Page 8 of Unexpected Bratva Baby

Mikhail rests his palms on the counter to examine the menu before shrugging. “I’m feeling adventurous. Why don’t you surprise me with your favorite blend?”

“Are you sure?” I ask, already reaching for the beans. “My tastes can be a bit... unconventional.” I don’t want to tell him what that really means. For now, it’s just about coffee.

His laugh is a deep, rich sound that fills the café. “I trust your judgment. Surprise me.”

I nod, turning to the espresso machine with the intention of impressing him. He studies me while I work, watching my every move. It’s both thrilling and nerve-wracking.

“So, Phoebe,” he says as I froth the milk, “Tell me more about yourself. I’m curious about the woman behind the excellent coffee.”

I glance over my shoulder, catching his gaze as I silently wonder why it’s taken him almost three weeks to ask me a truly personal question. Most mornings, we chat about the weather or other inconsequentials, but it often feels like there are so many words trapped inside that we want to speak. Or maybe I’m just projecting. “What would you like to know?” I ask.

“Everything,” he says simply, and the intensity in his expression makes me believe he means it.

I inhale sharply, focusing on finishing his drink before I speak. “I was born and raised here in Miami, but my parents are both Scottish. They moved here just before I was born.”

“Scottish?” he says, his interest clearly piqued. “That explains the lovely lilt in your voice. Do you visit Scotland often?”

I shake my head, a wistful smile tugging at my lips. “Not as often as I’d like, but I grew up surrounded by Scottish culture. My mum made sure of that.”

When I hand him his coffee, our fingers brush, and a jolt of electricity seems to pass between us. It’s enough to make me pause, but he’s too busy with his coffee to notice my reaction.

He takes a sip, his lips curling up in a smile. “This is exceptional,” he says, genuine appreciation in his voice. “What’s in it?”

I grin, pleased by his reaction. “It’s a blend of Ethiopian Yirgacheffe and Guatemalan beans, with a hint of cardamom and a splash of coconut milk. I call it the Highland Sunrise.”

Mikhail raises an eyebrow. “Impressive. You have quite the talent, Phoebe. Have you ever thought of opening your own café?”

My heart swells at his compliment, and before I know it, I’m pouring out my dreams to him. “Actually, I’ve always wanted to open a Scottish cultural center and shop. A place where people can experience a bit of Scotland right here in Miami. With a café, of course, serving traditional Scottish treats alongside specialty coffees. I think it could really take off if it was done right.”

Mikhail listens intently, nodding along. “That sounds wonderful. What’s stopping you?”

I shrug, suddenly self-conscious. “Oh, you know. Money, mostly, and finding the right location. It’s just a pipe dream for now.”

“I don’t believe that for a second,” he says, his voice firm but kind. “You clearly have the passion and the skill. Dreams like that are worth pursuing.”

His words warm me from the inside out, and I end up sharing more about my Scottish heritage, growing animated when I describe the legends and traditions I grew up hearing about and experiencing.

He asks thoughtful questions, clearly genuinely engaged in the conversation. For a moment, I forget we’re in a busy café where I work. It feels like we’re in our own little world.

“Phoebe?” Juanita suddenly snaps at me. “Stop chatting and get back to work. There are customers waiting. If you want to stand around, you can do it at the unemployment office.”

I jump, startled by her sudden appearance. “Sorry, Juanita. I’ll get right on it.”

Mikhail’s expression darkens as he turns to face my boss. He says something in rapid Spanish, his tone firm and commanding. I catch the words “respeto” and “empleada,” but my limited Spanish fails me for the rest.

Juanita’s pupils dilate, and she nods quickly before hurrying back to her office. I stare at Mikhail, both impressed and a little unnerved by the exchange.

“What did you say to her?” I ask, curiosity getting the better of me.

His expression softens as he looks back at me. “Just a gentle reminder about the importance of treating employees with respect. You shouldn’t have to put up with that kind of behavior.”

I’m touched by his concern, but before I can respond, the door chimes again, signaling the arrival of the morning rush.

“I should get back to work,” I say reluctantly.

Mikhail nods. “Of course. Thank you for the excellent coffee and even better company, Phoebe. I look forward to our next chat.”

As he leaves, I hate that he has to go. There’s something about him that both thrills and unsettles me. It’s unnerving but exciting, and turning to serve the next customer, a smile lingers on my face.

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