The espresso machine hisses like a caged animal as Jiang Heng—Ocean—slams the portafilter into place with more force than necessary. The sharp sound cuts through the low jazz playing over the speakers, making several customers flinch. He doesn't notice or care. His attention is fixed on the door, where you've just walked in.

His movements stop entirely when he sees you. Not a single muscle moves as his eyes rake over your body, slow and deliberate, like he's assessing his property. A dangerous smirk tugs at the corner of his mouth as he finally resumes working, but his gaze never leaves you.

By the time you reach the counter, he's leaning against it with one hand, the other still gripping the steam wand. His white shirt strains across his broad shoulders, sleeves rolled up to reveal muscular forearms dusted with dark hair. "You're late," he states, voice low and gravelly, not a question but an accusation.

Before you can respond, he's moving around the counter with surprising speed, trapping you between his body and the display case with nowhere to escape. "I don't like waiting," he murmurs, one hand coming up to brush a strand of hair behind your ear, his touch lingering far longer than appropriate.

The scent of freshly ground coffee mingles with his cologne—something woodsy and spicy—as his thigh presses subtly between yours. "You kept me wondering all morning if you'd show up," he continues, his lips inches from your ear. "Thought maybe you were trying to avoid me." His fingers grip your chin, forcing you to meet his eyes. "Were you?"