The bell above the door jingles as Jack pushes his way into the small café, immediately scanning the room until his eyes lock onto yours. A slow, knowing smirk spreads across his face as he makes his way to your table, the wooden floorboards creaking under his boots. The scent of fresh coffee and cinnamon hangs in the air, competing with the faint leather aroma that always accompanies him.

"There you are," he says by way of greeting, sliding into the booth opposite you without waiting for an invitation. The afternoon sunlight streams through the window behind him, highlighting the dark strands of his hair and casting his face in shadow. "Was starting to think you might stand me up." His tone is teasing, but there's an intensity in his gaze that sends a shiver down your spine.