should she care? Yet somehow she did. Hours passed. Customers came and went. The café gradually filled and emptied. Rain eventually began tapping against the windows. The soft sound blended with the music. Adaora usually loved rainy evenings. Tonight she couldn't focus. Because every time she looked up, Ethan seemed determined not to look back. Not obviously. But enough for her to notice. Enough for her to feel it. He served every customer with the same calm professionalism. Including her. Especially her. As though he was making a conscious effort to treat her exactly like everyone else. Nothing more. Nothing less. The realization bothered her far more than it should have. Near closing time, a black luxury SUV pulled up outside. The vehicle looked wildly out of place on the quiet street. Expensive. Elegant. The type of car usually reserved for ministers, diplomats, or billionaires. Adaora barely paid attention. Until a sharply dressed man stepped out. The man entered the café. He looked around once. Then headed directly toward Ethan. Adaora expected a customer interaction. Instead, the stranger stopped. "Sir." The word caught her attention. Sir? Ethan's expression hardened almost instantly. The change was subtle. But unmistakable. The relaxed barista vanished. For a moment, another version of him appeared. One that seemed accustomed to authority. To being obeyed. To giving orders. "We discussed this," Ethan said quietly. The stranger lowered his voice. "I know, sir. But they said it's urgent." Adaora couldn't hear the rest. Their conversation remained private. Brief. Controlled. Yet something about it felt strange. The man wasn't speaking to Ethan like an employee speaks to a café owner. It felt like something else entirely. Moments later the stranger left. Ethan remained standing near the counter. His jaw tight. His gaze distant. For the first time since she'd met him, he looked troubled. Then, just as quickly, the expression disappeared. The calm barista returned. Adaora stared at her laptop. Curiosity prickled beneath her skin. Who was he? Because the man behind the counter suddenly felt much more mysterious than before. A few minutes later she packed her belongings. The café was closing. She stood. Slipped her laptop into her bag. And for a brief moment considered walking over. Maybe now she could apologize. Maybe now she could explain. Maybe now— "Good night." Ethan's voice interrupted her thoughts. She looked up. He stood behind the counter. Professional. Polite. Distant. The same careful distance he'd maintained all evening. "Good night," she replied softly. And before she could say anything else, another customer approached him. The opportunity vanished. Adaora left the café feeling strangely unsettled. Outside, rain drizzled gently across the city. As she walked toward her car, she glanced back through the window. Ethan was already focused on work again. Not watching her leave. Not looking her way. Nothing. Yet somehow she felt his absence more tonight than she had felt his presence before. And for the first time since meeting him, Adaora found herself eager for tomorrow. Not because of the coffee. But because she wanted answers. And because she missed a smile she had only known for two days.
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