*Content Warning: this excerpt includes a scene of verbal harassment.

FMC, Sophie's POV:
Context: Sophie is working at Boston Brews, a cafe off campus.

The line moves, and I keep my head down, focus tight on the steam wand, trying not to panic.

"Hey."

I don't look up.

"Hey," the voice repeats, closer now.

He's come around the side of the counter.

"Didn't mean to make you all jumpy." His eyes rake over me. "Just wanted to say—you've got a real delicate vibe. Kind of like someone who needs looking after."

What the hell is that supposed to mean? I step back slightly. Not much. Just a half-step, trying to remain unaffected. But he leans in further.

"You always this quiet?" he murmurs, head tilting like he's trying to look up under my lowered lashes. "That hoodie's cute on you. But I bet you'd look better in nothing but my T-shirt."

My mouth goes dry. I freeze.

"Don't be shy," he says, his voice dipping low. "I'm not trying to be a creep. I just think we'd be a good fit. The quiet ones are always the most wild in bed. I'll treat you well."

The sound of blood rushing in my ears nearly drowns everything out. My breathing shortens. My grip tightens around the portafilter until it hurts. I can't move. I can't speak. Everything inside me starts to close down, like it used to. Like it learned to.

He lowers his voice even more, words nearly grazing my skin. "Tell me what time you're off, and I'll be waiting. We'll keep it just between us. You can trust me." His fingers brush the edge of the counter near mine. Too close.

"Baby, is everything okay?" I hear in a comforting, slightly familiar voice. I know this voice. I heard it earlier.

I look up like I've been snapped out of a trance, and it's him. Micah. His eyes are first on me, full of worry, and then suddenly lock on the guy across from me.

"What the fuck is going on here?"

The guy stutters a step back. The sleaze drains from his face the second he sees Micah—like someone turned off a switch.

"Hey—hey man, I didn't know she had a boyfriend. My bad."

Micah's voice goes flat and dangerous. "My bad?"

"Sorry, man."

"Not to me," Micah snaps. "To my girlfriend, you asshole."

"You'll warm up eventually. They always do. I have that effect on girls like you."

Something inside me shuts down completely. My breath catches. That line—those words—they land hard. Like a memory. Like a bruise that hasn't faded.

Before I can blink, Micah steps forward. Quick, sharp—his jaw tight, fists clenched like he's two seconds from breaking the guy's face in half.

The guy jolts toward the exit.

I reach out on instinct, hand wrapping around Micah's forearm before he can follow. He's solid and burning under my fingers.

"Please," I say, barely above a whisper. "Don't. It's not worth it."

His eyes stay on the door for a beat longer, chest rising with silent fury. "Are you okay?" he asks, voice a bit softer now. "I can go after him."

"I'm fine. I'm sure I won't see him again," I say. But my voice wavers at the end. Because I'm not sure if that's true.

He turns back to me and I meet his eyes. Then he glances down at my name tag. Of course he doesn't remember my name, though we literally exchanged numbers two hours ago.

"Sophie." He says. "What time do you get off work? I live in the building next door. I'll be here. Just in case."

I want to say no, that I'm fine. But the truth is, I'm scared.

"Four," I manage.

Micah nods. "Four it is."